Most people assume that credibility comes from success, applause, and visible victories. We tend to believe that authority must look polished, confident, and admired. In modern faith culture, we quietly absorb the idea that the most “anointed” voices are the ones with the cleanest stories, the largest platforms, and the fewest visible wounds. Second Corinthians chapter eleven shatters that assumption in a way that is both uncomfortable and deeply necessary. This chapter does not celebrate triumph in the way we expect. It exposes a radically different measure of strength, one that runs directly against human instinct and religious performance alike.

Paul is writing to a church that has become impressed by surface-level spirituality. The Corinthians have begun to drift toward teachers who look more impressive, sound more refined, and present themselves with an air of authority that Paul deliberately refuses to imitate. These new voices boast openly about their credentials. They polish their words. They sell themselves as spiritually elite. And the tragic irony is that the church begins to measure truth by appearance instead of substance. Second Corinthians eleven is Paul’s response to that drift, but it is not defensive in the way we might expect. It is deeply revealing. Paul does not compete by inflating his résumé. He competes by laying his scars on the table.

The chapter opens with an unusual tension. Paul says something that almost sounds insecure if read too quickly. He asks the Corinthians to bear with him in a little foolishness. That word matters. Paul knows that what he is about to do goes against his own values. He does not enjoy defending himself. He does not believe boasting produces spiritual maturity. Yet he also understands that silence, in this moment, would allow deception to harden. So he steps into a role he despises in order to protect a people he loves. That alone reveals something important. Real spiritual leadership is often willing to endure misunderstanding if it means guarding the truth.

Paul’s concern is not about his reputation. It is about their devotion. He describes himself as a spiritual father who has promised the church to Christ as a pure bride. This is not poetic exaggeration. It is covenant language. Paul sees the church’s flirtation with impressive teachers as spiritual infidelity. He fears they are being led astray, not by overt evil, but by subtle distortion. This is one of the most dangerous forms of deception because it rarely announces itself as false. It arrives wearing religious language, charisma, and confidence.

Paul then names the real threat: a different Jesus, a different spirit, a different gospel. That phrase should stop us cold. It reveals that not all messages about Jesus are the same, even when they use the same vocabulary. A distorted gospel does not always deny Christ outright. Sometimes it reshapes Him into a more marketable version. A Jesus who flatters instead of transforms. A Jesus who affirms instead of confronts. A Jesus who promises power without sacrifice. Paul understands this danger intimately, and he refuses to remain quiet while the church slowly trades truth for comfort.

What follows is one of the most misunderstood sections in all of Paul’s writing. He begins to “boast,” but the content of his boasting is intentionally inverted. Instead of listing achievements, he highlights weakness. Instead of displaying authority, he emphasizes vulnerability. Instead of proving his superiority, he dismantles the very idea that superiority qualifies someone for spiritual leadership. This is not accidental. Paul is subverting the Corinthians’ value system from the inside.

He starts by addressing the false apostles directly. He does not deny their skill or presence. He challenges their authenticity. He calls them servants masquerading as something they are not, and he uses a striking comparison: Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. That comparison is sobering because it reminds us that deception is rarely ugly at first glance. It is often attractive. It often feels reassuring. It often comes wrapped in eloquence and confidence. Discernment, then, is not about spotting what looks obviously wrong. It is about recognizing what subtly pulls us away from the cross.

Paul then does something that would make most modern audiences deeply uncomfortable. He begins to list his sufferings. Not in a dramatic way. Not for sympathy. But as evidence. This is where Second Corinthians eleven becomes deeply personal and deeply confronting. Paul talks about beatings, imprisonments, riots, hunger, exposure, betrayal, danger from every direction imaginable. He catalogs pain the way others catalog promotions. This is not self-pity. It is a theological statement.

Paul is saying, without apology, that suffering for Christ is not a sign of weakness but of authenticity. This idea cuts against almost everything our culture teaches us about success, blessing, and favor. We are conditioned to associate God’s approval with ease. Paul associates it with endurance. He does not glorify pain for its own sake, but he refuses to pretend that obedience leads to comfort. He is not ashamed of his scars because they testify to the cost of love.

What makes this section even more powerful is that Paul does not frame his suffering as heroic. He does not present himself as a spiritual superhero. In fact, he emphasizes how close he has come to breaking. He talks about fear, anxiety, and the constant pressure he feels for the churches. That line matters more than many people realize. Paul is not only battered physically; he is emotionally burdened by responsibility. Leadership, for Paul, is not about being admired. It is about carrying weight most people never see.

There is a moment in this chapter that is easy to overlook but profoundly revealing. Paul mentions being lowered in a basket through a window to escape danger. This is not a glorious escape. It is humiliating. It is awkward. It is the opposite of heroic imagery. Yet Paul includes it deliberately. Why? Because it perfectly captures his understanding of strength. Strength is not always standing tall. Sometimes it is surviving long enough to keep serving.

Second Corinthians eleven forces us to confront our own metrics for faithfulness. Many believers quietly assume that if they are doing something wrong, life will become hard, and if they are doing something right, life will become smooth. Paul demolishes that formula. He shows us a faith that remains faithful not because circumstances are kind, but because Christ is worthy. This is not theoretical theology. It is lived truth.

This chapter also exposes the danger of comparing spiritual lives. The Corinthians began to compare Paul to others, and in doing so, they lost sight of what truly mattered. Comparison always distorts discernment. It shifts our focus from calling to appearance, from obedience to outcome. Paul refuses to play that game. He will not compete on the terms of ego. He redefines the game entirely.

There is something deeply freeing about Paul’s honesty here. He does not hide his limits. He does not sanitize his story. He does not pretend that following Christ has made him untouchable. In a culture obsessed with curated images and carefully managed narratives, this chapter feels almost revolutionary. Paul’s credibility comes not from perfection but from persistence. He keeps going, not because he is strong, but because Christ sustains him.

This is where the chapter quietly begins to speak into modern spiritual exhaustion. Many believers feel tired, unseen, and underqualified. They assume that their struggles disqualify them from usefulness. Paul says the opposite. He suggests that weakness, when surrendered, becomes the stage upon which God’s strength is displayed. This is not a motivational slogan. It is a lived reality forged through pain.

Second Corinthians eleven invites us to reconsider what kind of voices we trust. Do we gravitate toward those who impress us, or those who have been shaped by suffering? Do we admire polish more than faithfulness? Do we equate confidence with truth? Paul’s life argues that credibility is not proven by applause but by endurance.

There is also a warning here for leaders. Paul does not use his suffering to manipulate or control. He does not weaponize vulnerability. He shares his story to point away from himself and toward Christ. False leaders center attention on their greatness. True leaders reveal their dependence. That distinction matters more than we often realize.

As the chapter moves forward, Paul’s “boasting” becomes increasingly uncomfortable because it refuses to feed ego. It forces readers to wrestle with the cost of discipleship. It strips away the illusion that faith exists to serve personal ambition. It reminds us that following Christ is not about climbing ladders but about carrying crosses.

This is not an easy chapter to sit with, and it was never meant to be. It confronts shallow faith without mocking it. It exposes deception without descending into bitterness. It models courage without arrogance. Paul stands before the Corinthians not as a spiritual celebrity but as a wounded servant who refuses to abandon truth for approval.

In many ways, Second Corinthians eleven is the chapter we avoid when we want Christianity to feel comfortable. It refuses to reduce faith to positive thinking or spiritual branding. It insists that love costs something. It insists that truth is worth suffering for. It insists that weakness is not the enemy of faith but often its birthplace.

The uncomfortable question this chapter leaves us with is not whether Paul was qualified, but whether we are willing to follow a Christ who leads through suffering rather than spectacle. Paul’s life makes sense only if the cross is real, resurrection is promised, and faithfulness matters more than image.

As the chapter continues beyond this point, Paul will take this argument even deeper, pushing the Corinthians to see that God’s power is most visible where human strength collapses. But even here, in the raw honesty of his suffering, Paul has already delivered a message that refuses to be diluted.

Second Corinthians eleven does not ask us to admire Paul. It asks us to rethink ourselves. It invites us to stop measuring our lives by comfort and start measuring them by faithfulness. It challenges us to trust that God is at work even when the evidence looks like failure. And it quietly reminds us that scars, when carried with humility, can speak louder than any résumé.

Part two will continue this reflection by exploring how Paul’s willingness to boast in weakness prepares the ground for one of the most radical theological reversals in all of Scripture, where weakness itself becomes the gateway to divine strength, and where the logic of the kingdom turns everything upside down.

If the first half of Second Corinthians chapter eleven unsettles us, the second half refuses to let us retreat back into comfortable interpretations. Paul does not soften his tone. He does not apologize for the tension he has created. Instead, he presses deeper into the heart of the issue, because he knows something crucial: once people begin measuring spiritual authority by appearance, they will inevitably reject the very kind of leadership that can save them.

Paul’s continued “boasting” is deliberate, restrained, and profoundly theological. He keeps reminding the Corinthians that this is not the kind of speech he values. He repeats that he is speaking “as a fool,” not because he lacks intelligence, but because he is operating within a framework he fundamentally rejects. That repetition matters. Paul is signaling that the problem is not merely a few false teachers. The deeper problem is a corrupted value system that rewards charisma over character and confidence over faithfulness.

As Paul continues listing his sufferings, the tone becomes almost relentless. Beatings from Jewish authorities. Beatings from Roman authorities. Shipwrecks. Nights adrift at sea. Constant danger from rivers, bandits, his own people, Gentiles, cities, wilderness, and even false believers. Hunger. Thirst. Exposure. Sleeplessness. These are not passing inconveniences. This is a lifetime shaped by cost.

What makes this catalog so striking is not its length but its purpose. Paul is not saying, “Look how much I endured.” He is saying, “Look how wrong your assumptions are.” If suffering disqualified a person from God’s favor, Paul’s entire ministry would be invalid. Yet the gospel advanced precisely through these hardships. The message spread not because Paul was protected from pain, but because he remained faithful through it.

There is an unspoken accusation embedded in Paul’s words. If the Corinthians believe that authority must look impressive, then they are implicitly rejecting the crucified Christ. The cross itself is God’s ultimate contradiction of human expectations. It is weakness that conquers. It is loss that redeems. It is surrender that saves. Paul’s life mirrors the message he preaches, and that is exactly what makes it credible.

Paul then shifts the focus slightly, and this shift is easy to miss if we read too quickly. He begins to talk not just about external suffering, but about internal pressure. He says that beyond all these things, he carries daily concern for the churches. This is not a throwaway line. It reveals something profound about the nature of spiritual leadership. The greatest burden Paul carries is not physical pain. It is people.

This kind of burden is invisible to most observers. Crowds see sermons. They see boldness. They see resilience. They rarely see the weight of responsibility that leaders carry when they genuinely care about the spiritual health of others. Paul feels wounded when others are wounded. He burns with concern when others stumble. His leadership is not transactional. It is relational. That kind of leadership costs far more than applause can repay.

This is where Second Corinthians eleven becomes painfully relevant for modern believers. Many people assume that if they are struggling internally, they must be failing spiritually. Paul reveals the opposite. Deep concern, emotional weight, and even anguish are not signs of weak faith. They are often signs of deep love. A shallow faith remains detached. A mature faith bears weight.

Paul then reaches a surprising conclusion. After listing extraordinary hardships, he does not climax with triumph. He ends with humiliation. He tells the story of escaping Damascus by being lowered in a basket through a window. This moment is not heroic. It is awkward, undignified, and almost anticlimactic. And that is precisely why Paul chooses it.

In a culture obsessed with dramatic victories, Paul highlights a moment of survival. He does not celebrate conquest. He celebrates obedience. He lived to preach another day. He lived to serve another church. He lived to endure. This is not the ending most people would choose if they were crafting a legacy. But Paul is not building a brand. He is bearing witness.

This ending forces us to confront a difficult truth. Much of what we call success in spiritual life is often just survival faithfully lived out. There are seasons when obedience does not look impressive. It looks quiet. It looks hidden. It looks like being lowered in a basket when everyone expected a throne. Paul is teaching the Corinthians, and us, that these moments are not failures. They are victories seen through the lens of heaven.

Second Corinthians eleven also exposes the danger of false confidence. Paul’s opponents likely spoke boldly about spiritual power while avoiding personal cost. Paul speaks honestly about weakness while embodying spiritual power. This inversion is central to the gospel. True strength does not eliminate weakness. It carries it faithfully.

This chapter quietly dismantles the idea that faith exists to protect us from hardship. Instead, it reveals that faith equips us to endure hardship without losing hope. Paul does not promise the Corinthians ease. He promises them truth. And truth, while costly, is the only foundation strong enough to sustain a community.

There is also a warning embedded here for churches. When a community begins rewarding style over substance, it will inevitably marginalize the very people God is using. Faithful servants may appear unimpressive. They may lack polish. They may carry wounds that make others uncomfortable. But those wounds often testify to depth, not deficiency.

Paul’s willingness to expose his suffering is not about self-disclosure for its own sake. It is about alignment. His life aligns with the message of a crucified Savior. Anything less would be hypocrisy. Paul understands that the gospel loses credibility when it is preached by people unwilling to live its cost.

This chapter also invites us to rethink our own stories. Many believers hide their pain, assuming it diminishes their witness. Paul does the opposite. He allows his pain to testify to God’s sustaining grace. This does not mean glorifying suffering. It means refusing to let suffering silence truth.

There is a quiet freedom that emerges when we stop trying to look spiritually impressive. Paul models a faith that does not need validation from others. He does not chase approval. He remains anchored in calling. That kind of freedom is rare and deeply needed in an age of constant comparison.

Second Corinthians eleven also prepares the reader for what comes next. Paul is laying the groundwork for one of the most radical theological statements in all of Scripture: that God’s power is made perfect in weakness. But that truth would sound hollow if it were not grounded in lived experience. This chapter provides that grounding. It shows us weakness not as theory, but as testimony.

The deeper message of this chapter is not about suffering alone. It is about trust. Trust that God is at work even when the evidence looks like loss. Trust that obedience matters even when recognition does not follow. Trust that faithfulness counts even when results are slow or invisible.

Paul’s life stands as a rebuke to performance-driven spirituality. He does not curate an image. He tells the truth. He trusts that truth, anchored in Christ, will ultimately outlast deception. And history has proven him right. The voices that impressed the Corinthians have faded. Paul’s words endure.

Second Corinthians eleven leaves us with a question we cannot ignore. What kind of faith are we pursuing? One that looks impressive, or one that remains faithful? One that avoids weakness, or one that surrenders it to God? One that seeks applause, or one that seeks obedience?

This chapter reminds us that the gospel does not promise admiration. It promises transformation. It does not offer immunity from pain. It offers purpose within it. And it does not crown the strongest personalities. It redeems the most surrendered lives.

Paul does not ask the Corinthians to admire him. He asks them to return to Christ. He strips away illusions so that truth can stand clearly again. In doing so, he gives us a legacy that continues to speak into every generation that is tempted to confuse appearance with authenticity.

Second Corinthians eleven is not comfortable, but it is deeply necessary. It anchors faith in reality. It honors endurance over image. It celebrates obedience over outcome. And it reminds us that the scars we wish we could hide may be the very marks that testify to God’s sustaining grace.

In the end, Paul’s message is not complicated. It is costly. But it is also freeing. We do not have to pretend. We do not have to perform. We do not have to prove ourselves. We are called to remain faithful, even when faithfulness looks like weakness.

That is the redefinition of power Paul offers. Not the power to dominate, but the power to endure. Not the power to impress, but the power to love. Not the power to escape suffering, but the power to remain anchored to Christ within it.

And that kind of power, though rarely celebrated, is the kind that changes the world.

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Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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There is a moment in every believer’s life when the noise becomes louder than the calling. Not noise in the sense of chaos, but noise in the form of opinions, labels, judgments, assumptions, and expectations that press in from every direction. Second Corinthians chapter ten is written directly into that moment. It is one of the most misunderstood chapters in Paul’s letters because people often read it as defensive or confrontational, when in reality it is deeply surgical. Paul is not lashing out. He is cutting away illusions. He is teaching believers how spiritual authority actually works when it does not look impressive, sound forceful, or feel dominant. This chapter is not about ego, confidence, or proving oneself. It is about the quiet, terrifying strength of obedience that does not need permission to stand firm.

Paul opens this chapter not with thunder, but with gentleness. That alone should slow the reader down. The man who planted churches, endured beatings, survived shipwrecks, and confronted false apostles does not lead with bravado. He appeals “by the meekness and gentleness of Christ.” That phrase is not poetic filler. It is the entire foundation of what follows. Paul is making it clear that the authority he is about to exercise does not come from personality, volume, reputation, or force. It comes from alignment. Meekness is not weakness. Meekness is power that has learned restraint. Gentleness is not passivity. Gentleness is strength that knows when not to strike. Paul is intentionally framing spiritual warfare in a way that offends human instincts. If you are expecting dominance, intimidation, or public victory, you will miss the entire point of this chapter.

Paul then addresses a criticism that still echoes in modern Christianity: the accusation that he is bold in writing but weak in presence. This is one of the most human attacks imaginable. It is not theological. It is personal. It is the same accusation thrown at countless faithful servants who do not perform strength the way people expect. Paul does not deny the accusation. He reframes it. He essentially says, “Yes, you see meekness. Yes, you see restraint. Yes, you see gentleness. Do not confuse that with lack of authority.” This is where many believers get trapped. They think spiritual authority must announce itself. Paul shows us that real authority often waits until obedience demands action.

Then comes one of the most quoted yet least fully understood lines in Scripture: “For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh.” Paul is not denying human reality. He is acknowledging it. We walk in bodies. We experience emotions. We feel fear, frustration, rejection, and pressure. But the battlefield we are actually fighting on is not physical. The weapons we are given are not designed to impress human systems. They are designed to dismantle invisible strongholds. This is where the chapter becomes deeply uncomfortable for anyone who prefers visible results and measurable victories.

Strongholds, as Paul uses the word, are not demons hiding behind rocks. They are entrenched patterns of thinking that resist truth. They are beliefs that feel rational, justified, and even moral, but stand in opposition to God’s voice. A stronghold is any idea that has learned to sound like wisdom while quietly disobeying God. Paul says these strongholds are demolished not by louder arguments, sharper rhetoric, or stronger personalities, but by weapons that are “mighty in God.” That phrase alone should stop a believer in their tracks. Mighty in God does not mean mighty in culture. It does not mean mighty in numbers. It does not mean mighty in applause. It means mighty because God is the source, not because humans approve.

Paul then drills deeper. He describes casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God. Notice what the enemy is doing here. It is not denying God outright. It is exalting itself against knowing Him. The most dangerous resistance to faith is not rebellion; it is self-assured reasoning. Arguments that feel intelligent, compassionate, progressive, or practical can still exalt themselves above God’s revealed truth. Paul does not say we debate these arguments endlessly. He says we cast them down. That language is decisive. It is not conversational. It is not hesitant. There are moments in the life of faith where discernment requires action, not discussion.

Then Paul says something that reveals the personal cost of this spiritual discipline: we take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ. Every thought. Not every sinful action. Not every external influence. Every thought. This is where Christianity becomes deeply invasive, in the best and most uncomfortable way. God is not merely interested in behavior modification. He is after the architecture of the mind. Thoughts shape desires. Desires shape actions. Actions shape identity. Paul is saying that obedience does not begin at the altar or the pulpit. It begins in the internal dialogue no one else hears.

Taking thoughts captive does not mean suppressing questions or pretending doubts do not exist. It means refusing to allow any thought to outrank Christ’s authority. A thought can be emotional and still need to be submitted. A thought can be logical and still need correction. A thought can feel protective and still be rooted in fear rather than faith. Paul is inviting believers into a level of spiritual maturity where feelings are acknowledged but not enthroned. That is not easy. It is not fast. It is not glamorous. But it is transformative.

Paul then addresses obedience again, but in a way that flips modern leadership upside down. He speaks of being ready to punish disobedience once obedience is complete. That sounds harsh until it is properly understood. Paul is not eager to discipline others while chaos reigns internally. He understands that authority without internal alignment becomes abuse. He is waiting until the community is rooted in obedience before exercising corrective authority. This reveals a principle many leaders ignore: authority must be anchored in integrity, or it becomes destructive. Paul refuses to operate prematurely, even when criticized.

The chapter then turns toward comparison, another trap that quietly erodes spiritual clarity. Paul says they do not dare to classify or compare themselves with those who commend themselves. Comparison always feels harmless at first. It disguises itself as evaluation. But comparison is corrosive because it replaces calling with competition. The moment a believer begins measuring themselves against others, they stop listening for God’s voice and start reacting to human standards. Paul says those who measure themselves by themselves are not wise. That is not an insult. It is an observation. Wisdom comes from alignment with God, not proximity to peers.

Paul refuses to boast beyond the limits God assigned him. That line carries profound freedom. Limits are not punishments. They are assignments. Paul understands where his stewardship begins and ends. He does not chase influence that is not his to carry. He does not force authority where it has not been given. In a culture obsessed with expansion, growth, and platform, this restraint feels foreign. Yet it is precisely what protects the integrity of ministry. Paul’s confidence is not rooted in how far he can reach, but in how faithfully he can steward what God has placed in his hands.

He then makes a statement that exposes the fragility of human approval: it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends. That sentence quietly dismantles performance-driven faith. Self-commendation feels necessary in systems that reward visibility. But God’s approval often operates in silence. It is not announced. It is revealed over time through fruit, endurance, and faithfulness. Paul is not insecure about criticism because his validation does not come from consensus. It comes from obedience.

Second Corinthians ten is not a chapter for people who want quick victories or visible dominance. It is a chapter for those who are willing to fight battles no one sees, submit thoughts no one hears, and obey God even when it looks unimpressive. It teaches that real power does not shout. It stands. It waits. It obeys. It dismantles lies quietly and thoroughly, one thought at a time.

This chapter is especially uncomfortable for those who have been misunderstood. Paul knows what it is like to be dismissed as weak by people who confuse gentleness with inferiority. He does not attempt to correct their perception through performance. He allows truth to do the work. There is a deep freedom in that posture. When you stop trying to prove strength, you begin to operate in it.

Second Corinthians ten reminds us that spiritual warfare is not about dominating others. It is about surrendering self. It is about letting Christ reign in the mind, the motives, and the unseen spaces where real allegiance is formed. The weapons of this warfare will never impress the flesh, but they will demolish the lies that quietly imprison it.

This chapter invites the reader to ask uncomfortable questions. What thoughts have been allowed to run unchecked? What arguments have been entertained because they sound reasonable? What comparisons have quietly reshaped calling into competition? What obedience has been delayed in the name of appearing strong?

Paul’s answer is not condemnation. It is alignment. Bring every thought under Christ. Measure success by obedience, not applause. Trust God’s approval more than human perception. Fight the battles that matter, even when no one is watching.

Second Corinthians ten does not end with fireworks. It ends with clarity. And clarity, in the hands of an obedient believer, is one of the most dangerous weapons God can entrust.

Now we will continue by exploring how this chapter reshapes our understanding of authority, confidence, spiritual leadership, and what it truly means to live free from the tyranny of human opinion while remaining deeply accountable to God._ _ Continuing where we left off, Second Corinthians ten presses even deeper into territory most believers avoid, not because it is unclear, but because it is demanding. The chapter quietly insists that faith cannot remain theoretical. It must become disciplined. It must become internalized. And eventually, it must become visible in the way a person carries authority without reaching for control.

One of the most overlooked realities in this chapter is that Paul never denies his authority. He simply refuses to perform it for validation. That distinction matters. Many believers struggle with confidence because they think humility requires uncertainty. Paul demonstrates the opposite. He is completely certain of his calling, yet utterly uninterested in defending it through human means. His authority does not rise and fall with opinion. It rests on obedience. That kind of confidence cannot be shaken by criticism because it is not built on applause.

This chapter reframes authority as stewardship rather than dominance. Paul understands that authority is not something to wield for personal affirmation, but something entrusted for the building up of others. He even states that the authority the Lord gave him was for edification, not destruction. That single sentence should reshape how believers think about influence. If authority does not build, heal, correct, and strengthen, it has drifted from its divine purpose. Control masquerading as leadership always leaves damage in its wake. Paul refuses to operate that way, even when accused of weakness.

There is also something deeply countercultural in Paul’s refusal to compete. He does not measure his success by how loudly he speaks or how many follow him. He measures it by faithfulness within the sphere God assigned. This challenges the modern obsession with reach, scale, and recognition. Paul’s contentment with his God-given boundary is not resignation; it is maturity. He understands that faithfulness within limits produces fruit that ambition without limits never can.

Paul’s language about boasting is especially revealing. He does not condemn boasting outright. He redirects it. If boasting is going to occur, it must be anchored in the Lord’s work, not human accomplishment. This exposes a subtle danger in spiritual life: the temptation to spiritualize pride. It is possible to talk about God while quietly centering the self. Paul dismantles that tendency by grounding all confidence in what God is doing, not what the individual appears to be achieving.

Another weighty truth in this chapter is the relationship between obedience and clarity. Paul does not rush correction. He waits until obedience is complete. That patience reveals spiritual discernment. Correction delivered before alignment creates confusion. Authority exercised without integrity creates rebellion. Paul understands timing, and timing is often the difference between discipline that heals and discipline that harms.

This has implications far beyond church leadership. It applies to parenting, relationships, work environments, and personal growth. Authority that lacks internal submission becomes harsh. Conviction without humility becomes judgment. Passion without obedience becomes noise. Paul models a life where inner surrender precedes outer influence.

Second Corinthians ten also exposes how exhausting it is to live under the tyranny of perception. Paul knows what people are saying about him. He simply refuses to let it define him. That freedom is not emotional detachment; it is spiritual grounding. When approval is no longer the fuel, obedience becomes sustainable. Many believers burn out not because they lack faith, but because they are trying to carry expectations God never assigned them.

This chapter invites a different way of living. A way where thoughts are examined rather than indulged. Where comparisons are rejected rather than entertained. Where authority is exercised only when aligned with God’s purpose. Where confidence grows from obedience instead of recognition.

There is a quiet courage required to live this way. It means allowing misunderstanding without rushing to correct it. It means standing firm without performing strength. It means trusting that God sees what others misinterpret. Paul embodies that courage not through force, but through faithfulness.

Second Corinthians ten ultimately teaches that the most decisive battles are internal. Before strongholds are dismantled in communities, they must be confronted in minds. Before authority reshapes environments, it must first govern thoughts. Before obedience produces fruit, it must first submit pride.

This chapter does not flatter the ego. It refines the soul. It strips away false measures of success and replaces them with something far more demanding and far more freeing: obedience to Christ in thought, motive, and action.

If there is one lingering challenge this chapter leaves with the reader, it is this: stop trying to look powerful and start becoming obedient. The former exhausts. The latter transforms.

Second Corinthians ten reminds us that the most dangerous believer is not the loudest one, but the one whose thoughts are captive, whose obedience is complete, and whose confidence rests entirely in God’s approval.

That kind of believer does not need to prove anything. The fruit will speak. The strongholds will fall. And the quiet authority of obedience will do what noise never could.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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#Faith #ChristianLiving #BibleStudy #2Corinthians #SpiritualGrowth #Obedience #ChristianLeadership #RenewingTheMind #BiblicalTruth #WalkingByFaith__

I know how perspective works. And I’ve looked at a lot of architecture. But coloring, shading, and texture is something to work on.

It's 6 days before Christmas, and I feel sick; I feel mentally stuck. Every year, I dread Christmas; it feels like a constant battle to try and reach the impossible. Every year I say to myself, This is the last year I'm unorganised and yet we are here again. I don't get it, I'm trying everything to make my finances change, and yet they seem worse this year. I've been praying to god and ohhh how one magical day he came through. I thought ohh my gosh, this is it, I'm going to be fine for Christmas, my daughter is going to get what she wants and then 27 sales later... the excitement. £100 was then received from a stranger at church. I am so grateful for this and it helped me go see my daughter. I put all the money I had back into the business so I could generate more sales. Maybe I wasn't supposed to do that? Maybe I was just supposed to keep what I had earned, but nope, I went full out. I even have a website designed now. We always do this, we get so excited at seeing the results, and we go full steam ahead. I thought this was it, though I thought finally I could breathe, and then this year that I decided not to go back to work and finally believe in myself that everything would change, but I'm losing hope. I don't know what to do. My daughter is so excited about this phone she wants, and I can't bear to let her down anymore. I keep hearing not what she wants but what she needs. It keeps echoing in my mind, but I'm refusing to listen because I can't face her face with the look of mum has let me down again when all I want to do is give her the world. I feel so tired of trying to always do better, trying to always be better and yet still be where I am. I feel like I've been trying to chase a life that I know is mine, yet feels so far away. It's like I'm trying to tear a life back that could have been mine that now I believe should be mine, but I'm still here. Still in this bedroom of my mum's house at 33 years old with an 11-year-old daughter who lives 3 hours away, and all I want to do is make it back to her, but it just feels like the harder I try, the further away it feels. I've been dreaming, romanticising about a life I can really feel when I close my eyes and pretend. My daughter and I are dancing in the kitchen of a house I can fully provide for. Laughing, smiling, dancing as we do now, only we are in a safe place that I've created, a place that is lit up with candles and the smell of cinnamon and baked cookies... yes, baked cookies! There is music playing softly, and my daughter looks so happy, and my heart is so full just seeing her smile. All our basic needs are cared for, and I don't have to worry because that version of me is good with money, she takes care of it, and she knows how it works and the value of it and all the beautiful tools it can provide. God, I can't do another Christmas like this, it's too painful, my nervous system wants to rest, but my mind what letting me try to solve a problem I don't know how to solve. I hear just let go, just surrender, but what if... what if I leave it too long? I can't tell her on Christmas day, she would be devastated, I just can't do it to her. I remember her birthday. I struggled to gather the money to see her, but I managed to do it the day before, and I had no presents for her. She was so angry, but she didn't show it. She was tough, and we played, and we laughed, but weeks later, she showed me her pain through creation. She showed me how disappointed and hurt she was through this cute media thing where she talks over, and she expressed herself through that. It was the worst pain I've felt as a mother. To see your own daughter hurt because of you not being able to provide again. So here we are, 6 days before Christmas, and I've never felt so sad, but I still have this small amount of hope. This small amount of maybe it might work out, maybe I won't have to disappoint her again. Just maybe God will come through because I'm out of ideas.

Thoughts of today Just a woman trying too change

Mark Rushton Ambient Film Scenes – “Blurry Darkness”

Visit this playlist in DISCO: https://s.disco.ac/xpwxtdymdhxt (scroll down to Browse My Catalog)

Email: markrushton@gmail.com

Moods - dark, ominous, tension, haunting, brooding, uneasy, eerie, suspenseful, gritty, dystopian, apocalyptic, foreboding, shadowy, cold, icy, minimal

Emotional Undercurrents - lonely, isolated, unsettling calm, melancholic, mysterious, alien, otherworldly, emotional tension

Use-Cases - underscore, background score, scene bed, soundscape, atmospheres, drones, textures, tension bed, minimal tension, ambient bed, documentary underscore, reality TV underscore, investigative underscore, true crime underscore, sci-fi ambience, horror ambience, suspense underscore, moody background, cinematic ambience, ambient cue, transitional cue, open space, wide sonic landscape, slow burn tension

Production Scenarios - true crime, investigative, drama, prestige TV, introspective scenes, emotional processing, sci-fi, futuristic, dystopian, nature documentary, space documentary, scientific segment, tech segment, horror, thriller, reality TV, competition show, low-stakes tension

One thing I used to do is take photos. I was fair at it – one of my college photography teachers said that I had good “stock photo” eye. I think he was saying my style was too commercial or something. I don’t know; when I asked what he meant, he didn’t answer me straight. I took another photography class – photographic lighting – and that professor said that I had a good eye for color, but just needed to work a bit on composition. At least it was useful feedback!

You know these photos were taken a long time ago, because they were all taken in Portland, and I haven’t lived there in years. I’ll refrain from commenting on the images, except to say that I enjoyed taking them, and look forward to getting out and taking more.

Even if I don't post daily, I'm still making progress. I just focus more on the progress part and not on the documenting one. 😎It’s crazy how all this is coming together while I work full-time and manage family and renovating the basement. 🤯

On Day 18, the two main points on this day were a new home screen, which shows some nice little statistics, and the move to tanstack/query for a shared data layer. (Which I should have used directly from the start.)

The home screen is now showing a clean grid with 5 tiles that show summaries and top entries. The top entry tiles are clickable/tappable and trigger a search in the entry list, which feels good and in the correct place. The summary tiles are using a simple SVG chart, a bar chart to be precise.

👋

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76 of #100DaysToOffload
#log #AdventOfProgress
Thoughts?

Earlier this afternoon playing Black in a server-based correspondence chess game, I checkmated the White King with the Queen-Rook combination seen in the graphic above.

The full move record of this game follows: 1. e4 a6 2. Nc3 Nc6 3. d4 h6 4. Nf3 e6 5. d5 exd5 6. Nxd5 Nf6 7. Bc4 Nxd5 8. Qxd5 Qe7 9. O-O Nb4 10. Qd4 Nxc2 11. Bg5 hxg5 12. Rfe1 Nxd4 13. Nxd4 g4 14. Nf5 Qc5 15. Rac1 d5 16. Bxd5 g3 17. Nxg3 Qd4 18. Rcd1 Qxb2 19. Nf5 Bxf5 20. exf5+ Be7 21. Bxb7 Qxb7 22. Rd3 O-O 23. h3 Bb4 24. Red1 f6 25. Rg3 Rad8 26. Re1 Bxe1 27. Kf1 Ba5 28. Ke2 Rfe8+ 29. Re3 Rd2+ 30. Kf1 Rxe3 31. fxe3 Qb1# 0-1

And the adventure continues.

I woke up with the strange sensation that something had been misplaced. Not lost. Misplaced

Important difference.

It’s impressive how absence can occupy more space than presence.

almost admirable.

no matter.

I’m sure whatever it is will learn to function without me

Most things do

This is short. Not because there’s nothing else

, but because something isn’t here.

Sincerely,

etc.

A Santa sighting was confirmed at an East Bay Pre-K/Kindergarten school on December 10th, approximately 2:40 p.m. Witnesses saw Santa as he and a female helper elf left the school in a gray Mercedes Benz S350 after taking pictures with the students.

Assistant Principal, Shelly Stubert, made an official statement and said, “Santa is on a goodwill tour to meet, greet, and take pictures with our students. Nothing more.”

Parents were split about the meetup. Aliya B. said, “I think it’s great to have Santa visiting our schools despite his busy schedule.”

W.B. spoke out of anonymity for fear of backlash said, “Everyone knows Santa isn’t real. Why are we allowing some stranger in a Santa suit playing pretend to our kids?”

Santa and his helper declined an interview after being asked about his car, Mrs. Clause, and why they were working alone together.

#news #parody #santa

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: Sleigh the Season. Accra’s corporate Christmas fashion is all about balance, Surprises at a later age, Ghana not only grows cocoa in the north, but olives as well? Starch, carbohydrates, and Bella Afrik Italian restaurant

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Sleigh the Season. Accra’s corporate Christmas fashion is all about balance: A little sparkle, a little tradition, a little professionalism, and a whole lot of personality. The key is to dress like the promotion you’re manifesting — but with enough festive energy to shout, “Sister, we’ve survived the year. Let’s shine small!” Go forth and sleigh, corporate queen. This Christmas, the boardroom is your runway. Glitter… But Make It “Office Holiday Meeting at 10am” We’re in the season of shine, but this is corporate Christmas — not a nightclub in Osu. Acceptable sparkle levels include: Shiny brooches Metallic-thread blouses Subtle sequin trims Gold-button blazers If your outfit jingles when you walk, it’s a sign you’ve gone too far. Step back. Reassess. The Corporate Christmas Accessory Edit: Accessories? The real holiday spirit. Pearl earrings (soft girl energy) Gold hoops (controlled baddie vibes) Structured handbags that say “I sign important documents”. Festive nails in deep wine, cocoa, or emerald green. And the crown jewel? A flawless, harmattan-proof matte makeup look. Hydration is your co-pilot, darling. Shoes That Sleigh (Pun Very Intended): Harmattan dust is disrespectful — choose footwear accordingly. Block heels Square-toe pumps Festive-but-corporate mules Metallic low heels for Friday Christmas jams And for the love of Detty December, moisturize those ankles. Friday Is for Corporate Detty: Fridays in December? Say less. This is when the fun corporate Christmas outfits step out: Flowing satin co-ords. Ankara suits with personality Glimmering tops styled with tailored pants Flared midi dresses that swish with every step Meetings end early. The office party is loading. You’re already glowing. Surprises at a later age. Here's a sad one. She met her future Ghanaian husband in Ukraine where he studied, they married, and now have 3 kids, oldest is working, middle one is in university, youngest is 12 years old. They moved to the UK where he got a job with one of the big accounting firms. They bought a house with a mortgage. She got the UK nationality. He moved to Nigeria for the accounting firm. But was home at any occasion like Xmas and summer holidays. Then, last week, boom, out of nowhere a letter from his lawyers that he is seeking a divorce in the Ghana courts. No reasons given. She doesn't have money to spare on lawyers or tickets to Ghana. The house has not been fully paid for and is probably in his name. She's 53.

Ghana not only grows cocoa in the north, but olives as well?. Friend of mine is French and grows olives in his garden. The quantity is small and to make oil out of it he has to have a minimum quantity or the local olive oil presses won't take it. So he is looking at pressing the olives himself and was wondering if the olive kernel should be taken out first. AI then is your friend with all the answers. Yes, the kernel has to be taken out, and olives are a favourite snack in Ghana. In case you didn't know. Careful, AI sometimes just makes up stories, like children can do. Don't believe what you don't understand.

Starch, carbohydrates. That's our staples, rice, fufu, yam, acheke, kokonte, banku, kenkey, akple, waakye, gari, gob3, and plantain. Unfortunately that's not the best, but your budget may direct you there. All these things are turned into sugar, and that's exactly what cancer needs to grow. Moreover, an overdose of sugar eventually leads to diabetes. Also your intestines have problems with that much carbohydrates, it disturbs a healthy balance. About half of your food should be carbos, not the 80 % and more we are doing. Less carbos and more veggies please, and beans are also very good, though you may have to introduce that slowly, some people create a lot of wind afterwards. Veggies expensive? Yes, some of them, but others not.

Bella Afrik Italian restaurant Presidential Drive, near the Jubilee House/Liberation Road, Afrikiko compound, Accra. This place is very popular and we went after a heavy rain, knowing that less people will be out and we'd probably find a place to park and a free table. It's a nice place, good to impress a guest. Service is good. Unfortunately the food is a different matter, maybe we should have ordered pizza, I'll test that next time. The spaghetti carbonara came with cream, whilst boiled-in egg yolk is supposed to give the spaghetti the lubrication it needs to flow. This is a very common cooking laziness, and typically that's what I order when I come to an Italian restaurant that I do not know. Cream in the spaghetti carbonara? Good bye. On top of that the bacon was burnt rather than soft fried with onions and garlic and then cooked in dry white wine, which gives it much of the flavour. And one does not use bacon but guanciale, spek from the pigs 's cheek, but that is difficult to get here so can be forgiven, but then the bacon should be from a young pig. My friend had a chicken alfredo, which again came with a lot of cream and half cooked mushrooms, and the chicken was dry. We also had beef carpaccio which was tasteless. No, popular place, but not for me. By the way, careful with the prices which are almost hidden on the menu, and make sure you bring money.

Lydia...

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It’s tough for us horror weirdos when Halloween ends and we start getting bombarded with treacly Christmas entertainment. Fortunately, there’s always some weirdo who puts out a nasty Christmas horror movie, and may Satan bless them for their efforts.

On a recent episode of the Tomb of Terrors podcast, host Old Man Brad extolled the virtues of the new Silent Night, Deadly Night. I had never seen the original, so I decided to correct that before seeing the new one.

The only thing I really knew about the original was that Siskel & Ebert absolutely lost their minds about it when it came out. (yes, I was watching Siskel & Ebert in 10th grade. Wasn’t everybody?) I mean, they hated slashers in general, but they seemed profoundly offended by this one, clutching their pearls about THE CHILDREN and how evil it was to have a killer in a Santa suit. (Had they seen Christmas Evil in 1980?).

Now look—there are certainly slashers that are soulless exploitation films, but this isn’t one of them. This is a movie that makes a strong case that trauma and abuse make monsters. It’s pretty clear that if Billy had been treated with compassion and understanding rather than abuse, he probably wouldn’t have snapped and started killing everybody. (Great kills in this movie, by the way, and the gore is there, but pretty tame even by 80’s standards).

Anyway, great atmosphere, psychological realism, and great kills. What else do you want from a slasher movie? (SPOILER: for the evil mother superior to get the axe, but I guess you can’t have everything.)

Went to the movies to see the new one, and it is an utter delight. There’s no need to see the original to appreciate the new one, by the way. There are some homages to the original in this new one, but it in no way depends on any knowledge of the original.

When I saw the recent Nosferatu, I complained that there seemed to be no point in this new version becuase there wasn’t any new vision for the story or the characters. Well, director/writer Mike P. Nelson definitely has a different vision for his Silent Night, Deadly Night. He plays up the comic elements without ever making it a full-on comedy, and he introduces a supernatural element absent from the original which changes the whole thing thematically. Oh yeah, and also a love story that feels credible, which you almost never see in a slasher movie (It’s a Wonderful Knife is the only other one I can think of).

And, once again, there’s gore, but it’s not a splatterfest by any means. The story is extremely clever, and the fact that I saw the final twist coming did not make it any less satisfying. Oh yeah, and it features an incredibly satisfying sequence in which a whole lotta Nazis are killed. It’s not quite at the level of The Bride vs The Crazy 88 from Kill Bill 1, but much, much more satifying. Anyway, this is an absolutely delightful movie that rocketed right into my top 4 Christmas Horror movies. (Along with Black Christmas, It’s a Wonderful Knife, and Christmas Evil, all of which you should also see.)

This week's goals were:

1. Finish audio production and get most of the visual elements done for the super-secret project
2. Create audiobook account and finish production on audiobook for Death In Transit

Unfortunately, I didn't complete either. The super-secret project is still manageable but I may have to scale down some elements. There's two things impacting the audio production. The first part is that I can't produce the audio on my main computer because Audacity is having constant issues. The second part is personal stuff I couldn't have anticipated. Nothing truly bad, just a hectic week at the Barret household.

I've managed to squeeze a little writing time in this week and that makes me feel like a writer again. 😹

Next week's goals

Big thing is the super-secret project.

#ProgressUpdate

JOURNAL 19 décembre

En direct du kotatsu : Ma princesse termine un rapport. Théoriquement elle est déjà en vacances, mais c’est pas comme ça que ça se passe au Japon. 😓 On a acheté nos billets, normalement on part dimanche tôt mais toujours pas d'autorisation. Ils la feront chier jusque au dernier jour décidément. Elle est de plus en plus belle ma chérie je me fatigue pas de la regarder elle a mis ses lunettes elle a l'air sérieux belle et sérieuse oh je l'aime Je peux pas imaginer ma vie sans elle I prefer not to On se fait des bisous de loin ( on est face à face) c'est mimi. J'ai hâte d'aller me coucher. On dort pas assez puis j'ai froid.

I was going to post this to my blog (here), but I couldn’t remember the password so I’m going to post it here (Facebook). I didn’t want to post it here (on Facebook). But now I’m afraid if I don’t post it somewhere I’ll lose it forever. (After I woke up this morning, I was able to get to my laptop and delete it from Facebook and post it here to my blog.)

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Dear Lord, I turn the page by falling asleep to this day.

Period.

This day is almost behind me as I lay in bed.

Period.

Thinking about my MRI tomorrow. Thinking about what it may or may not hold, discover, expound upon, scratch out.

Forgetful?

Yes, I'm forgetful. My old best friend who is not my best friend anymore because I'm a Christian, Rich, would say, “Don't worry about dementia. You've always been absent-minded.”

And I am forgetting things, but when I get behind the pulpit, I remember things, and I can feel God's grace.

I've heard so many preachers talk about having the flu, having a temperature, using a cane, and when they get behind the pulpit, they don't need the cane. They don't feel the fever. They don't have the flu. But when they walk away from the pulpit, it comes back because the anointing wasn't for them. It was for you.

And so as I write this, I pray that my anointing is never for me, but any gift that I have from the Great One above is always for you, because I love you like you'll never know.