In Summary: * Listening now to the pregame show ahead of tonight's Pacers / Bucks NBA game which is almost ready to start. When the game ends, I'll finish my night prayers then head to bed.

Prayers, etc.: *I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night. Details of that regimen are linked to my link tree, which is linked to my profile page here.

Health Metrics: * bw= 226.86 lbs. * bp= 148/88 (68)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups

Diet: * 06:10 – 2 cookies, 1 banana * 07:30 – 1 peanut butter sandwich * 11:00 – 2 more cookies * 12:30 – bowl of lugau, 3 boiled eggs, liver and onions * 14:30 – 2 more cookies * 17:00 – ½ banana * 17:40 – 1 fresh apple * 19:40 – 2 more cookies

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:30 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:25 – bank accounts activity monitored * 05:40 – read, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials * 11:30 – listen to Dan Bongino Show Podcast * 12:30 – watch old game shows and eat lunch at home with Sylvia * 14:30 – pray, follow news reports from various sources * 15:50 – listening now to The Jack Riccardi Show * 17:00 – listening to The Joe Pags Show * 18:00 – tuned into Indianapolis Sports Radio, hoping to catch some pregame coverage before tonight's Pacers / Bucks game

Chess: * 15:40 – moved in all pending CC games

There are chapters in Scripture that comfort us, and then there are chapters that confront us. Luke 4 does both. It does not whisper gentle reassurances at first. It does not open with applause. It opens with hunger. It opens with isolation. It opens with the Son of God being led into a wilderness by the Spirit of God for the purpose of being tested by the adversary of God. If we misunderstand that beginning, we misunderstand everything that follows.

Most people want the miracles of Luke 4. Few want the wilderness of Luke 4. Yet the wilderness is the foundation for everything else in the chapter. Authority is forged before it is displayed. Strength is refined before it is revealed. And in Luke 4, we are shown something that reshapes how we interpret our own seasons of difficulty.

“And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost returned from Jordan, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, being forty days tempted of the devil.” That is how it begins. Notice the order carefully. He was full means the wilderness was not evidence of spiritual weakness. He was led by the Spirit means the wilderness was not outside of God’s will. He was tempted means holiness does not eliminate opposition. It invites it.

That line alone corrects so much confusion. Many believers interpret hardship as proof that something is wrong. Luke 4 tells us the opposite. Sometimes the Spirit leads you into the wilderness not to punish you, but to prepare you. Sometimes the absence of comfort is the evidence of divine orchestration.

The wilderness in Luke 4 is not simply geographical. It is symbolic. It echoes Israel’s forty years. It echoes Moses’ forty days. It echoes Elijah’s forty-day journey. The number is not random. The pattern is intentional. Before public ministry, there is private testing. Before proclamation, there is purification. Before victory in public, there is resistance in solitude.

And the temptations themselves are not random either. They are strategic. They are layered. They go to the core of identity and purpose. “If thou be the Son of God…” That phrase is repeated. The enemy is not merely attacking appetite; he is attacking identity. If thou be. It is the same whisper that has echoed through human history. If you are who God says you are, prove it. If you are called, demonstrate it. If you are chosen, justify it.

But the Son of God does not argue identity. He anchors Himself in Scripture. Each time the temptation is presented, the response begins with the same foundation: “It is written.” Not emotion. Not ego. Not theatrical display. Scripture.

This matters deeply. In a generation intoxicated with opinions, Jesus responds with revelation. In a moment of hunger, He quotes Deuteronomy. In a moment of promised power, He quotes Deuteronomy. In a moment of religious manipulation, He quotes Deuteronomy. The Word was not decorative for Him; it was decisive.

When the enemy suggests turning stones into bread, it is not merely about food. It is about using divine power to satisfy personal craving outside the Father’s will. “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word of God.” Hunger did not dictate obedience. The Word did.

When offered the kingdoms of the world, the temptation is acceleration. Avoid the cross. Take the crown early. Bypass suffering. Worship once, rule now. But “Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.” Authority without obedience is corruption. Power without submission is destruction.

When placed on the pinnacle of the temple and urged to cast Himself down, it is a temptation to force God’s hand. To create spectacle. To manipulate divine protection into public affirmation. “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” Faith is trust, not testing.

The pattern is profound. Appetite. Ambition. Approval. Those are the same three arenas that undo countless lives. Yet Jesus withstands all three. Not because He is immune to temptation, but because He is anchored in truth.

“And when the devil had ended all the temptation, he departed from him for a season.” For a season. The conflict pauses, but it does not vanish. Spiritual warfare is not a single battle; it is an ongoing reality. Yet the wilderness did not diminish Christ. It strengthened Him.

“And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee.” That line is everything. He entered the wilderness full. He exited the wilderness in power. The testing did not drain Him. It deepened Him.

This is where many believers misinterpret their own journey. They assume that hardship reduces authority. Luke 4 shows the opposite. The wilderness is where authority is clarified. The wilderness is where dependence is solidified. The wilderness is where identity is secured.

And then the scene shifts.

Jesus enters Nazareth, where He had been brought up. He goes into the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as His custom was. That detail matters. As His custom was. Even after wilderness confrontation, He maintained disciplined worship. Spiritual victory did not lead to spiritual independence. It led to continued faithfulness.

He stands to read. The scroll of Isaiah is handed to Him. And He reads words that would ignite both hope and hostility: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord.”

Then He closes the book. Sits down. And says, “This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears.”

The audacity of that moment cannot be overstated. He is not merely reading prophecy. He is declaring fulfillment. He is not simply teaching. He is identifying Himself as the Anointed One.

At first, the response is wonder. They marvel at His gracious words. But wonder quickly shifts to suspicion. “Is not this Joseph’s son?” Familiarity breeds doubt. They reduce Him to childhood memory. They compress divinity into domestic biography.

This is the tragedy of Nazareth. They knew Him too well to believe in Him fully. The same town that watched Him grow could not recognize the glory that had always been present.

And then He speaks words that pierce. He references Elijah sent to a widow in Zarephath, not to Israel. He references Elisha cleansing Naaman the Syrian, not the lepers of Israel. He exposes the narrowness of their expectation. He suggests that God’s mercy extends beyond their cultural boundaries.

That is when admiration becomes anger.

“And all they in the synagogue, when they heard these things, were filled with wrath.” The shift is immediate. The same mouth that praised Him now plots against Him. They rise. They thrust Him out of the city. They lead Him to the brow of a hill to cast Him down headlong.

It is a violent reaction to a prophetic truth. Grace is celebrated until it confronts pride. Messiah is welcomed until He challenges exclusivity.

And then something astonishing happens. “But he passing through the midst of them went his way.” No explanation. No recorded struggle. No dramatic description. He simply passes through.

Authority again. Quiet, sovereign, unshaken.

The wilderness did not weaken Him. Rejection did not rattle Him. Threat did not redirect Him. He continued His mission.

Then He goes to Capernaum and teaches with authority. The people are astonished because His word carries weight. Not volume. Not theatrics. Weight.

A man with an unclean spirit cries out, recognizing Him as the Holy One of God. The spiritual realm recognizes what Nazareth rejected. Jesus rebukes the spirit, and it comes out. No ritual incantation. No drawn-out ceremony. Authority.

“And they were all amazed, and spake among themselves, saying, What a word is this! for with authority and power he commandeth the unclean spirits, and they come out.”

What a word is this.

That question echoes still. What kind of word commands darkness and it obeys? What kind of authority silences chaos without strain? Luke 4 is not just biography. It is revelation.

He heals Simon’s wife’s mother of a fever. He lays His hands on the sick. He rebukes diseases. He commands demons not to speak because they know He is Christ. The kingdom is breaking in.

And yet, after miracles, after crowds gather, after fame begins to spread, He withdraws. He departs into a solitary place. The people seek Him. They try to keep Him from leaving. But He says something critical: “I must preach the kingdom of God to other cities also: for therefore am I sent.”

Mission governs movement. Popularity does not determine purpose. Crowds do not define calling. He refuses to be localized by demand. He continues preaching in the synagogues of Galilee.

Luke 4 is not merely about miracles. It is about mission. It is not merely about authority. It is about obedience. It is not merely about power. It is about purpose.

And here is the spine that runs through the entire chapter: Authority flows from alignment. Power flows from submission. Victory flows from obedience.

The wilderness proved it. Nazareth revealed it. Capernaum displayed it.

We often want the display without the discipline. The recognition without the rejection. The miracles without the mission. Luke 4 does not allow that distortion.

It shows us that divine calling will be tested before it is trusted. That identity must be anchored before it is announced. That rejection will not cancel assignment. That authority is quiet, not frantic. That Scripture is weapon and shield. That obedience precedes impact.

And perhaps most importantly, it shows us that the Spirit who leads into the wilderness is the same Spirit who empowers the ministry. The testing and the triumph are not enemies. They are stages of the same journey.

If you are in a wilderness season, Luke 4 is not condemning you. It is preparing you. If you have faced rejection, Luke 4 is not discouraging you. It is clarifying you. If you feel called but unrecognized, Luke 4 is not minimizing you. It is strengthening you.

The Son of God did not skip the wilderness. He walked through it. He did not avoid rejection. He endured it. He did not chase crowds. He pursued mission.

There is a line that lingers in my heart when I read this chapter: He entered full. He exited in power.

That is the blueprint.

The question Luke 4 quietly asks every reader is this: Are you willing to be formed in private so you can stand in public? Are you willing to anchor in Scripture so you can withstand temptation? Are you willing to accept rejection without abandoning mission?

Because the wilderness is not the end. It is the beginning.

And what follows in Luke’s Gospel is built on what was forged in Luke 4.

This chapter is not just history. It is instruction. It is not just revelation. It is invitation.

The Spirit still leads. The Word still anchors. The mission still matters.

And the wilderness is still where authority is born.

There is something else in Luke 4 that we cannot afford to miss, and it is quieter than the miracles and sharper than the temptations. It is the discipline of focus. After the wilderness, after Nazareth tries to kill Him, after Capernaum marvels at His authority, Jesus does not drift. He does not adjust His message to please. He does not harden His tone in retaliation. He continues.

Continuity is a mark of calling. Emotional reaction is not.

When He stands in Nazareth and reads Isaiah, He is not improvising. He is declaring mission. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me.” That is identity. “He hath anointed me.” That is authority. “To preach the gospel to the poor… to heal the brokenhearted… to preach deliverance… recovering of sight… liberty to the bruised.” That is direction.

Everything in Luke 4 flows from that declaration. The wilderness proves the integrity of the One who declares it. The synagogue reveals the resistance to it. Capernaum demonstrates the manifestation of it. But the mission remains constant.

One of the greatest dangers in modern faith culture is mission drift. We begin with clarity and end with compromise. We start with calling and end with crowd management. Luke 4 gives us a Messiah who refuses to let reaction dictate direction.

Notice something subtle. When the people of Nazareth question Him, He anticipates their demand: “Physician, heal thyself.” In other words, prove it here. Do for us what we heard you did elsewhere. Perform on command. Demonstrate on demand. Validate your identity through spectacle.

But Jesus does not perform to earn belief. He teaches truth to expose hearts.

There is a difference between miracles that build faith and miracles that cater to pride. In Nazareth, the issue was not a lack of evidence. It was a lack of humility. And humility cannot be forced by display.

The anger that erupts is not really about theology. It is about control. They wanted a Messiah who served their narrative. Instead, they encountered a Messiah who confronted it.

That confrontation still happens. We often want a Savior who affirms our boundaries rather than expands them. A Savior who strengthens our tribe rather than challenges our prejudice. But Luke 4 reveals a Christ whose mission extends beyond comfort zones.

When He references Elijah and Elisha blessing Gentiles, He is not merely citing history. He is revealing heart. God’s mercy has always been wider than human nationalism. Grace has always exceeded cultural containment.

That truth still offends pride. It still exposes insecurity. It still challenges ownership. And whenever grace threatens entitlement, resistance rises.

The attempt to throw Him off the cliff is not just physical aggression. It is symbolic rejection. They would rather eliminate the message than examine themselves.

And yet, He passes through them.

That moment deserves meditation. He passes through. No retaliation. No dramatic lightning. No speech of condemnation. Just quiet authority. It is as if rejection cannot hold Him because assignment outruns hostility.

If you are called, rejection may surround you, but it cannot ultimately restrain you.

This is not motivational exaggeration. It is biblical pattern. Luke 4 shows that divine mission is not subject to human volatility. The crowd that praises can become the crowd that pushes. But the call remains.

Then Capernaum. The tone shifts from attempted murder to astonished amazement. The text says they were astonished at His doctrine, for His word was with power.

Doctrine and power are not opposites. In Christ, they are united. His teaching carried authority because it was aligned with heaven. There was no insecurity in His delivery because there was no ambiguity in His identity.

Authority is not loud. It is clear.

When the man with the unclean spirit cries out, “I know thee who thou art; the Holy One of God,” it is striking that the demonic realm recognizes what the hometown refused. Spiritual perception does not always align with social familiarity.

Jesus rebukes the spirit and commands silence. This is important. He does not allow darkness to testify on His behalf. Truth does not need endorsement from distortion.

When the spirit throws the man down and comes out without harming him, the crowd asks, “What a word is this!” Not what a spectacle. Not what a ritual. What a word.

Everything in Luke 4 circles back to the Word.

In the wilderness, the Word defeated temptation. In Nazareth, the Word fulfilled prophecy. In Capernaum, the Word expelled demons. When healing Simon’s mother-in-law, He rebuked the fever. When healing the sick, He laid His hands. When silencing demons, He commanded them not to speak.

Word. Authority. Alignment.

There is a distilled truth here that reshapes how we pursue influence: True authority does not require theatrics. It requires alignment.

Jesus did not manufacture atmosphere. He carried presence.

After the healing wave and the exorcisms, the crowds begin to gather intensely. Fame is forming. Momentum is building. It would be easy to capitalize on it. To settle. To expand locally. To plant roots where applause is loudest.

But Luke 4 records something profoundly instructive. “And when it was day, he departed and went into a desert place.” After impact, He withdrew. After visibility, He sought solitude.

Solitude is not weakness. It is recalibration.

If you read Luke 4 carefully, you see a rhythm. Wilderness solitude before ministry. Public declaration. Private withdrawal. Public teaching. Private retreat.

Authority is sustained by intimacy.

The people seek Him and try to keep Him from leaving. That line is fascinating. They want exclusivity. They want to own access. They want to contain the blessing.

But He says, “I must preach the kingdom of God to other cities also: for therefore am I sent.” That sentence is a masterclass in purpose clarity.

I must. Not I prefer. Not I feel like. I must.

Purpose governs movement.

He does not allow need to override mission. He does not allow success to shrink scope. He does not allow popularity to redefine calling.

This is where Luke 4 becomes deeply personal for anyone who senses divine assignment. There will always be voices saying stay. There will always be environments that feel comfortable. There will always be applause that tempts you to localize your impact.

But calling is rarely convenient.

Jesus understood that His mission was not to create a regional sensation. It was to proclaim the kingdom. And the kingdom is not confined to one city.

This is the blueprint of spiritual endurance. The wilderness forged obedience. The rejection tested resolve. The miracles demonstrated authority. The withdrawal preserved intimacy. The departure protected mission.

Every movement in Luke 4 is intentional.

Let’s step back and look at the spine again. The chapter begins with the Spirit leading into testing and ends with the Son preaching in synagogues throughout Galilee. It begins in isolation and ends in expansion. It begins with hunger and ends with proclamation.

Transformation happens between those bookends.

There is a quiet line in the wilderness account that deserves deeper attention: “And in those days he did eat nothing: and when they were ended, he afterward hungered.” The humanity of Christ is not minimized in Luke 4. He hungered. He felt the weight of physical deprivation. He experienced real vulnerability.

Yet the hunger did not dictate His response.

We live in a culture that worships appetite. If we feel it, we validate it. If we crave it, we justify it. Luke 4 confronts that reflex. Hunger is real, but it is not sovereign.

Man shall not live by bread alone.

That is not anti-physicality. It is pro-priority. It is a declaration that sustenance of the soul outranks satisfaction of the body.

The temptation to turn stones into bread was logical. He had the power. He had the hunger. But the Father had not instructed it.

Obedience sometimes looks illogical to observers.

Then the kingdoms of the world. The devil shows them in a moment of time. All this power will I give thee, for that is delivered unto me; and to whomsoever I will I give it.

There is a counterfeit glory in that offer. A shortcut crown. Authority without crucifixion.

The cross was coming. The kingdoms would ultimately be His. But not through compromise.

We face that temptation in smaller forms constantly. Accelerate the process. Skip the refining. Bypass integrity. Worship something smaller now to gain something bigger quickly.

Luke 4 reveals that speed is not the measure of success. Alignment is.

And then the temple pinnacle. The enemy quotes Scripture. That detail is chilling. The adversary is not ignorant of the Word. He weaponizes fragments of it.

Psalm 91 is cited out of context. Protection promised, but misapplied. The devil says, in essence, If you trust God, prove it publicly.

This is where many believers stumble. They equate faith with forcing outcomes. But Jesus replies, “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.” Faith is not reckless exhibition. It is obedient trust.

This chapter, if read slowly, becomes a diagnostic tool. Where are you most tempted? Appetite? Ambition? Approval? Shortcut? Spectacle?

And how anchored are you in “It is written”?

The Word was not optional for Jesus in the wilderness. It was oxygen.

And then consider this: the Spirit who led Him into the wilderness did not remove the devil from the wilderness. The presence of the Spirit does not eliminate conflict. It strengthens response.

Many believers are confused when spiritual attack coincides with spiritual calling. Luke 4 normalizes that overlap.

You can be full of the Spirit and still be tempted.

You can be obedient and still be opposed.

You can be called and still be misunderstood.

Luke 4 refuses to let us romanticize ministry.

When Jesus declares, “This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears,” it is both invitation and disruption. Fulfillment always disrupts expectation.

Nazareth wanted a hometown hero. They received a prophetic Messiah. Capernaum wanted teaching. They received authority. The sick wanted healing. They received rebuke and restoration.

And yet through every reaction, He remains steady.

There is no record of panic. No defensive speeches. No insecurity.

Stability is a fruit of identity.

When you know who you are, you do not overreact to misunderstanding.

Luke 4 is deeply psychological in that sense. It exposes the root of volatility. Identity anchored in the Father produces calm authority. Identity rooted in applause produces instability.

Jesus did not chase validation from Nazareth after rejection. He did not linger to prove Himself. He did not circle back to win them over.

He moved forward.

That movement matters. Some doors close violently. Some environments turn hostile. Luke 4 shows us that not every closed door needs to be reopened. Some are simply redirections.

The Spirit led Him into the wilderness. The rejection led Him into Capernaum. The crowds tried to anchor Him. The mission sent Him outward.

Guidance is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is simply the next obedient step.

As we continue through Luke’s Gospel beyond chapter 4, everything rests on what is established here. The authority over storms. The calling of disciples. The raising of the dead. The transfiguration. The journey to Jerusalem. The cross. The resurrection.

But none of it makes sense without Luke 4.

This chapter establishes the pattern: Tested, anchored, declared, rejected, empowered, withdrawn, sent.

If we remove the wilderness, we cheapen the authority. If we ignore the rejection, we distort the mission. If we isolate the miracles, we misunderstand the message.

Luke 4 is the hinge.

And here is a line that distills the entire movement of the chapter: Authority is not seized. It is secured through obedience.

The Son did not grasp. He submitted.

The Son did not perform. He proclaimed.

The Son did not retaliate. He remained.

The Son did not settle. He continued.

And that pattern is not just Christological; it is instructional.

When you read Luke 4, do not only admire Jesus. Examine yourself. Where is your wilderness? What is your “It is written”? What rejection are you facing? What mission must you continue?

Because the wilderness is not the place where calling dies. It is the place where it is defined.

And rejection is not the place where purpose ends. It is the place where it is clarified.

And authority is not proven by applause. It is revealed by obedience.

Luke 4 is not a chapter about beginning ministry. It is a chapter about establishing foundation.

The Spirit still leads.

The Word still anchors.

The mission still sends.

And the wilderness still forms.

If Luke 4 ended with miracles, it would already be powerful. But it does not end with spectacle. It ends with movement. It ends with preaching. It ends with continuation. And that detail seals the blueprint.

After the healing, after the astonishment, after the fame begins to ripple outward, Jesus says, “I must preach the kingdom of God to other cities also: for therefore am I sent.” That sentence is the quiet thunder of the chapter.

For therefore am I sent.

Everything before that line explains it. The wilderness clarified it. The rejection refined it. The authority confirmed it. The solitude protected it. The crowds tested it. But the sending defined it.

Luke 4 is not ultimately about temptation or rejection or healing. It is about mission rooted in identity and sustained by obedience.

And that matters for you and for me far more than we sometimes realize.

We tend to read Scripture as spectators. We analyze events. We admire resilience. We highlight miracles. But Luke 4 does not allow passive observation. It confronts us with a pattern. It invites us into reflection. It quietly asks, What are you being formed for?

There is a reason the Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness before He publicly declares Isaiah’s prophecy fulfilled. Identity must be settled before it is proclaimed. If He had not anchored Himself in the Word in private, public pressure would have distorted the mission.

You cannot declare fulfillment if you are uncertain of calling.

And yet, when He does declare it, the reaction is split. Wonder. Suspicion. Rage. Violence. Escape. Authority. Amazement. Following. Demand.

That sequence mirrors real life more than we often admit.

When you begin walking in clarity, not everyone responds the same way. Some marvel. Some question. Some resist. Some attempt to shut you down. Some follow. Some attempt to confine you. And through it all, you must remain governed by the original assignment.

Luke 4 shows a Savior who is emotionally steady because He is spiritually anchored.

When Nazareth erupts in anger and attempts to throw Him off a cliff, He does not retaliate. He does not defend Himself. He does not try to re-explain the prophecy in softer language. He passes through the midst of them and goes His way.

There is a quiet sovereignty in that movement.

Rejection did not redefine Him.

That sentence alone could reframe many wounded narratives. So often we allow rejection to rewrite identity. We allow criticism to erode clarity. We allow hostility to distort calling.

Luke 4 shows the opposite. When rejection rises, assignment remains.

And then, in Capernaum, when astonishment replaces hostility, He does not inflate. He does not linger to maximize applause. He heals, He teaches, He withdraws.

The rhythm is steady.

There is a hidden lesson here that speaks to our time. We live in an era of constant visibility. Every reaction is amplified. Every comment is permanent. Every affirmation is addictive. But Luke 4 reveals a Messiah who refuses to be governed by reaction cycles.

After casting out demons and healing multitudes, He withdraws into a desert place. That withdrawal is not exhaustion alone; it is intentional recalibration. The desert that once tested Him now becomes a place of retreat.

What once was a battleground becomes a sanctuary.

The wilderness is not only where you are tempted. It is where you are strengthened. It is where you remember who you are apart from the noise.

Authority that is not refreshed in solitude eventually corrodes under applause.

Then the people seek Him and attempt to prevent His departure. “And the people sought him, and came unto him, and stayed him, that he should not depart from them.” That line is so human. When something blesses us, we want to keep it local. When something heals us, we want exclusive access.

But calling does not belong to one crowd.

He says, “I must preach… to other cities also.” Not because Capernaum was unworthy. Not because the need was met. But because the mission was broader.

Luke 4 is expanding the horizon of the reader. The kingdom is not confined to one town. The gospel is not a private possession. The anointing is not a regional commodity.

It is for other cities also.

That phrase echoes beyond geography. It speaks to influence. It speaks to obedience that is not content with comfort. It speaks to faith that refuses stagnation.

We often pray for impact, but resist expansion. We ask for doors, but fear leaving familiar spaces. Luke 4 shows us that movement is part of calling.

The wilderness led to Nazareth. Nazareth led to Capernaum. Capernaum led to Galilee.

Step by step. Obedience by obedience.

And woven through all of it is Scripture. “It is written.” “This day is this scripture fulfilled.” “Thou shalt worship.” “Thou shalt not tempt.”

The Word is not merely quoted; it is embodied.

This is crucial. Authority in Luke 4 does not originate from charisma. It originates from alignment with the Father’s will as revealed in Scripture.

That alignment produces calm under pressure. It produces clarity under scrutiny. It produces compassion under demand.

Even when healing, Jesus does not sensationalize. He rebukes a fever. He lays hands quietly. He silences demons. There is no theatrical exaggeration. Power is present, but it is restrained.

Restraint is a mark of authority.

The temptation in the wilderness to jump from the temple pinnacle was essentially a temptation to weaponize spectacle. To force public recognition. To demonstrate invulnerability.

He refused.

Luke 4 teaches that spectacle is not the proof of divinity. Obedience is.

In our culture, dramatic display is often equated with legitimacy. But Scripture reverses that. The Son of God proves His identity not by dramatic leaps, but by disciplined submission.

That is why the wilderness matters so much. It strips away shortcuts. It dismantles ego. It exposes appetite. It reveals whether obedience is conditional.

And when obedience survives hunger, power can be entrusted.

There is a sentence that has followed me through this chapter and refuses to loosen its grip: He entered full of the Spirit, and returned in the power of the Spirit.

Full. Power.

Full speaks of presence. Power speaks of manifestation.

The Spirit filled Him before the wilderness. The Spirit empowered Him after the wilderness. The Spirit did not abandon Him in the testing. The Spirit did not leave Him in the rejection. The Spirit did not fade in the applause.

Consistency of presence precedes consistency of power.

If you are walking through a wilderness season, Luke 4 is not a warning that you are abandoned. It is a reminder that you may be being strengthened. If you are facing misunderstanding, Luke 4 is not a sign that you have missed God. It may be evidence that you are confronting expectation.

If you are seeing fruit and feeling pressure to stay confined to what is comfortable, Luke 4 whispers, “other cities also.”

Mission rarely feels convenient. It feels necessary.

And here is the distilled truth that rises from the entire chapter: The wilderness shapes what the world will later see.

Luke 4 is not flashy theology. It is foundational theology. It teaches us that spiritual authority is not self-generated. It is Spirit-formed. It teaches us that identity must be secured before influence expands. It teaches us that Scripture is not ornamental; it is essential.

It teaches us that rejection is not the final word. That temptation is not proof of failure. That obedience in private fuels impact in public.

It teaches us that crowds do not define calling. That applause does not equal assignment. That solitude is not weakness.

It teaches us that mission outruns popularity.

And perhaps most importantly, it teaches us that Jesus did not begin His ministry by demanding recognition. He began it by resisting compromise.

That resistance is the unseen victory that makes the visible miracles possible.

If stones had been turned to bread outside the Father’s will, the foundation would have cracked. If kingdoms had been seized through worship of darkness, the cross would have been corrupted. If the temple leap had forced divine intervention, obedience would have been replaced by spectacle.

But He refused all three.

He chose hunger over compromise. He chose the cross over shortcut. He chose trust over display.

And because of that, He could stand in Nazareth and declare fulfillment without insecurity. He could stand in Capernaum and command demons without strain. He could withdraw without fear of losing influence. He could move on without regret.

Luke 4 is the architecture of spiritual maturity.

The chapter does not ask whether you admire Jesus. It asks whether you will follow His pattern.

Will you anchor in Scripture when appetite speaks? Will you worship God alone when ambition whispers? Will you trust quietly when approval tempts?

Will you declare calling even when familiarity reduces you? Will you continue mission even when rejection wounds? Will you withdraw for intimacy even when crowds gather?

Luke 4 is not ancient narrative detached from our lives. It is living instruction.

The Spirit still leads.

The wilderness still tests.

The Word still anchors.

Rejection still happens.

Authority still flows from obedience.

And the mission still calls us to other cities.

If you are standing at the beginning of something knowing it feels bigger than you, Luke 4 reminds you that the beginning may look like hunger before it looks like healing. If you are questioning why obedience has led to opposition, Luke 4 shows that testing often precedes trust. If you are wrestling with the desire to force outcomes, Luke 4 whispers, “Thou shalt not tempt.”

And if you are tempted to settle where you are comfortable, Luke 4 says, “I must… for therefore am I sent.”

This chapter is not about dramatic gestures. It is about disciplined faithfulness.

It is about the quiet strength of a Savior who refused shortcuts.

It is about the steady obedience that carries power without arrogance.

It is about the Spirit’s guidance that does not always lead to ease, but always leads to purpose.

Luke 4 is the blueprint.

It is the wilderness before the wonder.

It is the rejection before the revelation.

It is the obedience before the authority.

And it is the sending that refuses confinement.

May we not rush past it in pursuit of the miracles that follow.

May we allow it to shape us.

May we learn to say “It is written” when temptation speaks.

May we learn to stand steady when familiarity doubts us.

May we learn to withdraw when applause grows loud.

May we learn to move when mission calls.

Because the wilderness is not where calling dies.

It is where it is defined.

And the power that follows is not manufactured.

It is entrusted.

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

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Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

#Luke4 #BibleStudy #ChristianFaith #FaithJourney #SpiritualAuthority #KingJamesBible #ChristianEncouragement #GospelTruth #ChristianLeadership #BiblicalTeaching

I like the ”Britney Jean” album , even though I think ”Work Bitch” is the weakest track, it’s just selling a bad dream; I didn’t even know what a mazerati was — it’s just some car, you know?

Like I know several people busting their backs, working their asses off helping people live and die with dignity, earning next to nothing?

Of others trucking day and night with bad knees on this ice, far away from loved ones, peeing in bottles and then falling off that tail lift severely injuring themselves but only after the shift is over do they bloat from internal bleedings and nearly die?

The game is rigged.

In the ”Perfume” (I like it more of course I do) track I think it’s clever that she wants the other woman to smell her perfume, you know?

It’s the exact same theme in ”dark lady” by Cher , have you thought about this?

Britney could’ve been the Dark lady herself working her black magic with this perfume trick.

So now when my mind is freer from anxiety I have space in there to think such profound thoughts

I feel I’m getting my mojo back!

At work I amuse myself by writing bad English sentences. It’s just something I find to be a little bit funny, but under the surface lies a lesson learned (from first law trilogy) to make them underestimate you, and then when you flash bright like a lightning bolt, it’ll dazzle and blind them.

When you shine bright like a diamond

Hey when I was in Barcelona my sister (in law, the other one is dead to me) sent me the Diamond track from Rihanna and I just love the theme and song and I don’t care that diamonds don’t actually shine, because neither does the moon.

I just hope this feeling won’t subside

But of course it will

I’m glad Kanye west is (also) feeling better now

There are moments in a man’s life when the noise quiets down just enough for a question to rise to the surface. It does not shout. It does not demand attention. It whispers. And the whisper sounds something like this: What am I supposed to believe in? For some men, that question surfaces in the middle of the night. For others, it rises in the middle of success. For others still, it emerges after failure, after loss, after disappointment, after another day of pretending everything is fine. It is not a question of weakness. It is a question of hunger. And hunger is not something to be ashamed of. Hunger means you are alive.

We live in a time when men are surrounded by messages but starved for meaning. We are told what to buy, what to watch, what to wear, what to achieve, what to avoid. We are told how to hustle and how to brand ourselves. We are told how to get attention and how to win arguments. But we are rarely told who we are. We are rarely told what strength is for. We are rarely told why our existence matters beyond productivity. And so men drift. They perform. They react. They cope. But deep down, many are asking for something solid. Something immovable. Something worth staking their life on.

If you strip away the noise, the sarcasm, the bravado, and the distractions, you will often find a man who wants to matter. Not in a loud way. Not in a celebrity way. But in a way that counts. In a way that leaves something better behind. A man wants to know that his presence protects. That his words build. That his decisions shape something beyond himself. That his life is not an accident and his strength is not a mistake. That he is not simply a replaceable part in a system, but a soul entrusted with responsibility.

The problem is not that men lack desire. The problem is that many men lack direction. When you remove direction from strength, strength turns inward. It becomes frustration. It becomes anger. It becomes apathy. It becomes addiction. But when strength is anchored to purpose, it becomes steady. It becomes disciplined. It becomes life-giving. It becomes sacrificial. The difference between destruction and transformation is not intensity; it is alignment.

From the very beginning of Scripture, we see that a man was not created for passivity. In Genesis, before there was a nation, before there was a church, before there was a system of laws, there was a garden. And in that garden, God placed a man with a task. He was to cultivate. He was to guard. He was to steward. Before comfort came calling, responsibility did. Before applause, assignment. Before recognition, obedience. That order matters. A man was not designed to be idle. He was designed to carry something meaningful.

And yet today, many men feel like they are carrying everything except meaning. They carry pressure. They carry expectation. They carry financial stress. They carry silent shame over mistakes that no one else remembers but they cannot forget. They carry the fear of inadequacy. They carry the weight of comparison. They carry the tension between who they are and who they think they should be. And often, they carry it alone.

There is a particular loneliness that men rarely admit. It is the loneliness of being needed but not understood. Of being relied upon but not asked how you are doing. Of being expected to hold it together while feeling like you are unraveling inside. This loneliness does not always look dramatic. It often looks functional. A man goes to work. He pays bills. He fulfills roles. He shows up. But somewhere deep inside, he wonders whether anyone truly sees him. Whether anyone would notice if he stopped fighting so hard to stay strong.

Into that quiet ache, faith speaks a different language. Faith does not dismiss strength. It redefines it. Faith does not shame masculinity. It refines it. Faith does not call a man to dominate; it calls him to devote. It does not tell him to suppress his power; it tells him to surrender it to something higher. And that is the turning point. Because when strength is surrendered to God, it is not diminished. It is purified.

Look at Jesus. Not the caricature. Not the softened image that removes the intensity from His eyes. Look at the real Jesus of the Gospels. He walked into storms. He confronted hypocrisy without flinching. He endured betrayal without retaliating. He carried a cross without cursing the Father. He wept openly at the tomb of a friend. He washed the feet of men who would abandon Him. He was strong enough to confront and humble enough to serve. That is not weakness. That is controlled power.

If a man is looking for something to believe in, he can begin here: believe that true masculinity is not about dominance, but about direction. It is not about ego, but about obedience. It is not about proving yourself to the world, but about offering yourself to God. The world measures a man by what he accumulates. God measures a man by what he is willing to lay down.

There is a reason the words of Jesus echo with weight: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” That is the blueprint. Sacrifice. Not self-erasure. Not self-hatred. But self-offering. A man who lays down his pride. A man who lays down his impulse to retaliate. A man who lays down his need to be right in order to be righteous. A man who lays down his comfort to protect what is sacred. That is strength.

But sacrifice without identity becomes martyrdom. And martyrdom without hope becomes bitterness. So a man must know who he is before he knows what to lay down. He must know that he is not random. He is not an evolutionary afterthought. He is not merely a social construct. He is created in the image of God. That means his capacity for leadership, courage, and resolve is not accidental. It is intentional.

This does not mean every man will lead from a stage. It does not mean every man will command a company or preach a sermon. Leadership begins with self-governance. Can you lead your thoughts? Can you discipline your habits? Can you control your reactions? Can you choose integrity when no one is watching? Before a man leads others, he must lead himself. And that kind of leadership is invisible to the world but visible to heaven.

We must also confront the distortions that have confused many men. Some have been taught that strength means emotional suppression. That tears are weakness. That vulnerability is shameful. Yet the shortest verse in the Bible says, “Jesus wept.” The Son of God did not apologize for sorrow. He did not perform invulnerability. He expressed compassion. Emotional depth is not a threat to masculinity; it is evidence of maturity.

Others have been taught that aggression equals authority. That if you are not dominating, you are losing. But authority rooted in insecurity collapses. Authority rooted in love endures. A father who shouts may command silence, but a father who listens builds trust. A husband who intimidates may win arguments, but a husband who sacrifices wins hearts. A leader who demands loyalty may gain compliance, but a leader who models integrity inspires devotion.

When men forget who they are, they often chase substitutes. They chase validation through conquest. They chase numbness through distraction. They chase identity through comparison. And every substitute promises relief but delivers emptiness. Because no achievement can replace purpose. No applause can replace calling. No indulgence can replace obedience.

There is something powerful about a man who wakes up each day with a quiet conviction: I belong to God, and my life is not my own. That conviction does not make him passive. It makes him purposeful. It does not shrink him. It steadies him. He no longer needs to perform for approval because he is already accepted. He no longer needs to dominate for respect because he knows who he serves. He no longer needs to prove his worth because his worth was declared at creation.

And here is the paradox that changes everything: when a man surrenders to God, he does not lose himself. He finds himself. The surrender of pride reveals clarity. The surrender of ego reveals direction. The surrender of fear reveals courage. Because the foundation shifts from self-reliance to God-dependence. And that foundation does not crumble under pressure.

Pressure is not proof that you are failing. Often, it is proof that you are being formed. Gold is refined by fire, not destroyed by it. A man who is walking through challenge is not necessarily off course. He may be on the verge of growth. The question is not whether the fire exists. The question is whether you will allow it to purify or embitter you.

The stories of Scripture are filled with flawed men who were refined rather than rejected. David failed publicly and painfully, yet he returned to God and was restored. Peter denied Christ, yet became a pillar of the early church. Moses doubted and hesitated, yet led a nation. None of these men were perfect. They were surrendered. And surrender was the difference between collapse and calling.

If you are reading this and you feel disqualified, consider that disqualification is often the doorway to humility. And humility is the soil where strength grows correctly. Pride builds fragile empires. Humility builds enduring legacy. A man who can admit failure without surrendering identity is a dangerous man in the best sense of the word. He is not controlled by shame. He is not paralyzed by regret. He learns, repents, and rises.

There is a kind of man the world rarely applauds but desperately needs. He is not loud for the sake of attention. He is not controversial for the sake of relevance. He is not constantly announcing himself. Instead, he is consistent. He is present. He is anchored. When chaos swirls, he does not add to it. When fear spreads, he does not amplify it. When others panic, he pauses. That pause is not weakness. It is discipline. It is the evidence of a soul that has chosen to kneel before standing.

We do not talk enough about kneeling. In a culture obsessed with standing tall, rising up, and making a name, kneeling sounds counterproductive. But every great man of faith in Scripture knelt before he stood. Abraham built altars. David poured out psalms. Daniel prayed even when it was illegal. Jesus Himself withdrew to pray in lonely places. The pattern is clear. Before impact, intimacy. Before influence, surrender. Before direction, devotion.

A man who kneels regularly does not shrink. He becomes steady. He understands that the strength he carries is borrowed, not self-generated. He understands that the authority he exercises is accountable, not absolute. And that awareness protects him from becoming a tyrant in his own life. When men stop kneeling, they often begin grasping. They grasp for control, for recognition, for certainty. But when a man kneels, he releases the illusion that he must carry the universe on his own shoulders.

Many men are exhausted not because they are weak, but because they are trying to be their own god. They are trying to solve every problem, secure every outcome, predict every threat, and guarantee every success. That is too heavy a load. It was never meant to be yours. Faith does not remove responsibility, but it removes ultimate burden. It reminds a man that obedience is his role; outcomes belong to God.

And here is where belief becomes practical. Belief is not abstract sentiment. It is daily alignment. It is waking up and choosing integrity when shortcuts tempt you. It is choosing fidelity when compromise whispers. It is choosing patience when irritation rises. It is choosing honesty when dishonesty would be easier. It is choosing presence when distraction is seductive. That is belief embodied.

Some men think they need a dramatic calling in order to feel significant. They imagine that meaning only exists in grand gestures or public platforms. But the kingdom of God is often built in ordinary faithfulness. A father who reads Scripture with his children. A husband who apologizes first. A single man who disciplines his body and mind in private. A worker who refuses to cheat even when no one would notice. These moments rarely trend. But they transform households. And households transform generations.

There is something sacred about generational responsibility. You may be the first in your family to pray consistently. You may be the first to refuse addiction. You may be the first to control your temper. You may be the first to pursue reconciliation instead of resentment. If that is you, understand this clearly: you are not just improving your own life. You are interrupting patterns that have lasted decades. You are shifting trajectories for people who have not even been born yet. That is not small. That is monumental.

The enemy of a man’s soul often does not attack with obvious evil. He attacks with distraction. He convinces you that you have time to grow later. That discipline can wait. That prayer can wait. That integrity can bend just a little. That you deserve the indulgence. That no one will know. But slow drift is more dangerous than sudden collapse. Because drift feels harmless while it moves you off course.

So how does a man guard against drift? He establishes rhythm. Rhythm of prayer. Rhythm of reflection. Rhythm of accountability. He surrounds himself with other men who are not impressed by bravado but committed to growth. Brotherhood is not optional; it is protective. Isolation magnifies insecurity. Community refines character. A man sharpened by other men of faith becomes clearer, not harder.

Let us also address the wounds that many men carry quietly. Some grew up without fathers. Some grew up with fathers who were present but distant. Some were told they were not enough. Some were told they were too much. Some were shamed for emotion. Some were shamed for ambition. Some were abandoned. Some were betrayed. Those wounds shape identity unless they are brought into the light.

Faith does not erase wounds instantly. But it reframes them. A man who brings his pain to God does not become defined by it. He becomes shaped by it. Scars can either harden a heart or deepen compassion. The difference is whether they are surrendered. Jesus kept His scars after the resurrection. They were no longer signs of defeat; they were signs of redemption. The wounds you carry do not have to define you as broken. They can mark you as refined.

You may have failed in ways you regret deeply. You may have hurt people you love. You may have made decisions that still echo. The question is not whether you failed. Every man fails. The question is whether you will stay down. The gospel is not the announcement that good men are rewarded. It is the declaration that repentant men are restored. David was called a man after God’s own heart not because he was flawless, but because he returned quickly when confronted.

Returning is strength. Apologizing is strength. Confessing is strength. Choosing humility over image is strength. The world calls these things weakness. Heaven calls them wisdom. A man secure in God does not fear repentance because he knows grace is greater than his mistake.

There is also the matter of courage. Courage is not the absence of fear. It is obedience in spite of it. You will feel fear when you step into leadership. You will feel fear when you set boundaries. You will feel fear when you confront sin in your own life. You will feel fear when you choose the narrow road over the wide one. But courage is not about erasing fear; it is about refusing to let fear dictate direction.

When Joshua was commissioned to lead Israel after Moses, God did not say, “You will never feel afraid.” He said, “Be strong and of a good courage… for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” Presence is the answer to fear. Not personality. Not perfection. Presence. A man who believes God is with him walks differently. He may not walk arrogantly, but he walks assuredly.

Assurance does not mean you have all the answers. It means you trust the One who does. There will be seasons when clarity is scarce. When prayers seem unanswered. When doors close. When plans unravel. In those moments, belief is tested. Do you believe God is still good when outcomes shift? Do you believe obedience still matters when recognition is absent? Do you believe character still counts when no one applauds?

This is where legacy is formed. Legacy is not built in visible triumph alone. It is built in quiet perseverance. In consistent faithfulness. In daily choices that no one writes about. A man who believes his life belongs to God does not waste seasons of obscurity. He uses them for formation.

And what of ambition? Ambition is not evil. But ambition without surrender becomes self-worship. A man can pursue excellence while remaining submitted. He can build companies, write books, lead organizations, innovate, and create, all while remembering that every gift is entrusted, not owned. The difference between ego-driven ambition and God-honoring ambition is posture. One says, “Look at me.” The other says, “Use me.”

When men remember who they are in Christ, they stop competing for identity. They start competing for faithfulness. They are not threatened by another man’s success because their identity is not fragile. They are not crushed by criticism because their worth is not anchored in applause. They become steady enough to mentor. Strong enough to listen. Confident enough to serve.

And perhaps this is the most radical thing a man can believe in today: that love is not soft. Love is costly. Love is disciplined. Love is protective. Love is patient. Love confronts when necessary and comforts when needed. Love does not indulge sin, but it does not abandon sinners. A man who loves well changes atmospheres. He brings stability where there was volatility. He brings clarity where there was confusion. He brings peace where there was tension.

If you are searching for something to believe in, believe that your life can reflect Christ in tangible ways. Believe that prayer changes you even before it changes circumstances. Believe that discipline today shapes freedom tomorrow. Believe that integrity is not outdated. Believe that your presence in your home, your workplace, your church, and your community matters more than you realize.

You may never know the full impact of your obedience. You may never see every ripple your faithfulness creates. But you do not serve for visibility. You serve for legacy. And legacy in the kingdom of God is measured in transformed lives, not trending moments.

So kneel. Pray. Stand. Lead yourself. Love sacrificially. Guard your heart. Refuse drift. Embrace refinement. Return quickly when you fall. Surround yourself with brothers who sharpen you. Remember that strength and surrender are not opposites; they are partners.

You are not obsolete. You are not unnecessary. You are not disqualified beyond grace. You are called. You are accountable. You are entrusted. And when men remember who they are in Christ, households strengthen, churches deepen, communities steady, and generations shift.

Believe in that.

Believe in becoming a man whose strength is governed by surrender, whose courage is rooted in obedience, whose authority is shaped by love, and whose legacy is anchored in Christ.

That is something worth giving your life to.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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#FaithBasedLeadership #ChristianMen #BiblicalMasculinity #KingdomLiving #SpiritualGrowth

Our Father Who art in heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

🌹

And to this day unpare Speaking high to thus about The statement of the wind in truth Nary was wood in favour To seek the fall become- And it did hay A passion for the year Summering in constant Making death a place apart To hear the siren song A temperate mouth and be; To get along, Nary is a scar And custom swim To minds bend and this A favourite fact That all who poe are witness In filing this for just petition A parcel leans ahend This severance day A year of nine and six And flaming shoe- Passions of sweet and size ten The simple seed to Rome And thus begin That a rose is beautiful And grower be.

The video If TikTok Were Honest is surprisingly good. It does a great job of explaining the harms of social media in general and the harms of TikTok in particular.

Say you're into politics. [TikTok] will push you further and further into the extreme edges of whatever side you're on. Why? Because outrage and confirmation bias keeps you glued to your screen! This isn't just bad for your worldview, it's bad for society. Echo chambers breed division. They make people more certain they're right, more hostile to differing opinions, and less likely to engage in actual conversation.

—If TikTok Were Honest

Let's not gloss over the reminder that this is bad for your worldview. That's one of my biggest problems with social media. In making people more extreme and less aware of differing opinions, their persuasive ability weakens and they become counterproductive in their activism. To add insult to injury, these dopamine addicts actually come to think of themselves as the sacred protectors of their various causes. Give me a fuckin' break.

Don't leave social media because I told you to. Leave social media because it's making you hurt the people you're trying to help.

#Life #Maxims #SocialMedia #Tech

Cannot believe I've never heard this song until this year! Never even heard the original, but this collab with Bowling For Soup sounds really good. Such a super catchy and fun song to listen to!

#MusicVideo #Busted #BowlingForSoup

This is not recommended. Sleep is more important, but many of you (including me) will ignore this advice. So might as well tell you how to do it right. When you have to sleep in your older son’s bedroom to make sure he doesn’t toss and turn and go waking up mommy and his brother whenever I go to the bathroom, you don’t have many options to write before going to sleep.

Can’t write in the bathroom because of the reasons above. Not the kitchen, living room, or dining room. Everyone can see the lights from under the doors. The balcony and outside my front door is out of the question. And in my car? Forget it.

The best solution for now is to use my SOG Dark Energy tactical flashlight on the lowest setting, hide under the covers, and write. Yes, this sounds pathetic, but that’s the price of being a writer.

So, what’s the weirdest place or technique you’ve done just so you can write?

#writing #dark #night

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: Building Your Core Palette, Luxury, fine food, drinks or fashion? and “An apple a day keeps the doctor away”

---

Building Your Core Palette Let’s break down your Accra Corporate Capsule, neutral edition: Base tones: White, cream, beige, tan — perfect for blouses, dresses, and soft tailoring. Grounding shades: Camel, coffee brown, and charcoal — ideal for trousers, blazers, and skirts. Accent tones: Soft blush, olive, and muted gold — subtle pops that keep things warm and modern. When you stick to this palette, your wardrobe becomes harmonious. Everything goes with everything. Suddenly, dressing for work feels like a five-minute affair instead of a morning crisis. From Minimal to Memorable: Neutral doesn’t mean basic. The trick is in the textures and cuts. A linen blazer over a silk camisole, a pleated ivory skirt paired with a structured tan belt — it’s about layers and details that catch the light without shouting for attention. And let’s not forget shoes. Nude pumps are a staple, but pair them with gold hoops and a textured handbag, and you’ve just turned “simple” into “stunning.” Neutrals in the Accra Glow: Here’s the bonus: neutrals love the Accra sunlight. The way a soft beige dress glows against melanin skin under that late-afternoon golden hour? Pure magic. Whether you’re walking through Ridge after a meeting or heading to an after-work hangout at Skybar, neutrals make you look effortlessly radiant. In conclusion; Neutrals aren’t about playing it safe —they’re about playing it smart. They’re the silent statement-makers that say, “I’m confident enough not to shout.” So next time you’re tempted by that bright orange blazer, pause. Ask yourself: Would beige do it better? Chances are… yes, darling. Yes, it would. Luxury, fine food, drinks or fashion? LVMH, owner of 75 brand names ranging from Dior to Louis Vuitton happily combines them all. They recently bought into the European Wagon Litz trains, already part owned by Accor Hotels (5100 hotels worldwide including Ibis and Novotel). In the early parts of the last century connecting London to Paris to Venice to Vienna to Istanbul these trains have now become a luxury toy. The idea is that you dress up (in one of the many LVMH fashion brands, preferably and of course) and have first class meals and LVMH drinks such as Moët & Chandon, Veuve Clicquot, Hennessy, Dom Pérignon and they own another 25 brands including South American and Chinese brands (there is choice, but unfortunately Johnney Walker is not sufficiently exclusive, that's for people who don't even know how to spell that name) and you sit and sleep in a slow moving train (and I guess you'll take a few selfies). It will take 24 hours. For example Paris to Venice is $5300, that is sharing a cabin with someone, the luxury cabins is 16800 $ for the night. LVMH has now added a Cote d'Azur trip, Nice, Monte Carlo, Monaco, Cannes and Entibes. Something for Valentine's day? I guess if you show the embassy the tickets you'll get a visa? What was the saying again? Take moneys from fools before they spend it wrongly? LVMH have surely understood that.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away”. Most of these apples we see in Accra traffic are imported from South Africa, they don’t really grow in our climate, though you might harvest one or two if you planted an apple tree. And you want your apple to look nice. Here's the problem, apples growing naturally don’t look nice, they are attacked by all sort of insects and other pests before you get to it (same for peaches, plums and other “European” fruits). This is not really a problem, we have a lot of chemical pesticides to keep these parasites away, so we spray 7-9 times and boom, nice apple. Theoretically not many chemical residues remain by the time the apple gets to you, and they are to be below a certain threshold, so have a bite. Well, that's the theory. Apples sold to the public overwhelmingly contain multiple pesticide residues, according to a survey published recently by Pesticide Action Network Europe (PAN Europe) and thirteen partner organizations. In 70% of cases, the 59 samples from 12 European countries contained several residues, some as many as 7, some classified among the most toxic, some persistent pollutants (PFAS), many above the legally approved thresholds. Only four out of 59 samples would have been approved for consumption by babies where standards are stricter. An additional problem is the “cocktail effect”. To write in simple language, say that we tested that you can take up to 10 tablets of paracetamol a day, and that we also tested that you can take up to 5 tabs of imodium. But did anyone test 10 tablets of paracetamol plus 5 tablets of imodium? No, or hardly. So if you now find 5 or 7 pesticide residues on your apple then it is any bodies guess what effect that might have on you, or the baby you are breast feeding, especially if already the permitted thresholds are passed. And, last one, to make matters worse, South Africa has a bit of a reputation of using forbidden chemicals, to the extent that sometimes the workforce goes on strike because they claim they are being poisoned. So how about organically grown apples, the ones without the chemicals? That is possible, they hang fine nets over the orchard to keep the insects away and use organic chemicals (like neem extract) to stench the insects away. But that apple would easily cost twice as much, and poor as we are perceived to be no one is going to try that one on Ghana. Bon appetite? No. Organically grown apples

Lydia...

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I have received requests about leaving comments/replies. For security and privacy reasons my blog is not associated with major media giants like Facebook or Twitter. I am talking with the host about a solution. for the time being, you can mail me at wunimi@proton.me

I accept invitations and payments to write about certain products or events, things, and people, but I may refuse to accept and if my comments are negative then that's what I will publish, despite your payment. This is not a political newsletter. I do not discriminate on any basis whatsoever.

Keeping with the theme of the last update, I've gone a bit off the rails. This week, I released my next YouTube short, What if corn was advertised like cars.

The Lonely Worlds

On the 27th of January, I began a project currently called The Lonely Worlds. I don't want to say too much about it yet. It's intended to be a serial. It's a setting I've been noodling with for fifteen years or so and I recently worked out enough characters to have a good chance at it. I currently have four chapters written on it with a good start on a fifth.

The typewriter

Last time, I discussed the low-powered computer I put Alpine Linux on for writing purposes. Due in part to the workflow enabled by the typewriter, I managed to write about 47K in January without really trying.

I still don't recommend doing Alpine Linux yourself but if you want to use some of the tools I mentioned in that post, I've adjusted my micro settings files since last time.

settings.json:

{
	"softwrap": true,
	"wordwrap": true,
	"autosave": 60,
	"cursorline": true
}

bindings.json:

{
    "Alt-/": "lua:comment.comment",
    "CtrlUnderscore": "lua:comment.comment",
    "F5": "lua:wc.wordCount",
    "Insert": "lua:wc.wordCount"
}

Next week's goals

I have a few high priority tasks I have to take care of this next week that don't involve writing directly. So, my writing / creativity goal is ... to do some of that. 😹

#ProgressUpdate

According to word on the streets, living in an Homeowners Association governed community makes your property value higher [than those other people’s homes that are not HOA governed]. How do you know this is true? Because everyone told you so and everyone continues to tell you so. But also, if you do an internet search for, “Do homes in HOA communities have a higher property values?”, at least the first page of your search will tell you, “Yes, yes, of course!”

If you look at most of those search results, you will find something interesting about the groups who are providing the standard answers to the question posed in the previous paragraph. I will let you as the reader try and see if you can figure it out. When I did the search myself, I dug into the articles and forums to see what the people said. And this was how I was introduced to The Greater Fool Theory. So, let me paint this picture:

Let’s say I told you that if you moved into this HOA governed community called Misty Qualms, your home would have a higher value than if you moved down the street into another group of homes with no HOA. You believe me because I am trying to sell you this house. This house in Misty Qualms is brand new—everythang’s included (You can just move right in and start living!). A clubhouse with a pool and gym will be built. And there will be a playground and miles of walking trails. The lawns are going to be maintained and the neighborhood is going to look better than those other people’s neighborhoods down/up the street. Plus, you are going to get away from those people around the corner/on the east/west side. And you will be safe.

Ok now, so it’s going to cost you a little more to live here in order to distinguish yourself from where you came from where those other people live. No big deal! This house in Misty Qualms is priced about 4% higher than comparable homes. You have the money, right! I mean, we will offer you a deal of all deals to get you in! Oh, and to get your lawns serviced each week (or every other week) will cost you $50 per month this year (this will slowly creep up and in 10 years it will double). Oh, and the clubhouse will cost you another $50 per month this year (but it will eventually become a part of a property taxes so you will have to figure out if it doubled or tripled in 10 years. Also you will have to ID everyone in your home who wishes to use these amenities.). You will eventually pay for safety through your HOA because those people are going to come into your neighborhood and try to ruin things.

As a side note though, I just want to add that if you want to do things/make changes to your house, you will have to ask the HOA for permission. And if you do things that the HOA doesn’t like—which may or may not include things in the CC&Rs, your HOA will threaten you, fine you, put a lien on “your house,” and/or foreclose on “your house.” The HOA is not required to do any of this, so I am just letting you know about the possibility. But Misty Qualms will be the best place to live because of this, not in spite of this. And that is how your property value will be higher than those others.

Within three years of moving into Misty Qualms:

• Your house is already flooding.
• The ground around your house appears to be sinking and the back fence might be going bye-bye to meet the devil.
• The stucco is cracking.
• The a/c already needs repair.
• Wtf is that random, stank ass smell?
• Whose cat is this?
• Who did this to your grass? and your tree?
• Whose dog is this?
• Why do people keep knocking on the door?
• Whose alligator is this?
• Did the police just ask you for your camera footage?
• Why did you just trip over that one tile and that other one and the other one?
• Did that bitch just call you and your kid a nigger?
• Why is there a lump on the counter and is it cancerous?
• Is the HOA tailing your kid as they run around the neighborhood?
• Was part of the upstairs floor made as a musical instrument?

Six years later:

• What desperate and dumb Northerner will buy my “high value,” doubly inflated property—that is actually worth less than what I paid for it—during this period of international panic, so I can go buy another house at triple the interest that cost just as much as this one, and is also worth half of what I will be paying?

Pacers vs Bucks

My basketball game before bedtime tonight will again come from the NBA. It will be the Indiana Pacers vs the Milwaukee Bucks.

And the adventure continues.

There's a specific kind of panic you feel when a spreadsheet that runs your entire production freezes. Not crashes — freezes. You watch the cursor spin, knowing that somewhere in those 47 tabs and 15MB of formulas, your morning just died. We make paint. Artist paint, in a small workshop in Kraków. Five people, 200+ products, and for years, one massive Excel file that held everything together — recipes, inventory, costs, orders. It worked. Until it didn't. The breaking point came on a Tuesday. A customer needed to know which batch of Cadmium Yellow went into their order three months ago. Traceability — something any real manufacturer should have. We didn't. We had crossed fingers and a VLOOKUP that sometimes returned #REF. That night I started building something. Not because I wanted to become a software developer — I wanted to stop being afraid of Tuesdays. Eighteen months later, that “something” became a real product. We use it every day now. Other small makers started asking about it. Eventually we opened it up at krafte.app I still don't think of myself as a tech founder. I'm a guy who makes paint and got tired of spreadsheets.

俺は死んでしまい、天国の一歩手前で待機していた。 天界人に「ちょっとここで待っててね」と言われ、案内された部屋は何年も掃除されていないようで、埃っぽい匂いがした。どうやら本当に一時的に待つだけの場所らしい。

窓の外だけが異様で、静かな空気とは裏腹に赤く染まっていた。 「天国にも火事があるのか？」と思ったが、そこは厨房で、おばさんたちが火を恐れず中華料理を作っているだけだった。

「あのチャーハンはいつ食べられるんだろう」と考えていると、「こちらへ」と呼ばれ、滝の中を通り抜けた。

空には斜めに傾いた巨大な円盤が浮かんでいる。 その大きさに似合わず、静かなエネルギーで保たれているのが伝わってきた。

天国での新しい家に着き、電球を取り替える。 家の中なのに、薄いピンク色の風が吹いていた。

電球を替え終えると、いつの間にか俺は屋台船に乗っていた。 どうやら電球を付け替えるという行為は、場所と場所をつなぐ役割を持っているらしい。

上空は夜で、足元の景色は早朝だった。 小麦畑を走る少年の表情はよく見えない。

竜巻が小麦を巻き上げ、小さな島へ運んでいくのを見届けると、そこには重たいピアノだけが残っていて、おばあさんが静かに演奏していた。

天界人から注意事項とルールを説明されたが、俺は死後でも相変わらず人の話を聞いておらず、「ずっと家にいられるんですかね？」と質問をかぶせてしまった。 すると「進んでいれば、きっと外でも大丈夫ですよ」と、まだ理解できない返答を残して歩き去っていった。 壁が少ないせいで、遠くに行ってもその姿が小さく見えていた。

そこへ、80年代のアイドルのような紫髪の女性が現れ、「新しいリネンがあるから」と腕を引っ張る。 「理念？」と一瞬思ったが、案内された部屋にはベッドシーツやタオルが山のように積まれていた。

「リネン室が新しくなったのか」と思ったが、そもそも前のリネン室を知らない。 「使うときはここから取ればいいんですか？」と聞くと、 「ここは本当にただ積んであるだけで、取ったりはしないのよ。少しだけ天界に“重さ”を足すためだけにあるの」と言われた。

そこへ4つ打ちのテクノとともに汽車がやってきた。 「天界にも4つ打ちがあるんだ」と思っていると、運転手が「乗ってください、まだ戻れますよ」と声をかけてきた。 「まだ戻れるのか」と思った瞬間、汽車とは反対方向から「白湯が入ったわよ」と声がした。

白湯が飲みたくて、俺は汽車に乗らず白湯を選んだ。 汽車に乗らなかったことが“本当の死”を決定づけたのだと思い、駅員に「さようなら」と言ったら、 「いや、白湯飲むまで待ってますよ」と返され、まだ生きている側に近いことを知った。

明日はきっと布団で目を覚まし、荻窪の喫茶店に行く。