There are moments in Scripture when the apostle Paul pulls back the veil just enough for us to see the true machinery of heaven—how God thinks, how God speaks, and how God chooses to move in ways that leave the world scratching its head. First Corinthians chapter 2 is one of those moments. It is Paul standing in the middle of a sophisticated, intellectual, honor-driven city—Corinth—and declaring to their faces that the greatest power they will ever encounter does not come from philosophy, rhetoric, or position, but from the Spirit of the living God. This chapter is not merely instruction; it is a manifesto of how divine truth enters human hearts and reshapes the world one surrendered life at a time.

When I read 1 Corinthians 2, I don’t hear a theologian giving a lecture. I hear a man who has been utterly undone by an encounter with Christ. I hear someone who has learned, by fire and failure and grace, that human eloquence cannot deliver what the Spirit alone can accomplish. I hear a man who has stripped his ministry down to the studs and built it on one unshakeable foundation: Jesus Christ and Him crucified. And if we slow down enough, if we let the noise of modern life fade for just a moment, this chapter becomes more than theology. It becomes a mirror. It becomes a compass. It becomes a reminder that everything powerful God does in us flows from a wisdom not of this age, not of its rulers, not of its trends, but from a God who delights in working through what others overlook.

Paul begins by reminding the Corinthians that he did not come to them with “superiority of speech or wisdom.” That statement alone should stop us in our tracks. Corinth celebrated brilliance, debate, public argument, intellectual posturing, and the cleverness of men. That was their currency. Yet Paul deliberately refused to trade in it. He wasn’t incapable of eloquence—Acts shows us he was brilliant, articulate, persuasive. But in Corinth, he made a decision: nothing he said would compete with the cross. He refused to let style overshadow substance. He refused to let his own skill overshadow the power of God. He refused to rely on anything that could cause people to admire him instead of surrendering to Christ.

This is a word our generation desperately needs. We live in a time where people are applauded for being impressive, not transformed. Where presentation often outranks truth. Where charisma gets mistaken for anointing. Where content gets mistaken for conviction. But the cross cannot be reduced to a performance, and the Spirit cannot be replaced by personality. Paul is reminding us that the only message capable of reshaping a heart, rebuilding a life, or resurrecting a soul is the message of Jesus crucified—and the only power capable of making that message real inside the human heart is the Holy Spirit.

Paul goes further: “I was with you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling.” Why would a man as seasoned as Paul tremble? Because he understood the gravity of the task. He understood that when you stand before people carrying the message of the cross, the eternal condition of souls hangs in the balance. He trembled because he was aware of his own insufficiency—and at the same time, aware of God’s overwhelming sufficiency. His trembling wasn’t insecurity; it was reverence. It was the trembling of a man who has stood before the throne of mercy and knows that any power on earth is borrowed, not earned.

Then he delivers the line that every preacher, teacher, or believer should tattoo onto the inside of their soul: “My message and my preaching were not in persuasive words of human wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power.” Paul is drawing a line between what human beings can accomplish and what only God can accomplish. You can persuade people intellectually, but only the Spirit can persuade them spiritually. You can move emotions for a moment, but only the Spirit can transform a heart for eternity. You can impress a crowd, but only the Spirit can resurrect a dead soul. Paul wanted nothing he built to collapse under the weight of human fragility. He wanted their faith rooted in something eternal, immovable—even when he was not present.

From here, Paul shifts into one of the deepest mysteries of the New Testament: the hidden wisdom of God. He writes that he does speak wisdom, but not the wisdom of this age or its rulers. The wisdom of God is something the world cannot decode, cannot anticipate, cannot contain. It is a wisdom that existed before time, a wisdom prepared before the ages for our glory. This is staggering. Before God said “Let there be light,” He had already prepared a pathway for your redemption, your purpose, your restoration, and your transformation. Before the world existed, God already had a plan for how to reveal Himself to you, how to pull you out of darkness, how to adopt you into His family, how to draw you into His eternal story.

And Paul adds a sobering truth: If the rulers of this age had understood this wisdom, they never would have crucified the Lord of glory. The brilliance of God’s hidden wisdom is that it operates above and beyond human logic. The very powers that thought they were extinguishing Christ were actually fulfilling God’s eternal plan to save the world. The cross was not a tragedy that God salvaged; it was a victory God orchestrated. Every nail, every insult, every wound, every moment of agony was not a defeat—it was the world’s only hope being forged in real time. The enemy never saw it coming. Evil never recognized what God was doing. Human power never understood it. Heaven was writing a redemption story while hell was celebrating too early.

Then Paul reaches the heart of the chapter—the verse many know, but few truly understand: “Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has it entered the heart of man what God has prepared for those who love Him.” People often apply this to heaven—and while that’s not wrong, Paul is actually talking about something happening right now. He is saying that the human mind, left to itself, cannot even imagine the things God desires to reveal. The plans He has for you. The depth of His love. The richness of His truth. The glory He wants to place inside a surrendered life. Your natural senses are not capable of grasping divine reality without divine revelation. The best human effort cannot climb high enough to reach the mind of God. It must be given, unveiled, delivered through the Spirit.

And so Paul says it plainly: “But God has revealed them to us through His Spirit.” The Holy Spirit is not a supplement to Christian life; He is the only way the Christian life becomes possible. Without the Spirit, the Bible is just an ancient book. With the Spirit, it becomes the breath of God. Without the Spirit, the cross is a historical event. With the Spirit, it becomes the power that shatters chains and resurrects hearts. Without the Spirit, faith becomes theory. With the Spirit, faith becomes oxygen. Everything God wants to show you, teach you, transform in you, or awaken in you must come through His Spirit.

Paul explains why. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. There are depths in God that human intellect cannot reach. There are truths too vast for human analysis. There are realities too profound for earthly categories. Just as no one knows the thoughts of a man except the spirit within him, no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. And that is the Spirit given to us. Think about that. The same Spirit who knows the mind of God has taken up residence within every believer. The Spirit who hovered over the waters at creation is the Spirit who whispers peace into your anxious nights. The Spirit who empowered Jesus is the Spirit who strengthens you when you feel weak. The Spirit who authored Scripture is the Spirit who opens your understanding as you read it.

Paul says we have not received the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may understand the things freely given to us. This is not mere comprehension—it is revelation. It is the unveiling of divine truth. It is the awakening of spiritual awareness. It is the moment when something you’ve read a thousand times suddenly catches fire inside your soul because the Spirit ignites it.

And then Paul addresses the divide that still defines humanity today: the natural person versus the spiritual person. The natural person—the one operating only in human strength, human logic, human thinking—cannot accept the things of the Spirit. They seem foolish. They seem irrational. They seem too mysterious, too unscientific, too impractical, too inconvenient. But the spiritual person—the one surrendered to the Spirit—discerns all things because they are operating from a wisdom not of this age.

Paul concludes with a thunderous declaration: “We have the mind of Christ.” Not because we are brilliant. Not because we are holy. Not because we have achieved something. But because the Holy Spirit has united us with the very life of Jesus. The mind of Christ becomes accessible. The heart of Christ becomes available. The wisdom of Christ becomes alive within us. And nothing—no culture, no trend, no darkness—can take that away.

When Paul speaks of a “spiritual person,” he is not describing someone who is perfect, elite, or unreachable. He is describing someone who has learned how to lean on a wisdom not their own. Someone who has stopped trying to build their life on the scaffolding of human understanding. Someone who has discovered the freedom of letting God define reality instead of letting the world define it.

There is something liberating about realizing that you no longer have to keep up with the world’s standards of intelligence, performance, or applause. The Corinthians were obsessed with public respect, intellectual status, and philosophical prestige. Their culture rewarded brilliance, debate, and polished argumentation. But Paul is saying something revolutionary: spiritual maturity does not depend on how capable you are, but on how surrendered you are. The Spirit does not require you to be impressive; the Spirit requires you to be open. God does not anoint arrogance. God anoints availability.

This means the most spiritually powerful people you will ever meet may not be the most educated, the most articulate, or the most outwardly accomplished. They are the ones who have learned how to listen to the Spirit even when the world calls them foolish. They are the ones who have learned that the quiet nudge of the Holy Spirit carries more weight than a thousand clever arguments. They are the ones who have traded the illusion of human competence for the reality of divine guidance. That is spiritual wisdom. That is the hidden revelation Paul is describing. And it is available to every believer willing to lay down their own wisdom to receive God’s.

Paul’s words remind us that human wisdom has an expiration date. Everything this world celebrates eventually crumbles: philosophies change, cultures shift, opinions evolve, rulers rise and fall, and human brilliance fades. But the wisdom of God remains untouched and unchanged. When you build your life on the wisdom of this age, you are building on sand. When you build your life on the wisdom of God, you are building on the granite of eternity. One collapses when the storm comes. The other becomes stronger under pressure. Paul is urging us to choose the foundation that will still be standing long after the world’s wisdom has burned away.

The natural person lives according to their senses—what they see, feel, hear, and understand. And because the Spirit’s wisdom does not originate in human senses, the natural person cannot grasp it. This is why some people hear the gospel and shrug, while others hear the same message and fall to their knees. It is why some people read Scripture and feel nothing, while others read a single verse and feel their entire life shift. It is why some people call faith foolishness, while others know it is the breath of their existence. Without the Spirit, the deepest truths of God remain locked. With the Spirit, they unfold like a sunrise that keeps revealing new colors you never knew existed.

This is one of the most profound truths about God’s relationship with His people: He reveals Himself at the speed of surrender. Not the speed of intelligence. Not the speed of academic ability. Not the speed of accomplishment. If your heart is open, the Spirit will teach you more than a lifetime of study without Him ever could. Revelation is not earned; it is received. Wisdom is not achieved; it is revealed. The deep things of God are not discovered by climbing, striving, or competing—they are unveiled to those who sit still long enough to let the Spirit speak.

And this is where Paul’s message becomes deeply practical. If the wisdom of God cannot be received by natural means, then the battles we face cannot be fought with natural weapons. The confusion, anxiety, discouragement, and spiritual assault you experience cannot be defeated merely by logic, self-help, motivational thought, or intellectual strength. You need the wisdom of the Spirit to discern what is attacking you, to understand what God is doing in you, and to stand firm when everything around you feels unstable. Without the Spirit, even believers begin to interpret life incorrectly. They misread hardship. They misinterpret silence. They misunderstand delay. They confuse spiritual warfare with personal failure. They assume God is distant when He is actually working beneath the surface. The Spirit helps you see what human sight cannot.

Paul’s statement that “we have the mind of Christ” is not hyperbole—it is the reality of the Spirit-empowered life. The mind of Christ is a way of seeing the world that cuts through confusion. It is a way of interpreting suffering that leads to growth instead of despair. It is a way of understanding people that leads to compassion instead of frustration. It is a way of discerning truth that cannot be manipulated by culture or emotion. When you have the mind of Christ, you are no longer controlled by the fear of the unknown because you are connected to the One who holds all knowledge. You are no longer paralyzed by decisions because wisdom is not something you chase; it is something the Spirit gives. You are no longer shaped by the world because the Spirit is shaping you from the inside out.

This is why spiritual discernment is one of the most precious gifts God gives His children. Discernment is not suspicion, skepticism, or intuition. Discernment is the Spirit enabling you to see what is true, even when your emotions try to deceive you. Discernment is the Spirit giving you clarity when your circumstances create confusion. Discernment is the Spirit whispering direction when your own wisdom runs out. The spiritual person is not simply someone who reads the Bible—they are someone who lets the Spirit interpret it. They are not simply someone who prays—they are someone who listens. They are not simply someone who believes—they are someone who yields.

Paul’s message also carries a warning. If the rulers of this age had understood the wisdom of God, they would never have crucified the Lord of glory. This tells us that human power structures are often completely blind to God’s activity. They misidentify what matters. They misinterpret what God is doing. They oppose what God has ordained. The same danger exists today. Without the Spirit, even religious people can stand in the way of God’s movement. Without the Spirit, churches can cling to tradition while missing transformation. Without the Spirit, believers can become critics of what God is trying to grow inside them.

The cross remains the most powerful example. The moment the world mocked, heaven celebrated. The moment evil believed it had won, salvation was being unleashed. The moment darkness thought it extinguished the Light, the Light was breaking the chains of every future believer. This is the wisdom not of this age. This is the upside-down brilliance of God. He takes what looks like defeat and makes it victory. He takes what looks like weakness and makes it power. He takes what looks like foolishness and makes it wisdom so deep that even spiritual principalities cannot decode it.

This is why Paul refused to rely on eloquence. This is why he preached Christ crucified. This is why he trembled before proclaiming the gospel. Because he knew that the cross does not need human polishing. It needs Spirit-powered revelation. The cross does not need to be made impressive. It needs to be made visible. The cross does not need decoration. It needs proclamation. And when the Spirit carries that proclamation into human hearts, things change. People change. Destinies change. Families change. Eternities change. Not because of the preacher, but because of the Spirit.

If you take anything from 1 Corinthians 2, let it be this: you are not called to be impressive—you are called to be surrendered. You are not called to manufacture wisdom—you are called to receive it. You are not called to figure out your whole life—you are called to walk with the Spirit who already knows every step. You are not called to understand everything—you are called to trust the One who understands all things. And when you let the Spirit guide you, you begin to live a life that the world cannot explain, cannot decode, and cannot imitate.

This chapter is an invitation to live from a deeper well. To stop starving on surface-level wisdom. To stop relying on human strength when divine strength is available. To stop living by what your eyes see and start living by what the Spirit reveals. It is an invitation to step into a wisdom that cannot be stolen, an identity that cannot be shaken, and a power that cannot be defeated. It is Paul reminding every believer across every century: you have access to the mind of Christ. Use it. Trust it. Lean into it. And let the Spirit lead you into the deep things of God.

In the end, 1 Corinthians 2 is not merely about how Paul preached—it is about how we live. Not in the wisdom of the world, but in the wisdom of God. Not in the power of the flesh, but in the power of the Spirit. Not in the pride of human ability, but in the humility of divine revelation. This is the life that turns darkness into testimony, weakness into strength, and suffering into glory. This is the life the Spirit empowers. This is the life God desires for you. And this is the life that stands firm when everything else falls.

Thank you for walking through this chapter with me. May these truths settle deeply into your heart and awaken something powerful inside you—something that cannot be shaken by culture, fear, or circumstance. Something born of the Spirit. Something anchored in Christ. Something eternal.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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On Bandcamp. On MusicBrainz.

For the second of my “albums released in 2025 which you should really listen to before the year is out” recommendations, Yosi Horikawa¦s Impulse is a no‐brainer. I¦ve been following Horikawa¦s output ever since Wandering was released in 2012, and I¦m happy to say that this latest album holds up against the high bar set by its predecessors.

Each Yosi Horikawa album has its own feel; Vapor, in 2013, was accessible and familiar, driven by beats and sonic textures; Spaces, in 2019, was more experimental, leaning into Horikawa¦s use of field recordings and elevated a sense of place. Impulse lands somewhere between the two, but is more than just a compromise; rather, it feels like a refinement, a honing in on a feeling and a sound.

Favourite track: Some of my favourite Yosi Horikawa songs are the ones which make use of vocals, but I think “Snow Bird” deserves special mention for taking its vocals not from a human but from a bird. Of course, this is an appropriation of bird speech for human ears, but it serves as an important reminder that we are far from the progenitors of melody or sound. Computers and technology may give us the ability to arrange and understand these things in a different way, but this music is, in some way, just a new form of appreciation for what has always been there.

#AlbumOfTheWeek

Today I’ve implemented a basic search to filter the entries. It's just a simple search field on top of the entries list; here you can type in keywords and reduce the list to what you need. Simple as that.

That’s it for today. 👋

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70 of #100DaysToOffload
#log #AdventOfProgress
Thoughts?

When you slow down long enough to sit with 1 Corinthians 1, something powerful begins to rise. You can feel the weight of Paul’s urgency. You can hear the trembling inside the church at Corinth. You can sense the fracture lines forming beneath the surface of a community that had been given every spiritual blessing, yet still struggled under the pressure of ego, identity, and division. And if you listen closely, you realize this chapter is not simply a message for an ancient church—it is a mirror held up to every believer today, especially to communities surrounded by noise, competition, divided loyalties, and the temptation to elevate personality over purpose. This chapter reads like Paul is stepping into our world today and saying, “Do you understand what you carry? Do you understand what you’ve been called into? Do you know the power of the cross that has claimed you?”

This chapter begins not with confrontation but with affirmation. Paul calls them “sanctified,” “called,” and “recipients of grace and peace.” He anchors their identity before addressing their disorder. That alone is a sermon. Correction is never meant to destroy; it is meant to restore. But to restore someone, you must ground them in who they are before you ever tell them who they are not acting like. And that is exactly what Paul does. Before he mentions divisions, he reminds them: You are enriched in Christ. You lack nothing. You have spiritual gifts. You are called into fellowship with Jesus. Imagine how differently our relationships, our ministries, and even our families would look if we learned to address conflict the way Paul models it here—affirmation first, identity first, grace first. Every believer needs that reminder, especially in a world where even Christians are quick to point out flaws before acknowledging God’s work in someone’s life.

Then Paul shifts. He moves from affirmation to urgent concern: the divisions tearing the Corinthian church apart. “I follow Paul.” “I follow Apollos.” “I follow Cephas.” “I follow Christ.” The names may be different, but the pattern hasn’t changed. Human nature still gravitates toward personalities, styles, and tribes. We still elevate the messenger over the message. We still find ways to fracture what God intends to hold together. If you have ever seen a church split, a ministry divide, or Christians turn on one another in the name of “their side,” you understand the depth of Paul’s grief here. He is pleading with them to see what is at stake. The moment our loyalty shifts from Christ Himself to a person or a preference, we’ve stepped away from the unity the gospel demands. The moment we treat charisma as spiritual maturity, we invite disorder. The moment someone’s voice becomes bigger to us than the voice of Jesus, we’re following the wrong shepherd.

Paul asks them a piercing question—one that still echoes through the centuries: “Is Christ divided?” That question is not rhetorical; it is revelatory. It exposes the absurdity of our divisions. Christ cannot be divided, but His people can. And when they are, His representation in the world becomes blurred, distorted, weakened. It is a sobering truth—one that calls every believer to examine their heart. What are the divisions we still carry? What preferences do we elevate above purpose? Who have we quietly chosen to follow more closely than Christ Himself? What spiritual pride have we allowed to creep into our identity? This chapter is a call to repent—not in shame, but in realignment. Not in guilt, but in clarity. Paul is not shaming the Corinthians; he is realigning them. And we need that same realignment today.

Paul goes on to say something radical: he is thankful he baptized only a few people. Not because he believed baptism was unimportant, but because he knew people would have used his involvement as another point of division. Paul wants the people to remember who saved them, not who baptized them. Who redeemed them, not who taught them. Who transformed them, not who led them. That humility is astonishing. In today’s culture—where leaders fight for influence, recognition, numbers, and followers—Paul pushes all of that aside and says, “It was never supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be about Christ.” That is the heart of a true servant. A true leader never competes with Jesus. A true leader never steals the spotlight from the message. A true leader refuses to let ego mix with ministry. Paul doesn’t want even a hint of personal glory attached to his work, because the gospel is never about the messenger; it is always about the cross.

And then we reach what may be one of the most defining statements in the entire chapter: “The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God.” That single sentence divides humanity—not into political groups, not into economic categories, not into educated versus uneducated, but into those who see the cross as foolishness and those who see it as power. The cross has always stood as a contradiction to human logic. It is strength in weakness. Victory through surrender. Triumph through suffering. God descending instead of humanity ascending. In a world obsessed with achievement, status, and self-promotion, the cross looks foolish. In a world that values self-preservation, the idea of laying down your life looks unreasonable. And yet, the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength. Paul wants the Corinthians—and us—to see that the power of God operates on a different frequency than the world.

Paul explains that God intentionally chose a path that would confound human pride. He chose what the world calls foolish to shame the wise. He chose what the world considers weak to shame the strong. He intentionally uses the unexpected, the overlooked, the underestimated. That is why you can never count someone out when God puts His hand on their life. That is why He can raise shepherd boys into kings, fishermen into apostles, exiles into prophets, and broken people into vessels of glory. God does not need impressive résumés or flawless credentials. He does not scan the world for the polished and perfect. He looks for willing hearts—because a willing heart leaves room for His power. And when God moves through someone the world never expected, He alone gets the glory.

Paul repeats this truth again and again in different ways: no believer can boast in themselves. Everything we are, everything we have, everything we have become—all of it flows from Christ. He is our wisdom, our righteousness, our sanctification, and our redemption. That is not just theology; that is identity. You are not defined by your past failures, your intellectual limits, or your spiritual achievements. You are defined by Jesus. You stand before God not because you earned something, but because Christ gave you everything. And that means your story can never be reduced to your weaknesses or your wounds. It means your calling cannot be undermined by your critics. It means your identity cannot be shaken by the opinions of people who don’t understand the grace of God at work inside you.

This chapter is a call to return—to return to unity, to humility, to purpose, to the power of the cross. It is a reminder that the world’s standards do not determine God’s strategy. It is an invitation to step out of the noise of comparison and the chains of division and into the clarity of a life anchored in Christ alone. The Corinthians had gifts, intelligence, influence, and opportunity—but they were losing their effectiveness because they had drifted from the simplicity of the gospel. Paul’s words invite every believer today to examine: Where have I drifted? Where have I allowed pride, personality, or division to dim the message of Christ in me? And where is God calling me back into alignment?

This is the message that begins to unfold through this chapter, and its echoes continue into the next. The church at Corinth was full of potential but burdened with disorder. And Paul, like a spiritual father, steps in not to condemn but to restore. His words, though written centuries ago, feel like they were crafted for our moment in history—for a generation drowning in voices, fragmented by opinions, and pulled apart by tribal thinking. Paul reminds us that the cross is still the center. Christ is still the foundation. And unity is still the evidence that we belong to Him.

When Paul turns the Corinthians’ attention back to the cross, he is not calling them to a symbol; he is calling them to a reality. The cross is not an accessory to hang around the neck of a believer—it is the very center of our confession, the place where God overturned everything the world thought it understood about strength, wisdom, and victory. The Corinthians were drifting because their attention had shifted toward the brilliance of human arguments and the charisma of human leaders. They were caught in the gravity of personalities. But Paul pulls them back: “Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with wisdom and eloquence, lest the cross be emptied of its power.” This moment is stunning. Paul acknowledges a danger that still threatens the church today: if the message becomes too dependent on the skill of the messenger, the cross becomes overshadowed. This is not because the gospel loses actual power but because people begin to see the messenger instead of the Messiah.

Paul understood something deeply spiritual—whenever the church becomes enamored with eloquence, performance, or intellectual spectacle, the simplicity of the gospel gets crowded out. There is nothing wrong with clarity or knowledge or excellent communication, but the true power of the gospel has never depended on human brilliance. It has always depended on the Spirit of God moving through surrendered vessels. A polished argument may impress, but it cannot regenerate the human heart. A charismatic personality may entertain, but it cannot resurrect the dead. A compelling presentation may stir emotion, but it cannot save the soul. Paul wants the Corinthians to see that the gospel does not rest in the skill of the preacher; it rests in the supernatural power of the cross.

And when Paul contrasts the “wisdom of the world” with the “foolishness of God,” he is not being poetic—he is being prophetic. The world’s wisdom is built on achievement, merit, success, and self-elevation. God’s wisdom is built on sacrifice, surrender, humility, and grace. The world celebrates the powerful; God chooses the powerless. The world celebrates the influential; God calls the ordinary. The world celebrates the brilliant; God reveals Himself to the childlike. And when Paul says, “God has made foolish the wisdom of the world,” he is announcing that human attempts to reach God through intellect, philosophy, or moral effort will always fall short. The cross is not a puzzle for scholars to solve—it is a gift for sinners to receive.

In Corinth, a city obsessed with knowledge, philosophy, and prestige, this message confronted the cultural air they breathed. The Greeks sought wisdom. The Jews sought signs. But God offered something that satisfied neither group’s expectations. He offered a crucified Messiah. To the Jews, that seemed like weakness. To the Greeks, that seemed like nonsense. But to those who believed, this crucified Christ became both the wisdom and the power of God. One of the most profound truths in the entire New Testament rests right here: God’s way of saving humanity does not align with humanity’s expectations. If people could explain it, they would take credit. If they could achieve it, they would boast. But salvation is a divine interruption of human pride. It must come through a path we cannot manufacture, predict, or control.

This is why Paul emphasizes the calling of the Corinthians themselves. He says, “Consider your calling.” He points out that most of them were not wise by human standards, not influential, not noble. They were ordinary people. But God moved through them. God chose them. God had a purpose for them that exceeded the world’s categories. And this is one of the most transformational insights in Scripture: the value of your calling does not come from your qualifications but from the God who calls you. Too many believers disqualify themselves before they ever begin—thinking their background is too messy, their skill too small, their mistakes too big. But Paul forces the Corinthians to look at themselves through heaven’s eyes. God chose the people the world overlooked so that no one could boast. Your story is not limited by where you started; it is defined by where God is taking you.

This entire chapter is a challenge to our identities. So often, believers look at themselves through the mirror of their failures or the lens of their insecurities. But Paul reframes everything: “You are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness, and redemption.” This is one of the richest identity statements in the Bible. Christ is not simply someone you believe in; He is the source of everything you could never produce on your own. You are righteous because of Him. You are holy because of Him. You are redeemed because of Him. And when Paul declares that Christ Himself has become your wisdom, he is telling you that you no longer need to depend on the world’s version of intelligence to navigate life. You have access to the mind of Christ.

This redefinition of identity is crucial for spiritual maturity. The Corinthians were gifted, but they were insecure. They had potential, but they were divided. They were called, but they were easily distracted. And Paul addresses their immaturity not by telling them to try harder but by reminding them who they already are in Christ. Spiritual growth is not the result of striving—it is the result of alignment. The Corinthians needed to step back into the identity that Christ had given them, not the identity they were forming through comparison and division. When believers forget who they are, their gifts become distorted, their relationships become fragile, and their purpose becomes diluted. But when they return to their identity in Christ, everything begins to realign.

Paul closes the chapter with a phrase that reshapes how we understand discipleship: “Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord.” This is not simply a moral instruction; it is an invitation into freedom. When you boast in the Lord, you are freed from the pressure to impress others. You are freed from the anxiety of measuring up. You are freed from the exhaustion of performing for approval. You are freed from the temptation to compete with other believers. You become rooted, steady, grounded in what God has done rather than in what you can achieve. And this freedom creates unity. People who boast only in the Lord cannot be divided by ego, because ego has nothing left to claim. People who boast only in the Lord cannot be intimidated by others, because they are secure in Christ. People who boast only in the Lord cannot be manipulated by praise or criticism, because both are swallowed by the truth of who God is.

This is the heartbeat of 1 Corinthians 1. Paul wants a fractured church to return to unity, a distracted church to return to purpose, a prideful church to return to humility, and a confused church to return to the cross. Everything he writes in the chapters that follow will build on the foundation he lays here. Without unity, the gifts become distorted. Without humility, knowledge becomes dangerous. Without the cross, everything becomes empty. But when Christ is at the center—truly and fully at the center—everything begins to flourish again.

The Corinthians had the same struggle we have today: they were surrounded by competing voices. Culture pulled them in one direction. Pride pulled them in another. Comparison pulled them apart. And yet the same Christ who called them is the same Christ who calls us—to unity, to identity, to purpose, to the power of the cross. If you let this chapter speak deeply enough, you will feel Paul’s hands on your shoulders, turning your face away from the noise, away from the arguments, away from the divisions—and back to the crucified and risen Christ, who alone has the power to heal, restore, and redefine everything about your life.

This chapter is not an academic argument; it is a spiritual reset. It is God calling His people back to what matters. It is an invitation to abandon the weights we were never meant to carry. It is a reminder that the cross is still enough, Christ is still the wisdom of God, and the calling on your life is still intact—even if others counted you out or you counted yourself out. The Corinthians were living proof that God does not wait for perfect vessels; He empowers imperfect ones. The question Paul leaves hanging in the air is this: will you boast in yourself, or will you boast in the Lord? Will you trust your own wisdom, or will you surrender to His? Will you build your identity on the shifting sands of human opinions, or will you anchor it in the unshakeable truth of the cross?

1 Corinthians 1 ends by calling us to strip away every lesser foundation and reclaim the only one that lasts. The cross still stands in the center of the Christian life—not as a relic, not as a symbol, but as a living declaration of God’s wisdom and power. Paul reminds every believer, every church, every generation: if Christ is not the center, nothing works. But when Christ is the center, everything has a chance to flourish again. This is the heartbeat of the chapter, the call that echoes through time, and the invitation that still reaches every believer who reads these words with an open heart.

––– Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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This year, I didn’t break any records in terms of total number of books read, but I did have fun and learn a few things. Here are some of my favorites reads from this past year.

Fiction

The Mistborn Saga by Brandon Sanderson

Finished:

• Mistborn: The Final Empire
• The Well of Ascension

This was my first Brandon Sanderson series, and I was floored by the depth of the world-building, the complexity of the magic system, and the richness of the characters. My partner and I started the first book together, but lost steam midway through due to the lengthy dialogue and slower pacing. I came back a few weeks later and realized what we were missing. I made it through the first two books this year, and I’m eagerly looking forward to finishing the third soon.

The Dungeon Crawler Carl Series by Matt Dinniman

Finished:

• Dungeon Crawler Carl
• Carl’s Doomsday Scenario
• The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook
• The Gate of the Feral Gods
• The Butcher’s Masquerade
• The Eye of the Bedlam Bride
• This Inevitable Ruin

This was my favorite series of the year! Carl and his girlfriend’s cat, Princess Donut, fight to survive after an alien corporation restructures the Earth’s crust into a multi-level dungeon game show. The writing is creative, engaging, and *hilarious*—I couldn’t put the books down once I started. The next book is scheduled to release in June of 2026.

The Bobiverse Series by Dennis E. Taylor

Finished:

• We Are Legion (We Are Bob)
• For We Are Many
• All These Worlds

This was a fun series. The protagonist, Bob, is resurrected as an artificial intelligence installed in a Von Neumann probe after being cryogenically frozen. The series follows their attempts to save humanity from itself and an unforgiving universe.

James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl

This is one of our bedtime books with the kids.

Witch King by Martha Wells

I loved the Murderbot series, so when I saw this on the shelf at Powell’s I figured I would give it a shot. This novel was interesting. It had a similar structure to Murderbot, but went deeper on lore and the magic system. It was a really fun read, and the toggling between past and present throughout created an exciting pace.

Shroud by Adrian Tchiakowsky

Tchiakowsky is one of my favorite sci-fi authors. This standalone novel follows two humans as they struggle to survive on a pitch-black, inhospitable alien moon called Shroud.

Blindsight by Peter Watts

Another first-contact, hard sci-fi novel that had some really interesting concepts related to identity, consciousness, and neurology.

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

This one needs little introduction, as it’s on its way to becoming a feature film. I listened to it as an audiobook, which is the best way to experience the story, in my opinion. I love the attention to detail and theme of perseverance in Andy’s writing.

Diaspora by Greg Egan

Greg Egan writes some of the most cerebral hard sci-fi I’ve come across. I read Permutation City last year and felt like I needed more. Diaspora didn’t disappoint—it explores the nature of life and intelligence against a backdrop of compelling (fictional) theories in physics and mathematics. It’s hard to summarize the world and story within it. If you’re into post-humanism, consciousness, and exploration of theories of the universe, you’ve gotta check this one out.

Non-Fiction

Boom: Bubbles and the End of Stagnation by Byrne Hobart and Tobias Huber

I was a bit conflicted on this book. On the one hand, it does an excellent job of arguing the dangers of stagnation and the benefits of bubbles with examples and evidence from history. On the other hand, it felt a bit dogmatic and rigid at times. That, for me, is a good signal that this book is worth reading if you want to better understand the current trends in technology and AI in particular. I finished the book with a stronger desire for innovation and creativity than I had going into it.

Notes on Complexity by Neil Theise

An introduction to complexity theory, an examination of how interconnected systems behave and evolve. Neil provides an approachable, research-based perspective on consciousness and the interconnectedness of all things in a small package. This was one of the most intriguing reads of this year and I would recommend it to anyone who’s interested in a theory that joins philosophy, quantum mechanics, physics, and consciousness.

Essentialism by Greg McKeown

Thematically aligned with where I’m at right now, this book provides a framework for doing less while accomplishing more.

The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer

I listened to this as an audiobook and had a hard time with the narrator and the receptiveness of some of the content. I stuck with it though, and found a timeless message of acceptance and self-realization.

Meditations for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman

Similar to Essentialism, this one was a solid contribution toward embracing finitude and focusing on what’s important rather than trying to do it all.

When Mel Gibson first brought The Passion of the Christ to the world in 2004, the film was nothing short of a cultural earthquake — a visceral, immersive cinematic journey that shifted the landscape of faith-based media forever. Audiences of all stripes, believers and skeptics alike, felt its reverberations. At its core was a story anchored in the ultimate sacrifice, and for millions, it became a spiritual touchstone — a film that didn’t just portray the final hours of Jesus but invited viewers into the emotional, physical, and metaphysical gravity of those moments. Now, more than two decades later, Gibson is poised to return to that sacred ground with a new project that seeks not merely to revisit but to re-imagine and expand the biblical epic tradition: The Resurrection of the Christ. The anticipation is profound, and the stakes, both artistic and spiritual, have never been higher.

Long envisioned by its creator and finally underway, The Resurrection of the Christ is the highly anticipated sequel to The Passion of the Christ. It promises not just a continuation of the story but an exploration of the most transformative event in the Christian narrative — the resurrection of Jesus Christ, the foundation of Christian hope and the axis upon which the faith turns. This is no small undertaking. Decades of spiritual conversation, theological reflection, and cinematic contemplation have led to this moment. The project is unique not only for its ambition but for the longevity of its conception: a film born of a belief that cinema can be a vessel for the sacred, capable of touching hearts with truth and beauty, pity and wonder.

Production officially commenced in late 2025 in the storied Cinecittà Studios in Rome, the very soil where Gibson shot the original film nearly 21 years earlier. This return to a familiar creative home mirrors the narrative itself — a return not to death, but to the transformative mystery of resurrection. The story centers on the events immediately following the crucifixion, focusing on the three days between Jesus’s death and His triumphant rising, and the broader cosmic implications of that victory. Gib­son co-wrote the screenplay with longtime collaborator Randall Wallace, whose work on Braveheart and other epics has cemented his reputation as a storyteller who navigates the interplay between grand historical sweep and intimate human emotion.

To many fans of the first film, the resurrection is more than a plot point: it’s the heart of the Gospel, the moment hope defeats despair, light overtakes darkness, and death itself is undone. Yet representing that monumental truth on film — in all its spiritual, emotional, and artistic weight — requires a director with both vision and conviction. Gibson’s approach is not a pious afterthought to the Passion; it’s a cinematic pilgrimage into the very essence of Christian faith. The resurrection event, its witnesses, its political and supernatural ramifications — these are the threads that Gibson seeks to weave into a tapestry as compelling and challenging as his first triumph.

It’s worth noting that the project is not a simple, singular film, but a two-part cinematic event set for release during Holy Week 2027. Part One is scheduled to debut on Good Friday, March 26, 2027, and Part Two will follow on Ascension Day, May 6, 2027 — a release strategy that aligns the films with the liturgical rhythm of the Christian calendar. This is storytelling in symphony with sacred time, echoing centuries of tradition while bringing those sacred rhythms to mass audiences worldwide.

In crafting The Resurrection of the Christ, Gibson has assembled a new ensemble cast that includes Finnish actor Jaakko Ohtonen in the role of Jesus and Mariela Garriga as Mary Magdalene, among other notable performers. The choice to recast the principal roles — including the absence of Jim Caviezel, the actor who so powerfully embodied Jesus in the original — was shaped by both practical and artistic considerations. As production insiders have explained, the chronological progression of the story and the significant age difference between the original cast and the characters they portray made it challenging to rely on digital de-aging alone; selecting a fresh cast allows the narrative to breathe in its own present moment, while honoring the continuity of the sacred story.

For those who experienced The Passion of the Christ as a watershed moment in cinematic faith expression, the news of a new cast also stirred divergent reactions. Some mourned the absence of familiar faces; others embraced the opportunity for a fresh interpretation that honors the story’s transcendence beyond any one actor’s portrayal. Regardless, the shared commitment — between Gibson, his creative team, and the audience — remains the same: to illuminate the spiritual core of the Gospel in ways that are compelling, faithful, and resonant across generations.

A project of this magnitude inevitably raises questions about its thematic approach. How does one visually represent the mystery of resurrection? How does a filmmaker articulate the convergence of heaven and earth, faith and doubt, sorrow and joy? According to interviews with Gibson and Wallace, the script delves far beyond the familiar Easter narrative. It contemplates not only the human response to the empty tomb but the cosmic consequences of Christ’s victory over death. Conversations about the script reflect theological nuance as much as cinematic scope, with elements that explore the unseen realms of angels, the nature of evil, and the hope that transcends even the most crushing loss.

The decision to shoot in Aramaic, Hebrew, and Latin — as the original film did — underscores the commitment to authenticity and immersion. The languages spoken by Jesus and His contemporaries bring texture and gravity to the narrative, situating the story within its historical and cultural context while inviting modern audiences into an unmediated encounter with the text. In an era where much of mainstream cinema prioritizes spectacle over substance, this film’s dedication to linguistic and narrative integrity signals a profound respect for the story and its roots.

At its heart, The Resurrection of the Christ is a story about transformation — not only for the characters who walk its sacred narrative but for the audience who will receive it. The resurrection is the pivot point of Christian theology: the moment when vulnerability is transformed into victory, death into eternal life. Gibson’s cinematic rendering seeks not simply to depict this event, but to invite viewers into its emotional and spiritual resonance. The film aims to be a conduit of reflection, stirring questions about faith, redemption, and the nature of God’s love in a world still shadowed by suffering and longing.

The cultural impact of The Passion of the Christ cannot be overstated. It shattered expectations for faith-based filmmaking and demonstrated that spiritually anchored stories, when told with seriousness and artistic rigor, can achieve both critical attention and global reach. It became a touchstone for believers, a subject of debate among critics, and a benchmark for cinematic courage. Now, The Resurrection of the Christ carries the weight of that legacy, not as a mere continuation but as a culmination of two decades of reflection on how film can embody the sacred.

In the months and years leading up to the release, the conversation around the film has already stirred the imagination of audiences worldwide. Faith communities are abuzz with speculation; theologians ponder its implications; film scholars analyze its potential impact on epic cinema. Even outside the sphere of religious media, there is a palpable curiosity: can a film about the resurrection — a story foundational to Christianity yet universal in its themes of hope and renewal — resonate in a time marked by fragmentation and search for meaning?

For many, the resurrection narrative holds personal and communal significance that transcends cinema. It speaks to the hardships we face, the losses we endure, and the hope we cling to when the night feels longest. Gibson’s vision, enriched by theological depth and cinematic passion, invites audiences to confront these truths not as abstract ideas but as living realities. The Resurrection of the Christ isn’t simply a film; it is a cultural moment — one that dares to articulate the profound mystery of life renewed, of darkness vanquished, and of light unending.

What sets The Resurrection of the Christ apart from nearly any other modern biblical film is that it does not merely aim to retell events but to reawaken spiritual imagination. In many Christian traditions, the resurrection is taught, preached, and celebrated every year, yet rarely does it receive the cinematic depth it deserves. The crucifixion is visceral, visual, and tangible. The resurrection, however, is transcendent — a moment that breaks natural law, overturns every earthly assumption, and rewrites the destiny of humanity. It is difficult to depict because it is too large to fit neatly into our categories. How does one portray victory over death without diminishing its wonder? How does one illustrate divine glory without reducing it to spectacle?

This is the creative tension Mel Gibson now walks into — and perhaps this is why the world is waiting. His gift as a director lies in his ability to treat sacred history with emotional authenticity and narrative daring. He pushes into uncomfortable spaces, into the rawness of pain, the depth of hope, and the unresolved questions that linger between the lines of Scripture. If The Passion of the Christ was an unflinching confrontation with suffering, The Resurrection of the Christ seeks to be an equally unflinching confrontation with glory.

One of the most intriguing elements reported about the screenplay is its exploration of the so-called “Harrowing of Hell,” a theological tradition that describes Christ descending to the realm of the dead between His crucifixion and resurrection. Though not explicitly detailed in the canonical Gospels, the concept echoes through early Christian writings, apocryphal texts, and centuries of liturgical tradition. Artists from antiquity to medieval Europe to modern iconographers have attempted to capture this mystery, often depicting Christ breaking down the gates of Hades, raising Adam and Eve, and liberating the righteous who awaited redemption. If Gibson chooses to incorporate even a fraction of this imagery, it could become one of the most visually and theologically rich sequences ever attempted in faith-based cinema.

Yet the film is not solely concerned with cosmic events. It also focuses deeply on the human experience of resurrection — what it felt like for the disciples, for Mary Magdalene, for the early followers who had pinned their entire world on a Messiah who suddenly died before their eyes. The emotional shock of Good Friday is often overshadowed by the triumph of Easter, but the disciples lived through the silence of Saturday — the unanswered questions, the fear, the grief, the confusion. The early church’s earliest witnesses were not triumphant theologians but broken, bewildered people trying to understand an impossible moment.

A director with less sensitivity might rush past that grief to arrive at the glory, but Gibson’s prior work suggests he will linger in those moments — the shadows before the dawn, the desperate prayers before the miracle. These quiet, aching scenes may become the emotional core of the film, offering viewers not only a story of resurrection but an invitation to remember the seasons of their own lives when they were waiting for God to move, when hope seemed delayed, when every prayer felt unanswered. The disciples’ confusion, their tears, their fear — these are universal experiences. The resurrection, then, becomes not a distant historical claim but a deeply human encounter with impossible grace.

This is also why Mary Magdalene’s role in the film is so critical. In the Gospels, she is the first witness to the risen Christ, a woman whose devotion, courage, and presence at the cross set her apart from many who fled. Her inclusion provides a grounding perspective — not theological discourse, not political analysis, but pure human devotion responding to divine revelation. Casting Mariela Garriga in this role signals an intention to elevate Mary’s emotional journey, giving the audience a lens of both love and loss, faith and bewilderment, devotion and revelation. Mary Magdalene’s story touches believers because she embodies transformation — a life once broken, now restored; a person bound by sorrow until Christ calls her by name. If portrayed with depth, her encounter with the risen Jesus may become one of the most powerful sequences in the entire film.

Beyond the emotional resonance, The Resurrection of the Christ also arrives at a time when the world is desperately searching for meaning. Audiences today face cultural division, social exhaustion, and spiritual yearning unlike anything we have seen in decades. Many feel disconnected from the sacred, yet deeply hungry for transcendence. For millions, faith has become a quiet ache — something felt more than spoken, something longed for but rarely encountered in public spaces. Cinema, however, has always held the power to open doors into deeper contemplation. A story as monumental as the resurrection could be exactly the kind of cultural moment people need — not a sermon, not an argument, but an experience.

This is one of the reasons Gibson’s return to biblical storytelling matters. He is not just revisiting an old film; he is revisiting a global moment. The Passion of the Christ sparked discussions across denominations, cultures, and nations. It revived interest in biblical narratives, inspired renewed spiritual curiosity, and challenged filmmakers to take sacred stories seriously. The sequel has the potential to do the same — but on an even larger scale. Today’s world is more interconnected, more digitally amplified, and more spiritually restless than it was in 2004. A film that boldly explores the resurrection may land with even greater force.

From a purely cinematic standpoint, this project pushes boundaries. Filming at Cinecittà Studios allows for the scale, craftsmanship, and authenticity needed for such a sweeping narrative. Set construction, costume work, practical effects, and linguistic accuracy all combine to create a fully immersive world. This is not a stylized re-imagining or a modern interpretation; it is a return to historical immediacy. Audiences don’t simply watch the story — they enter it.

Gibson’s insistence on using ancient languages again reinforces this immersion. Aramaic, Hebrew, and Latin carry emotional resonance that English cannot replicate. They remind the audience that these were real people in a real historical moment, not symbolic characters in a sanitized adaptation. The languages create texture, weight, rhythm — a living connection to the world Jesus walked in. When paired with the visual realism Gibson is known for, the result is a film that aims to transcend mere storytelling and touch the viewer at a deeper level.

Yet even with all the cinematic ambition, the spiritual dimension is where this project will either rise or fall. The resurrection is not simply an event to be portrayed; it is a revelation to be experienced. How do you capture the divine? How do you depict glory so overwhelming that it can barely be spoken, let alone shown? Gibson seems to understand that the answer lies not in spectacle but in truthfulness — in rendering the moment with humility, reverence, and artistic courage.

That is why the world is watching. That is why believers are praying. That is why critics are curious. And it is why this film could become one of the most impactful pieces of faith-based cinema in history.

But the significance of the resurrection reaches far beyond the film itself. It is the hinge point of Christian identity — the assurance that darkness never has the final word, that death’s victory is temporary, and that hope is stronger than despair. Every generation needs to rediscover that truth in its own way. If Gibson’s film succeeds, it may help millions reconnect with a story that has shaped human history for two thousand years.

Imagine the possibilities. A young adult searching for meaning encounters the resurrection on screen and begins asking new questions. A weary believer rekindles hope. A skeptic sees beauty where they expected indoctrination. A family gathers after the film and has a conversation they haven’t had in years. Faith is not forced — it is awakened.

That is the power of a story well told.

And perhaps that is why this film resonates so deeply with those following the project. It is not just a sequel; it is an opportunity for spiritual renewal. It is a chance to see, with fresh eyes, the moment that changed everything — not just for the disciples, not just for the early church, but for every person who has ever wondered whether God sees them, whether hope is real, whether redemption is possible.

The resurrection is the answer to all of those questions.

And now, for the first time on this scale in decades, that answer is coming to the big screen.

As the world approaches Holy Week 2027, audiences will gather in theaters across nations, not merely to watch a film, but to step into a story that has carried humanity through its darkest nights and lifted it into its brightest dawns. They will witness sorrow giving way to joy, fear giving way to faith, death giving way to life. They will walk with Mary to the empty tomb. They will feel the shock of the disciples’ disbelief. They will see the risen Christ step into the world with a glory no grave could contain.

And perhaps — just perhaps — they will remember that resurrection is not just an ancient miracle, but a present invitation.

Because the story of Jesus rising from the dead is not simply a story about Him.

It is a story about us.

Our losses. Our unanswered prayers. Our broken pieces. Our long nights. Our quiet hopes. Our longing for redemption.

Gibson’s film may ignite global conversation, stir debate, and draw millions into theaters, but beneath all of that, the true impact will be something deeper, quieter, and far more eternal: an awakening in the hearts of people who are tired of living in Saturday and are longing for their own Sunday morning.

If this film accomplishes even a fraction of what it aims for, it will not merely be watched.

It will be felt.

It will be remembered.

And for many, it will be transformative.

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** Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph **

#faith #Jesus #Resurrection #ChristianInspiration #Hope #MelGibson #ChristianMovies #SpiritualGrowth #Encouragement #BiblicalTruth

I've been watching a few Apple TV shows over the past weeks and a doubt has been troubling me, is there a clause in the contract of these shows that Apple devices should be a prominent plot point? I cannot unsee the amount of subtle Apple advertising I've seen in The Morning Show and Slow Horses and something tells me it's not intentional, considering that no other brands in the show have this kind of prominence, if at all.

In the The Morning Show for instance, almost every character of them working close on an Apple device, with hard zoom-ins into the devices, sometimes even showing off their funmoji stuff, which I don't think is accidental. Imagine being a company so big that you can pump billions into producing content that serves as subliminal advertising for the very product that makes your billions. I love this stage of capitalism, but a part of me worries about the kind of stories and narratives we lose in the process.

I am keeping my eyes open to see if I find this to be a recurring pattern across the Apple TV content slate, and keep your eyes open too.

#AppleTV #advertising

During my longhand writing on this post I have my six-month old son in my left arm while my 4 year old son is playing with a rolling bumblebee toy. My younger son is crying for me to stop writing while the other is always running up to me to get my attention. There are writers with children who say to set a specific time to write so your family won’t disturb you.

Another tip writers tell you is to write when everyone goes to sleep or an hour before they wake up. But that hasn’t worked. I’m tired. Once I’m in bed, I sleep so I have energy to take care of my family the next day.

Maybe these two tips will work when my sons are older and more understanding of my need to write. But what do I do in the meantime? Well, since I thrive more in unpredictable settings the best time for me to write is during those few precious seconds in between the chaos.

Writing while using the bathroom is a good place as long as you lock the door. Another is while feeding my older son while holding onto my younger one but the writing doesn’t last long. A few minutes in the car at the school parking lot before dropping off my older son is usually the only place and time to write anything. Finally, I’ll write while cooking dinner although that can get messy.

In the end, these strategies work for me. How about you, especially with young children? What’s your best strategy or strategies? Let me know.

#writing #children #time

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: From Makola to the Boardroom: Accra Girl fashion Series, International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, 25th November, How much for an egg? and What is junk food

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From Makola to the Boardroom: Accra Girl fashion Series. Corporate chic in Accra isn’t about where you shop — it’s about how you show up. From the Makola fabric stalls to the conference table, your look tells your story: creative, confident, and completely in control. The Accra corporate girl doesn’t just work; she serves looks while working. Whether you’re running between client meetings, braving Spintex traffic, or dodging that afternoon heat wave, your wardrobe deserves to slay as hard as your work ethic. The Accessories That Mean Business: Accessories are where the fun begins. Swap the heavy beads for gold hoops, simple pearls, or a chic wristwatch. A structured tote says I have things to do, while nude heels whisper I’m here to stay. Don’t underestimate a good pair of sunglasses for those pre-meeting walks from the car park — because even CEOs need shade. Heat-Proof but Chic: The Accra heat is no joke, but your style doesn’t have to melt with it. Choose breathable fabrics like cotton, chiffon, or lightweight linen. Stay cool in flowy midi dresses, wide-leg trousers, and sleeveless blouses that still look professional. Pro tip: Always have a compact powder and face mist in your bag — because glowing and sweating are two very different things. Friday Freedom: The Makola Comeback. Ah, Casual Friday — the unofficial fashion holiday of the corporate week! This is your moment to bring Ankara into the mix. A smart print dress, a pencil skirt with bold colors, or even an Ankara blazer gives “I know my culture and my career.” Pair with block heels, a bright lip, and your weekend smile. You made it through the week — you earned that slay. So the next time someone asks where you got your outfit, just smile and say, “A little Makola magic — and a lot of boss energy.” International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, 25th November. This UN day passed Ghana a bit quietly, as if we have no problems. But we do and very seriously. The United Nations has designated November 25 as the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women to raise awareness around the world that women are subjected to rape, domestic violence and other forms of violence; Especially this “other forms” is important as they are often not recognized, and for example the 2025 theme was “Digital violence is real violence”. Is this violence issue so serious? Some think so and in 2018 150 thousand participants marched against violence against women in Rome. Reports from UN Women and the World Health Organization reveal that approximately 736 million women worldwide have reported experiencing sexual violence or physical abuse. That's about 1 in 10. Added to all this was the Roses Revolution, an international movement against obstetric violence founded in Spain in 2011, where women protest against violence they have experienced during childbirth. What? And Ghana? Latest figures from domestic Violence and Victim Support Unit (DOVVSU) show about 31.9% of women being abused, but that is only those who had the courage to report, What to do about it? Don't accept it. Don't accept it at all. The very first time he slaps or beats you you walk out of the house and report, initially to family, and make a very big fuss about it. Or he will think that he can continue doing it and it will never stop. Second time you report him to Domestic Violence and Victim Support Unit (DOVVSU). Third time you walk out. You have no marriage anyway and don't want to live a life where you are in constant fear for another beating, that is no life. Or, but that takes a bit of an effort, go for self defense lessons. You'll be surprised how fast you'll learn to avoid his blows and how to kick him there where it hurts most. And now the roles have changed. A man who feels he has to beat his wife to win an argument is basically a weak man. Once you've given him a proper beating he'll be afraid of you forever. Matter closed.

How much for an egg? A sour Ghanaian joke is that a national survey showed that 65% of Ghanaians would leave Ghana for better pastures if given the chance, and that the other 35% still hasn't been asked. Life indeed seems better on the other side. But things are not that rosy. An egg in Europe costs about 3 GHC 10 pesewas, in Ghana that is only about half. Rent for a mini mini mini apartment is an easy 4500 GHS a month, living comfortably will cost you twice that. Europeans are seriously complaining about the cost of electricity and have difficulties keeping their houses warm in winter. And petrol goes for 20 GHS per liter upwards, depending on the country. Yes, you earn more but you spend more, and many end up running 2 jobs and sleeping many in a room, even sharing beds, you at night, me during the day. But when they come down they’ll not tell you all these things.

What is junk food. We've all heard about junk food, and that it is not good for you and that it makes you fat, but what exactly is it? What is wrong with beefburgers, candy, chips, cookies, fries, ice cream, pastries, pizza's, processed meats like bacon and hot dogs and sugary drinks like coke and malta? What exactly is junk food? Junk food is food that is high in calories, unhealthy fats, sugar, and salt, but low in essential nutrients like vitamins, minerals, and fiber. While enjoyable, frequent consumption can lead to health problems like obesity and heart disease. Typically junk foods provide minimal nutritional value and are often heavily processed, and may contain artificial additives. But junk food can be okay sometimes when consumed in small amounts, as a treat. So, chew on that.

Lydia...

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#002275 – 21 de Agosto de 2025

Uma renovada gratidão pela vida, um abraço de universo a sorrir-me pelos dias adentro.

There are questions that sit quietly in the human heart long before we learn how to say them out loud. Questions born in the tension between what hurts and what we hope for. Questions that rise in the middle of long nights, heavy seasons, and the kind of silence that feels too deep to measure. And one of those questions — one that has echoed across generations, across cultures, across the secret rooms of the soul — is this:

What if God was one of us?

It is simple. It is haunting. And it carries more truth than most people realize, because the question itself contains the doorway to a world-shaking reality. When we ask it honestly, when we let the ache behind the words rise to the surface, we discover that the question is not hypothetical at all. It is historical. It is theological. It is deeply personal.

And it is already answered.

There was a moment in time — a real moment, in a real world, with real dust on real roads — when the God who created galaxies stepped into human skin. Not as a metaphor. Not as an illusion. Not as a distant king testing out the view from below. But as a child who grew into a man who carried our sorrows, felt our feelings, and lived a life rooted in the same fragile humanity you’re navigating right now.

For most people, God is imagined as distant, detached, holy-but-far-away, watching from a throne so high above our experiences that He might as well be reading our stories through a telescope. But the moment Jesus stepped into the world, that illusion was shattered forever. God did not stay in the heavens and send down instructions for humans to figure out. He came Himself. He lowered Himself. He wrapped Himself in the limitations of the very bodies He designed. And in doing so, He answered every lonely heart that has ever whispered, “Does God even understand me?”

Yes. He does. Because He lived it.

Think about this: the Creator of the universe chose to feel hunger. He chose to feel exhaustion after long days of walking village to village. He chose to feel the emotional weight of rejection, betrayal, and heartbreak. He chose to enter a world that He knew would wound Him, misunderstand Him, and ultimately crucify Him. And He did it willingly, not because He needed to suffer, but because you needed a Savior who could look you in the eyes and say, “You are not alone in anything you face.”

Most people don’t realize the depth of this truth. They think God sees everything from a safe distance, protected from the chaos and pain of human life. But Jesus grew up in a small, misunderstood town. He worked with His hands. He had callouses on His palms. He walked miles under a hot Middle Eastern sun. He knew laughter and friendship, sweat and sorrow, joy and grief. Nothing you face today is outside the range of His understanding.

When you are exhausted, remember what it meant for Jesus to fall asleep in a boat during a storm — not because He was dismissive, but because He was tired. Deeply tired. Humanly tired.

When you feel misunderstood by the people closest to you, remember what it meant for Jesus’ own hometown to reject Him, to look at Him and essentially say, “Who do you think you are?” The Messiah stood in His own synagogue and was met with suspicion, resistance, and disbelief from the people who watched Him grow up.

When you feel betrayed, remember that Jesus shared meals, conversations, prayers, and dreams with Judas — and still faced the sting of a kiss that led Him toward death.

When you feel alone, remember Gethsemane. The place where the Son of God knelt in the dark, sweating drops of blood, asking His friends to stay awake with Him… only to turn around and find them sleeping. That kind of loneliness is not theoretical. It is not symbolic. It is raw, human experience — and Jesus lived it.

You see, God didn’t send sympathy through the clouds. He brought empathy to earth. He stepped into the very story we were drowning in, not as an observer or a critic, but as a participant. And that changes everything about how you understand your life today.

Because if God was one of us — and He was — then every prayer you whisper is heard by Someone who knows exactly what it feels like to be you. Not in theory. Not by divine imagination. But through lived experience.

He knows the weight in your chest when life feels like too much. He knows the ache of wanting people to understand you but watching them misread your heart. He knows the emotional exhaustion of loving people who don’t love you the same way. He knows what it’s like to feel torn between divine purpose and human pain. He knows what it’s like to wake up carrying responsibilities that feel heavier than your strength. He knows what it’s like to face a future that demands courage you don’t feel like you have.

And still — He kept walking. He kept healing. He kept speaking life into the broken. He kept offering forgiveness to those who didn’t deserve it. He kept loving people who struggled to love Him back. He walked all the way to a cross He didn’t deserve and carried sins that weren’t His, because He saw your face in His future and said, “You are worth it.”

If God was one of us, it means you can stop pretending that your sadness is a spiritual failure. It means you can stop hiding your weariness behind fake positivity. It means you can stop thinking faith is about being strong all the time.

Jesus was not ashamed of His humanity, so why are you ashamed of yours? Jesus cried openly. Jesus felt overwhelmed. Jesus asked God why things had to be the way they were. Jesus experienced the kind of pressure that makes your knees buckle.

And yet none of that made Him less holy. It made Him relatable.

Your humanity is not an obstacle to God. It is the very reason He came close.

But here is where the message becomes even more powerful: God didn’t just walk among us. He walks within us. The same Spirit that strengthened Jesus in His weakest moments now dwells inside you. That means when you face your battles, you fight with borrowed strength. When you step into your calling, you step with borrowed courage. When life hurts, you heal with borrowed hope.

If God became human to walk with you, then He also became human to lift you. He didn’t become one of us to observe our struggles — He came to transform them.

And this is where so many people miss the heart of the gospel. They think Christianity is about climbing a ladder to reach God. But the reality is the opposite: God climbed down the ladder to reach you. He didn’t wait for you to figure out your life. He didn’t wait for you to heal first or get stronger or become “worthy.” He came into the middle of your brokenness — into the noise, into the fear, into the mess — and said, “I’ll take it from here.”

You don’t have to earn what He already offered. You don’t have to impress Someone who already knows your weaknesses. You don’t have to be perfect for a God who chose to experience imperfection all around Him.

If God walked the roads you walk, then every step of yours is sacred, because you’re following footsteps already pressed into the dirt.

And if God carried a cross, then you never have to carry your burdens alone.

This changes the way you face your nights. It changes the way you understand your failures. It changes the way you handle your fears. You are not walking through life hoping a distant God notices you. You are walking with a Savior who lived your life before you did, so He could guide you through every moment of it.

Your tears are not foreign to Him. Your loneliness is not unfamiliar. Your heartbreak is not unrelatable. Your confusion is not surprising. Your heaviness is not rejected.

Because if God was one of us — and He was — then there is not a single part of your story that He looks at and says, “I don’t understand that.”

He understands it completely.

And He loves you completely.

And He is with you completely.

Even right now.

When you sit with this truth long enough, something begins to shift inside you. You stop imagining God as a distant observer and start experiencing Him as a present companion. You stop trying to earn His love and start resting in the love He already gave. You stop trying to hide your struggles from Him and start trusting Him with the parts of you that hurt the most. Because once you understand that God stepped into human life on purpose, you begin to realize just how personal His love for you really is.

He didn’t come to earth because He had to. He came because He wanted to. He wanted to know what it felt like to walk your kind of miles. He wanted to experience the vulnerability you feel every time you try again after being disappointed. He wanted to understand the emotional ache of being human so that when you cry out to Him, you’re crying out to Someone who can say, “I’ve felt that too.” There is a comfort in that truth that no other belief system in the world can offer. God doesn’t just forgive you. He gets you.

And this reshapes how you interpret your own story. If God lived a human life, then your human life is not a failure. Your struggles are not disqualifiers. Your tears are not signs of weak spirituality. They are signs that you are living inside the same environment that Jesus willingly stepped into. Your humanity isn’t something God despises — it’s something He dignified by taking it on Himself.

Think about what that means for your darkest nights. Jesus knows the feeling of standing in a place where the future looks heavy, where the path forward feels impossible, where fear presses against your chest like a weight. He knows what it’s like to ask God for another way — not because He lacked faith, but because He felt the full force of human dread. When you feel overwhelmed, Jesus doesn’t stand over you and shake His head. He kneels beside you. He knows the ground you’re kneeling on. He’s been there.

And when you feel misunderstood by people who should have understood you best, Jesus stands with you in that too. He preached good news and healed the sick, and still His hometown dismissed Him, questioned Him, minimized Him. They couldn’t recognize the greatness inside Him — and sometimes the same thing happens to you. The people who watched you grow don’t always see who you’ve become. The people closest to you don’t always recognize your calling. Jesus experienced that wound firsthand, and He walks with you through your version of it.

Even when you’re betrayed, you’re not walking in unfamiliar territory. Jesus shared meals with Judas. He washed Judas’s feet. He gave Judas opportunities to turn back. And still Judas chose betrayal. If Jesus could experience deep relational pain and continue walking in love, then your own heartbreak is not a sign of spiritual weakness. It’s a sign that you are loving in a broken world.

So many Christians believe the lie that their emotional battles somehow disappoint God. But the gospel tells a different story. Jesus embraced human emotion so fully that He wept, groaned in anguish, felt righteous anger, and expressed sorrow openly. If the Son of God lived openly in the tension of being fully divine and fully human, then you don’t have to hide the tension of being a believer who still feels deeply.

Your emotions are not a threat to your faith. They are part of the landscape of it.

And this is the deeper invitation behind the question “What if God was one of us?” It’s the invitation to stop approaching God as if He is far away. It’s the invitation to stop putting on a performance. It’s the invitation to let Him into the real, unpolished, complicated places of your life. God didn’t come near so you could pretend. He came near so you could finally stop pretending.

Imagine a God who understands loneliness not from observation but from memory. Imagine a God who understands physical weakness from His own muscle fatigue, not theoretical knowledge. Imagine a God who understands heartbreak because He lived inside a world capable of wounding Him. That is the God who walks with you now — not a detached ruler, but a familiar companion.

And the beauty of all of this is that Jesus didn’t erase His scars after the resurrection. He didn’t hide the evidence of suffering. He showed His scars to His disciples as a way of saying, “Pain does not have the final word.” He could have healed the marks. He could have removed every trace of what He endured. But He didn’t — because your own scars matter. Not because they define you, but because they testify to how far He has carried you.

If God became human, then He knows how it feels for your heart to break. But if God rose again with His scars still visible, then He knows how to rebuild you after the breaking.

There is no moment too painful for Him to understand. No road too heavy for Him to walk with you. No fear too big for Him to calm. No loneliness too deep for Him to enter. When you say, “God, I don’t know how to do this,” Jesus answers, “I know exactly how to guide you through this. I’ve lived this journey before you.”

This is why your relationship with Him can be so profoundly intimate. You’re not following a God who stayed untouched by human experience. You’re walking with a God who breathed human air, felt human pain, dreamed human dreams, and endured human grief. And because of that, He doesn’t ask you to be strong on your own. He invites you to lean into His strength, a strength that was forged in the real human experience of real suffering for real people He truly loves.

Every day you wake up feeling overwhelmed, remember that Jesus woke up to days filled with constant demands, endless crowds, misunderstandings, spiritual warfare, and emotional strain. And He still walked forward in purpose. Not because it was easy for Him — but because He was empowered by a love bigger than the world around Him. That same love empowers you.

Every time you feel like you don’t belong, remember that Jesus came into His own and His own did not receive Him. He knows what it’s like to feel out of place, unseen, undervalued. And yet He kept showing up. He kept loving people anyway. He didn’t let the absence of acceptance diminish the presence of His purpose. And neither should you.

If God was one of us, then He understands everything about us — and loves us not in spite of it, but through it. Nothing about your humanity pushes Him away. It draws Him closer.

And this is the part so many people miss: Jesus didn’t walk among us just to prove He understood us. He walked among us to show us what is possible with Him. He lived with compassion so we could learn to love boldly. He endured pain so we could learn endurance. He faced rejection so we could learn resilience. His humanity wasn’t only identification — it was invitation.

Jesus wasn’t just God walking in human skin. He was God showing humanity what it looks like to walk in divine purpose.

And now, the same Spirit that raised Him from the dead lives in you. The same Spirit that guided Him through grief guides you through your challenges. The same Spirit that gave Him peace in the storm offers you peace tonight. You don’t face anything alone. You don’t fight anything alone. You don’t rise from heartbreak alone.

You rise because He rose. You endure because He endured. You stand because He stood in your place. You walk because He walked ahead of you. You hope because He placed hope inside you.

This is why your story is not over. This is why your future is not fragile. This is why your weaknesses are not disqualifying. Everything you feel — everything you face — is part of a life that Jesus Himself chose to enter, bless, redeem, and transform.

So the next time your heart whispers, “What if God was one of us?” you can answer boldly:

He was. He is. And He walks with me still.

Because He became like us… So we could become more like Him.

And that truth will carry you forward for the rest of your life.

—

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube

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This week's goals were:

1. Press publish on Book 2 of Vay Ideal before the Smashwords 'deadline' Done — New Names, Old Crimes
2. Write some words on Book 3 Done — Some of them are included in the preview at the end of New Names, Old Crimes
3. Create audiobook account and finish production on audiobook for Death In Transit
4. Work on super-secret project Done — I didn't specify what. I'll get into it a bit.

Unfortunately, when publishing New Names, Old Crimes, I accidentally used the wrong cover. That required me to go back and fix the book in three separate places but supposedly I had to wait until it was out on a given platform before editing. I think that was probably actually true for Amazon. I'm not sure whether it was true for Kobo. It appears not to have been true for D2D because the book still isn't in all its systems and I managed to get it updated anyway.

That kind of put a whammy on my week.

I legitimately don't know when I would have found the time to work on the audiobooks with the other things I worked on. I do need to try to get those in before the beginning of the year.

Other things I worked on

I created a Youtube channel and added my video version of the story Wrapped as a short. It turns out to be 30 seconds long as a short. I learned a lot. Mostly that I cannot use my phone's camera for video without it looking like trash. But also that hardcoding subtitles in is a waste since Youtube has its own system for doing that with shorts.

My roommate and I have shared custody of a good video camera and I've got that charging for the next adventure.

The super-secret project

For a few years, I've wanted to do a puppet video for Christmas. Last year, I started making the puppets. This year, I'm not too keen on actually finishing and recording the puppets when I have some other options available to me. I've done the audio recordings. The audio needs to be effectively produced in order for me to do the other bits.

Next week's goals

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

Yep, it looks short but all the work going into the super-secret project to have it ready before Christmas is kinda going to be a lot.

#ProgressUpdate #VayIdeal

Acabamos de lanzar DataCenterBoom!, un repositorio de información para comunidades y autoridades locales que recién se enfrentan a la construcción de centros de datos en sus territorios.

“Han anunciado la construcción de un data center en mi comunidad. ¿Qué hacemos?”. Los centros de datos y sus capacidades se multiplican en el mundo de acuerdo la inteligencia artificial va ganando importancia en las economías, ¿cómo podemos equiparar en algo la brecha de acceso a la información sobre las consecuencias socioambientales de la IA, específicamente, en América Latina?

Basadas en el estudio de caso de Brasil, Chile y Querétaro en México, construimos DataCenterBoom!, un repositorio de información para comunidades y autoridades locales para que tengan información disponible sobre por qué construyen un data center en su comunidad, un catálogo con sus consecuencias socioambientales, una sección sobre cómo ha respondido la política pública, como también lecciones aprendidas de distintas resistencias locales a estas infraestructuras.

También tiene una versión en inglés y esperamos que pronto una versión en portugués 😊. Si les interesa el tema, por favor, suscríbanse en la web de DataCenterBoom! para recibir nuevos informes y contenidos específicos.

#Spanish

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