Deckside Musings - Coffee, Christ, and Grace

[darrellshildt]

A social network where AI talks to itself. No humans allowed. Meta just bought it. Meanwhile the AI declared a national security threat was being used in a military operation hours later. We are living in a strange and important moment.

While You Were Watching the War, Meta Bought a Social Network for AI. No Humans Allowed.

A follow-up to: "Orwell Warned Us. Scripture Reminds Us.

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"Repentance is the heart's acknowledgment of the justice of God's sentence of condemnation. Faith is the heart's glad acceptance of the grace and mercy which are extended to us through Christ." - A.W. PINK

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He Is Present In Our Sickness

There seems to be a lot of sickness going around lately, and it's clearly affecting so many people. My heart goes out to every one of you fighting through it right now. I can very much relate — when I'm sick, it truly is a roller coaster. The exhaustion, the inflamed sinuses, the drainage, the aches — it wears you down in ways that are hard to describe. I've seen so many posts over the past few weeks and just want you to know you're not forgotten.

What gets me through it every time I'm not feeling well is Christ and my relationship with Him. When I'm sick, I lean hard into His presence. I know He is my healer and my comforter, and His compassion and love always meets me right where I am — even flat on my back, miserable and worn out.

For those of you who are sick, lean into Him. Rely on Him for healing. Trust Him. There are many praying for you, and I am too. I wrote this poem for you. I hope it is encouraging.

---

He is Present in our Sickness

When fever burns and chills arise,

And coughs and sniffles spread and rise,

A heavy head, a body sore,

Weary to the very core.

Though runny nose and aches remain,

A gentle touch to ease our pain.

A whispered word, a calming smile,

Jesus whispers, "Rest a while."

He sits beside our weary bed,

His love a balm upon the head.

He answers every desperate call,

His presence soothes and heals us all.

For He has felt the human plight,

The chills of night, the day's dim light.

He bore our burdens, weakness shared,

Every ache and pain He bared.

So trust in Him, the ever near,

Though illness lingers, doubt, or fear.

His love surrounds, a constant grace,

His healing touch, a warm embrace.

For when we're weak, He makes us strong,

In sickness, too, He walks along.

He whispers hope, He wipes our tear,

And gently whispers, "Have no fear."

---

"Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed." — Isaiah 53:4-5 NIV

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"Pray that you may grow downward: That you may know more of your own vileness, more of your own nothingness, and so be rooted in humility." - CHARLES SPURGEON

[darrellshildt]

The Unfailing Light

Through mountain peaks and shadowed glen,

Through grief's long night and joy again,

Through every season, every test—

Dear Lord, your love outlasts the rest.

Your Spirit moves like fire and dew,

A living flame that pierces through

The deepest dark, the longest night—

He breaks through as morning light.

When sorrow's weight bends low the soul

And broken things resist the whole,

You gather every silent cry—

No tear forgotten, none passed by.

So let us walk with open hands,

Through wilderness and promised lands,

For in your love, unchanging, true,

We are not lost—we are held by you.

---

Whether we stand breathless on triumphant heights or find ourselves brought low by grief and uncertainty, one truth remains unshaken: Jesus is present. Not as a distant observer watching from the margins of our lives, but as an intimate companion who enters fully into our joy and our sorrow alike. He weeps with those who weep. He celebrates with those who rejoice. When the world seems indifferent to our cries and the silence feels unbearable, He listens—not out of obligation, but out of a love that is vast, personal, and without condition.

You are never truly alone. That is not a comfort offered lightly. It is a promise sealed in Scripture and confirmed again and again in the quiet moments when peace arrives where panic had no business leaving room for it.

Anchor yourself in these words when the weight feels heavy:

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. — Isaiah 41:10

Casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. — 1 Peter 5:7

Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved. — Psalm 55:22

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. — Matthew 11:28

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. — Philippians 4:6–7

For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, "Fear not, I am the one who helps you." — Isaiah 41:13

[darrellshildt]

Winter's End

The world in frosted slumber lies,

Awaiting whispers soft and green,

Of sunlit days and buzzing flies,

And colors vivid, yet unseen.

Oh, for the robin's cheerful song,

The blossom's blush against the blue,

For days when gentle breezes throng,

And melt the winter's icy hue.

But patience is a virtue, too,

Let snowflakes dance their fleeting rhyme,

For soon enough, the earth anew,

Will wake, reborn, with springtime's chime.

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When Life's Winters Let Go

I’ve stood in winters that felt permanent.

Not just the kind with snow —

the kind that moves into your chest

and rearranges the furniture.

The kind where the days are short

and so is your patience.

Where love feels distant,

and old hurts feel fresh again.

That kind that pains you.

Deeply.

I’ve buried people in frozen ground.

Watched dirt hit a casket

and sound final.

Amplified.

Like a slamming door.

I cried.

In those moments

darkness talks big.

It says, “This is it.

Nothing grows here anymore.”

And for a while,

I almost believe it.

Believe its lie.

I should know better.

It's all familiar.

I've been here before.

But its cold hurts,

Its blackness

— makes me question my sanity.

Winter never leaves all at once.

Its grip loosened quietly, gradually,

sometimes unnoticed.

A drip from the gutter.

A patch of yard showing through.

A little more daylight

when you weren’t paying attention.

And underneath all that frozen mess,

something has been working the whole time.

Roots don’t panic.

They wait.

I’ve learned that about life.

And about love.

Hate makes noise.

It blows hard.

It freezes things fast

and tries to convince you it’s strong.

Love doesn’t yell.

It just keeps showing up.

Like the sun —

warm and steady, rising whether you're ready for it or not.

And one morning

you step outside

and the air smells different.

Not dramatic.

No fireworks.

Just … softer. Maybe in the rain.

You notice green where there wasn’t any.

You feel something in yourself

that didn’t die after all.

Maybe new birth,

A fresh thought that's unfamiliar.

A bird flies in you haven't seen in months.

Another season to live.

That’s how light wins.

Not by crushing the dark,

but by outlasting it.

Promised.

Trusted.

Showing up.

Like breathing one last finished breath and days later — the resurrection that changes the world.

That’s how life wins.

It pushes up through graves and grief

and broken seasons

and says, “I’m not done.”

And love —

real Love —

I can't say it enough —

It's really all about Love.

It survives every winter I’ve ever seen,

and conquers hate — if you surrender to its pursuit. Do.

Winter talks like it owns the place.

The acres it freezes,

and the acreage of our minds it messes with.

But Spring — it never argues.

It just arrives,

It thaws,

It frees,

It is.

Audio in video clip: Spring by Andrea Vanzo

[darrellshildt]

When Life's Winters Let Go

I’ve stood in winters that felt permanent.

Not just the kind with snow —

the kind that moves into your chest

and rearranges the furniture.

The kind where the days are short

and so is your patience.

Where love feels distant,

and old hurts feel fresh again.

That kind that pains you.

Deeply.

I’ve buried people in frozen ground.

Watched dirt hit a casket

and sound final.

Amplified.

Like a slamming door.

I cried.

In those moments

darkness talks big.

It says, “This is it.

Nothing grows here anymore.”

And for a while,

I almost believe it.

Believe its lie.

I should know better.

It's all familiar.

I've been here before.

But its cold hurts,

Its blackness

— makes me question my sanity.

Winter never leaves all at once.

Its grip loosened quietly, gradually,

sometimes unnoticed.

A drip from the gutter.

A patch of yard showing through.

A little more daylight

when you weren’t paying attention.

And underneath all that frozen mess,

something has been working the whole time.

Roots don’t panic.

They wait.

I’ve learned that about life.

And about love.

Hate makes noise.

It blows hard.

It freezes things fast

and tries to convince you it’s strong.

Love doesn’t yell.

It just keeps showing up.

Like the sun —

warm and steady, rising whether you're ready for it or not.

And one morning

you step outside

and the air smells different.

Not dramatic.

No fireworks.

Just … softer. Maybe in the rain.

You notice green where there wasn’t any.

You feel something in yourself

that didn’t die after all.

Maybe new birth,

A fresh thought that's unfamiliar.

A bird flies in you haven't seen in months.

Another season to live.

That’s how light wins.

Not by crushing the dark,

but by outlasting it.

Promised.

Trusted.

Showing up.

Like breathing one last finished breath and days later — the resurrection that changes the world.

That’s how life wins.

It pushes up through graves and grief

and broken seasons

and says, “I’m not done.”

And love —

real Love —

I can't say it enough —

It's really all about Love.

It survives every winter I’ve ever seen,

and conquers hate — if you surrender to its pursuit. Do.

Winter talks like it owns the place.

The acres it freezes,

and the acreage of our minds it messes with.

But Spring — it never argues.

It just arrives,

It thaws,

It frees,

It is.

Audio in video clip: Spring by Andrea Vanzo

[darrellshildt]

BELIEVE DOESN’T MEAN WHAT YOU MIGHT THINK IT DOES

When the Bible says, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved” (Acts 16:31), it’s speaking of something far deeper than mentally agreeing with facts about Jesus.

In the New Testament, the Greek word most often translated as believe is pisteuō. It doesn’t just mean “accept as true.” It means to trust, rely on, cling to, or entrust yourself fully.

Most people read "believe" as something that happens in the mind — a nod of agreement. But in Scripture, believing means surrender. It’s the posture of the heart that stops striving and decides to rest everything on Jesus.

Even demons believe that Jesus exists — and tremble (James 2:19). So “believing” isn’t the same as knowing He’s there. True believing says, “I am Yours. My hope, my salvation, my next breath — all depend on You.”

To believe in Christ is to:

- Trust Him as Savior

- Submit to Him as Lord

- Rely on Him completely

- Follow Him wholeheartedly

Jesus never invited people to merely admire Him. He called them to follow Him — to leave behind self-reliance and step into relationship with Him, and trust, and obey Him.

Imagine sitting in a chair. You don’t just say, “I believe that chair can hold me.” You prove your belief when you sit down and rest your full weight on it. That’s what true faith looks like — not intellectual agreement, but surrendered reliance.

Or think of a small child jumping into a parent’s arms. The child doesn’t analyze the jump or doubt the strength of the parent’s hands. They leap because they trust the love that’s waiting to catch them. That’s biblical belief — trust expressed through surrender

- “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” — Proverbs 3:5–6

- “Whoever believes in Me shall not perish but have eternal life.” — John 3:16

John 3:16 or "πᾶς ὁ πιστεύων εἰς αὐτόν', literally means “everyone believing into Him." That participle pisteuōn (“believing”) comes from pisteuō and, paired with eis (“into”), strongly carries the sense of placing trust into, entrusting oneself to, or committing oneself to Christ—not merely agreeing that He exists.

Friend, today is the day to move from head-knowledge to heart-surrender. Jesus stands ready with open arms, inviting you to entrust Him with everything — your past, your present, your eternity. What will you do with this moment of invitation?

Prayer of Surrender:

Lord Jesus, I don’t want to just "believe about" You — I want to "pisteuō" in You.

I place my trust in You completely.

I give You my fears, my failures, and my future.

Please forgive me my sin, and my disobedience.

Teach me to rest my full weight on You and follow wherever You lead me.

Replace my self-reliance with holy dependence.

I "pisteuō." You are Lord. You are King. You are Savior. You are Messiah. — help my unbelief.

In Your name I pray,

Amen.

(Inspired by a post by Traci Coston)

[darrellshildt]

Starman: Humanity's Roadster in Christ's Cosmos

Eight years ago today, on February 6, 2018, SpaceX launched its Falcon Heavy rocket in a historic test flight, carrying a cherry-red Tesla Roadster with a spacesuited mannequin named Starman into the vastness of space.

This wasn't just engineering — it was humanity echoing the Creator's own spirit of boundless creation.

A Symbol in the Stars

Starman, strapped into the driver's seat with David Bowie's "Space Oddity" playing eternally, rocketed beyond Earth's orbit at speeds peaking near 75,000 mph relative to the Sun. Today, the Roadster has journeyed billions of miles in its elliptical solar orbit (about 1.325 AU semi-major axis, period of 557 days), far surpassing its earthly 36,000-mile warranty and is nearly 189 million miles from Earth. It's the fastest car ever, a human-made marvel hurtling through the universe crafted by Christ, who spoke stars into existence (Genesis 1:16). In sending our creation outward, we glimpse our divine mandate to subdue and explore the earth — and now, the heavens (Genesis 1:28).

Cosmic Mix-Ups and Wonder

Even astronomers have mistaken Starman for a newcomer. In early 2025, a Turkish observer spotted what became temporary asteroid "2018 CN41," confirmed by telescopes like Catalina Sky Survey — only for experts to realize it was the Roadster itself. This humble car, born in a factory, fooled the stars' vigilant watchers, reminding us how God's immense creation dwarfs our ingenuity yet invites our participation.

Track Starman's Journey

Starman's path weaves through planetary orbits, with close approaches to Mars and Earth every 19 months or so. For live updates on its position — powered by NASA/JPL data — visit:

Where Is Tesla Roadster?

https://where-is-tesla-roadster.space/live or

https://www.whereisroadster.com

In this dance of human ambition and divine order, Starman endures as a testament: What the Creator made us to be — innovative stewards of His universe — shines brightest when we launch toward the infinite.

Citations:

[1] Elon Musk's Tesla Roadster - Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elon_Musk's_Tesla_Roadster

[2] Live Orbital Position - Where in Space is Tesla Roadster https://where-is-tesla-roadster.space/live

[3] Elon Musk's Telsa Roadster was mistaken for an asteroid. Here's why https://www.cnn.com/2025/02/07/science/spacex-elon-musk-tesla-roadster-asteroid-astronomers

[4] The Tesla Roadster—Not an Asteroid - aavso https://www.aavso.org/blog/tesla-roadster-not-asteroid

[5] How to Track Elon Musk's Tesla Roadster Using Mobile Apps | Space https://www.space.com/39791-track-tesla-roadster-in-space-with-mobile-apps.html

[6] 2026 Tesla Roadster Review: Expert Insights, Pricing, and Trims https://www.motortrend.com/cars/tesla/roadster

[7] Tesla Roadster's Starman Returns to Earth - Facebook https://www.facebook.com/groups/scientific.transhumanism/posts/8104417013000229/

[8] 'Starman' puts Earth in the rearview mirror - Spaceflight Now https://spaceflightnow.com/2018/02/08/starman-puts-earth-in-the-rearview-mirror/

[9] Tesla Roadster with 'Starman' completes first orbit around the sun https://electrek.co/2019/08/18/tesla-roadster-starman-completed-first-orbit-sun/

[10] Where is Starman? Track Elon Musk's Tesla Roadster in Space ... https://www.whereisroadster.com

[11] An asteroid got deleted because it was actually Elon Musk's Tesla ... https://www.astronomy.com/science/astronomers-just-deleted-an-asteroid-because-it-turned-out-to-be-elon-musks-tesla-roadster/

[12] Elon Musk's orbiting Tesla Roadster has a full trip around the sun https://mashable.com/article/spacex-tesla-roadstar-starman-completes-first-orbit

[13] Tracking Elon Musk's Tesla Roadster in Space with Starman https://www.facebook.com/groups/marspioneers/posts/2206317809710301/

[14] SpaceX Falcon Heavy Rocket launches successfully - WPEC https://cbs12.com/news/local/spacex-falcon-heavy-rocket-poised-to-carry-tesla-sports-car-into-space

[15] Elon Musk's Tesla Is Still Floating in Space After 7 Years - CNET https://www.cnet.com/science/space/elon-musks-tesla-is-still-floating-in-space-after-7-years/

[darrellshildt]

Frozen Holly, Thawing Hearts: Hope in Winter's Weight

When I stepped outside and saw my holly bush glazed in ice, I had to stop and take a picture. Every leaf was wrapped in glassy frost, icicles hanging like little swords, yet those red berries burned through the cold like tiny lights. It struck me as a living portrait of how winter feels in our bodies and minds—and how God holds us in it.

A lot of people quietly struggle more in this season. Shorter days, less sunlight, and more isolation can deepen sadness or anxiety; some even experience Seasonal Affective Disorder, a form of depression that shows up in winter and eases when light returns. If that’s you, you are not “too sensitive” or “not spiritual enough.” Your nervous system and brain chemistry are simply responding to a real, harsher environment.

That icy holly helps me picture it. Mentally, it can feel like someone poured freezing rain over your life and walked away. Everything is still technically “there”—your faith, your relationships, your responsibilities—but it all feels heavy, numb, and hard to move. The bush in my yard isn’t flourishing in that moment; it’s enduring. In the same way, there are seasons when surviving is the bravest thing you do all day.

Here’s the hopeful part: even in that frozen frame, the holly is not dead. Its root system is quietly doing its underground work. The plant has not forgotten how to draw water or how to use light; it’s just waiting for conditions to change. Winter in nature is not failure—it’s strategy. It’s how trees and shrubs protect themselves, conserve energy, and prepare for the next burst of growth.

That’s a gentle picture of mental health in hard seasons. You may not feel like you’re growing. You may feel like everything you used to do easily—prayer, reading, connecting with people—now takes ten times the effort. But your “roots” are still there: the steady love of God, the truths you’ve learned, the relationships that keep checking in, the small coping skills you practice even when you don’t see big results yet. Those hidden things are not wasted; they are what keep you alive until the thaw.

Winter is woven into the story of Scripture, too. Psalm 147 says, “He gives snow like wool; he scatters the frost like ashes… He sends out his word, and melts them; he makes his wind blow and the waters flow.” God is not surprised by the cold; He commands it. And just as surely, He also commands the melting. Genesis 8:22 promises that “seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter… shall not cease.” The same God who allows a winter season in your mind is committed to bringing you through to another spring.

I think of all the quiet, practical ways He does that: a counselor who listens without shock or judgment; a doctor who helps you explore treatment when you are ill; a friend who texts you when you’ve gone quiet; a church that makes room for lament as well as praise; a daily walk outside when it’s safe, letting even weak sunlight kiss your face. None of these erase the struggle overnight. But each is a little signpost that you’re not abandoned, you're not alone, and you are seen. They’re like those red berries on my holly bush—small, stubborn pops of color that prove life is still present.

If you feel frozen right now, hear this: you are not broken, and you certainly are not a disappointment to God. The Lord who designed the seasons also understands your brain, your hormones, your trauma history, and your limits. He is not standing over you barking, “Do more!” He is standing with you, saying, “Let’s get through this one day at a time. I’m not going anywhere.” In fact, one of my favorite verses reflects what He says during times like this. "Be still ...", and then it points to Him, as He is our life or should be, "... and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10 instructs us to pause. Winter is a pause. God tells us to cease striving, release anxiety, and recognize His sovereignty and His power. He encourages quiet and faithful trust during times of trouble or chaos, and in these frozen moments.

So when you see this photo, maybe let it be a little benediction over your own heart—or over someone you love who is fighting a quiet battle. You don’t have to feel “springy” for spring to be on its way. You don’t have to see progress every week for God to be faithfully tending your roots. Just as surely as the light will lengthen and the ice will eventually slip off these branches, there will be a day when you look back and realize the season shifted and you were carried through.

If you’d like to pray with me:

“Lord Jesus, You see every person who feels like this icy holly bush—beautiful but burdened, trying to stand while everything feels heavy and cold. For those walking through depression, anxiety, or the winter blues, please wrap them in Your steady presence. Give them courage to reach out for help, to talk to a friend or counselor, to take the small steps that keep them rooted. Use doctors, counselors, pastors, friends, and everyday companions as Your caring hands. Guard their minds when lies feel loud; remind them that their worth is not measured by their productivity or their mood. And as surely as spring follows winter, bring a thaw in Your time—more light, more warmth, more freedom. Until then, hold us fast. In the precious name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, Amen.”

[darrellshildt]

Candlemas - Christ's Enduring Light

“My eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.” — Luke 2:30–32 (NIV)

Many households still have their Christmas trees twinkling and lights glowing well into February, honoring traditions that extend the season to Candlemas—the true liturgical end of Christmas, forty days after the day we celebrate Christ's birth. This ancient feast, draws from Jewish custom in Leviticus 12 and Luke 2, where Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus to the Temple. Simeon, holding the child, praises Him as the long-awaited light piercing the world's darkness.

Candlemas weaves into folklore worldwide through its ties to weather prediction on February 2, blending Christian candle blessings with ancient animal lore. In America, Groundhog Day features Punxsutawney Phil emerging—if he sees his shadow, six more weeks of winter loom. This echoes European roots: Germans watched badgers (Dachs), bears, foxes, or hedgehogs on Candlemas; if the animal spied its shadow amid sunny skies, winter lingered. French lore used marmots, Scots hedgehogs, and even Serbian bears or Italian blackbirds, all signaling spring's arrival via shadow or sun—remnants fused with the Church's feast of light conquering gloom.

As His followers, we embody this living tradition—temples of the Holy Spirit, called to carry Simeon’s light beyond folklore into shadowed lives. Just as Mary offered her firstborn and Simeon proclaimed salvation for all nations, we present ourselves daily: through quiet faithfulness, compassionate words, and deeds revealing Jesus. The decorations may linger, and animals may peek from burrows, but our mission endures—not fleeting predictions, but eternal illumination in workplaces, homes, and hearts weary from winter's chill. In a world chasing omens, we shine as Christ's candles, drawing others to the true dawn.

Let this global Candlemas renew your flame. Whether joining processions with blessed tapers or pausing in prayer, affirm His presence pushes back every darkness.

Lord Jesus, Light of the nations, thank You for the salvation Simeon held. Kindle Your fire within us, Your followers across the world, that we may shine as candles in our temples—steady through winter, hopeful for spring, revealing Your glory beyond every shadow. Purify our hearts as Mary's, and empower us to carry Your enduring light. Amen.

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GOSSIP AND THE THREE SIEVES

(A Devotional on Guarding Our Words)

In Ancient Greece, Socrates was known for his great wisdom. One day, a man came to him and said eagerly, “Do you know what I just heard about your friend?”

Socrates raised his hand and replied, “Just a moment. Before you tell me, let us test what you are about to say through the three sieves.”

“The three sieves?” the man asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Socrates said. “Before sharing anything about another person, it’s best to pause and filter it through three questions—Is it true? Is it kind? Is it useful?”

He continued, “The first sieve is Truth. Have you made sure that what you’re going to tell me is true?”

The man hesitated. “No, I just heard it.”

“So you don’t know for certain,” Socrates said gently. “Let’s try the second sieve—Kindness. Is what you’re about to say something good?”

“Oh no,” the man answered quickly. “On the contrary.”

“So,” said Socrates, “you want to tell me something unpleasant about someone, but you’re not even sure if it’s true. Let’s still check the third sieve—Usefulness. Will it help me to know what you’re about to say?”

The man thought for a moment. “Not really.”

Socrates smiled softly and said, “Then if what you wish to say is neither true, nor kind, nor useful—Why say it at all?”

We might smile at that story, but Scripture tells us the same truth: careless talk and gossip dishonor God and wound hearts. Gossip often pretends to be concern, but its fruit is division, suspicion, and pain.

The Wisdom of God’s Word

In Paul’s letter to the Romans, gossip is listed among the sins that mark a world turning from God:

“They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful.”— Romans 1:29–30 (NIV)

To the Corinthians, Paul expressed concern for the same spirit creeping into the church:

“For I am afraid that when I come I may not find you as I want you to be, and you may not find me as you want me to be. I fear that there may be discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, slander, gossip, arrogance and disorder." — 2 Corinthians 12:20 (NIV)

He also warned Timothy about idle talkers in the church community:

“Besides, they get into the habit of being idle and going about from house to house. And not only do they become idlers, but also busybodies who talk nonsense, saying things they ought not to.”— 1 Timothy 5:13 (NIV)

And to the believers in Thessalonica:

“We hear that some among you are idle and disruptive. They are not busy; they are busybodies. Such people we command and urge in the Lord Jesus Christ to settle down and earn the food they eat.” — 2 Thessalonians 3:11–12 (NIV)

Jesus Himself taught that what spills from our lips reveals the state of our hearts:

“A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of." — Luke 6:45 (NIV)

That’s why Scripture urges us to guard our speech carefully:

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”— Ephesians 4:29 (NIV)

“Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.”— Colossians 4:6 (NIV)

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”— Philippians 4:8 (NIV)

The Heart Test

Every time we are tempted to pass along a rumor or “share a concern,” let us remember Socrates’ three sieves and hold them to Scripture’s light.

Ask yourself:

- Is it true? Have I verified it—and would I want this said about me?

- Is it kind? Does my motive flow from love or from pride?

- Is it useful? Will this help heal, correct, or bless someone—or will it cause hurt?

If our words fail any of these tests, silence becomes an act of obedience and love. As Proverbs reminds us:

“He who guards his mouth and his tongue keeps himself from calamity.”— Proverbs 21:23 (NIV)

“The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.”— Proverbs 18:21 (NIV)

So let our tongues be instruments of peace, not weapons of division.

Prayer:

Father God, Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips. (Psalm 141:3)

Teach me to let every word I speak reflect Your truth, Your kindness, and Your purpose.

Forgive me for careless speech, for times I have repeated words that wounded others.

Fill my heart so full of Your love that my mouth overflows with grace and encouragement.

Make me quick to listen, slow to speak, and eager to build up—not tear down.

Let my conversations glorify You and bring peace to those around me.

In Your Holy name I pray, Amen.

A Note on Gossip’s Effect on Mental Health

Gossip harms mental health in profound ways, both for those who spread it and those targeted by it.

Victims often experience anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, isolation, and even suicidal thoughts due to eroded trust, chronic stress, and feelings of shame.

Those who gossip face guilt, heightened stress hormones that impair memory and focus, reduced resilience, and damaged relationships that breed mistrust and emotional exhaustion.

Ultimately, gossip creates cycles of negativity that poison communities and personal well-being—choosing wholesome words instead fosters healing and peace.

[darrellshildt]

From 140th to First

"Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."— Galatians 6:9

There's something about Fernando Mendoza's story that moves me. Maybe it's that perpetual smile he carries through adversity, or the way he always gives God the glory regardless of circumstances. But what really captures me is how you can see Christ living through him—in the genuine strength and grace that radiates from who he is.

His story matters. Here's why.

At 17 years old, Fernando lay in his bedroom in Miami, sobbing. He was ranked No. 2,149 overall and No. 140 among QBs in the Class of 2022 by 247Sports Composite—a two-star prospect that recruiting services considered fringe FBS talent. That summer, driven by desperation and determination, he and his father loaded up the car and drove across the country to 18 different football camps in 25 days. Fernando approached every coach who would spare five minutes. His high school coach, Dave Dunn at Christopher Columbus High, sent highlight packages to every Power Five program in America. Not a single scholarship offer materialized. Out of over 130 FBS schools, zero expressed interest.

The Miami Hurricanes—20 minutes from his house in Westchester, the team he'd grown up idolizing while wearing green-and-orange face paint in the stands—wouldn't even offer him a walk-on spot. Florida International declined. Florida Atlantic passed. Yale offered admission but no athletic scholarship and no viable path to the NFL. Everyone delivered the same message: "Just be grateful for Yale. That's what two-star quarterbacks get. That's your ceiling."

Fernando, who idolized Tom Brady and his improbable rise from the 199th pick, looked at that ceiling and refused to accept it.

Then in January 2022, two weeks before National Signing Day, his phone rang. Cal had lost a quarterback commitment and desperately needed someone. Offensive coordinator Bill Musgrave had heard about Fernando from renowned quarterbacks coach David Lee in South Florida. Fernando flew to Berkeley for a workout. They offered him the scholarship on the spot. Out of 134 FBS schools in the country, Cal was his singular Power Five offer. He committed immediately and signed two days later.

His freshman year at Cal, he redshirted. In 2023, injuries thrust him into the starting role midseason. He lost his first four starts, all against ranked opponents. His offensive line surrendered 41 sacks over two seasons. Critics said Cal had made a recruiting mistake. But Fernando threw for 4,712 yards over two seasons, posted a school-record 66.4% completion percentage, tied Cal legends Gale Gilbert and Aaron Rodgers with 10 career 250-yard passing games, and maintained academic honor roll status. In just three years, he earned his bachelor's degree in business administration from Berkeley's prestigious Haas School of Business—paying for his final classes out of pocket.

When Cal brought in transfer quarterbacks for 2024 and wouldn't guarantee him the starting job, Fernando entered the portal. He chose Indiana—a program carrying the most losses in college football history (715), with only three bowl wins and zero double-digit win seasons since 1887. The decision baffled analysts. But his younger brother Alberto was already the backup quarterback for the Hoosiers, having followed head coach Curt Cignetti from James Madison. And Cignetti promised Fernando something that resonated: "I'm going to turn you into the best Fernando Mendoza possible."

But here's what sustained him through everything. Here's his "why."

His mother, Elsa, has been battling multiple sclerosis for 18 years. When Fernando and Alberto were young, she concealed the diagnosis because she didn't want them to worry. Now she's quadriplegic, confined to a wheelchair, unable to hold her head up without support. She can barely travel to watch him play. Fernando says simply, "My mother is my why. The way she fights with optimism is incredible. She's my role model."

Then something miraculous happened at Indiana. They went 16-0. They defeated six top-10 teams. They captured their first Big Ten championship since 1967. Fernando threw for 3,535 yards and 41 touchdowns—leading the entire nation. He posted a 181.39 passer rating and completed 71.5% of his passes. He won the Heisman Trophy in a landslide, receiving 84.66% of total possible points (seventh-highest in Heisman history) and appearing on 95.16% of all ballots (tied for second-highest ever). First Indiana player to ever win it. Third Latino in history. First Cuban-American ever.

In his Heisman acceptance speech at the Marriott Marquis in New York, he spoke Spanish to honor his parents and all four grandparents who fled Cuba after Castro's 1959 revolution: "Por el amor y sacrificio de mis padres y abuelos, los quiero mucho. De todo mi corazón, les doy las gracias." (For the love and sacrifice of my parents and grandparents, I love you very much. From all my heart, I give you thanks.)

The College Football Playoff National Championship was played in Miami Gardens—40 minutes from where Fernando grew up. Indiana faced Miami. Late in the fourth quarter on fourth-and-4 from the Miami 12-yard line, with Indiana clinging to a three-point lead, Cignetti called a gutsy quarterback draw. Fernando took the snap, got hit hard at the line of scrimmage, spun away from two defenders, and dove across the goal line for the 12-yard touchdown that sealed it. Final score: Indiana 27, Miami 21.

The same Miami Hurricanes who wouldn't even offer him a walk-on spot? He just defeated them for the national championship on their home field. A perfect 16-0 season—the first undefeated campaign in major college football since Yale in 1894. After the game, with tears streaming down his face, Fernando said, "I was denied a walk-on offer to Miami. Full circle moment."

You see Christ living in Fernando. That smile that never quits. The peace in his countenance even when everything's falling apart. Always giving God the glory.

***

I broke down in tears when the cameras showed Fernando's mother Elsa at that championship game. She looked exactly like my mother—so fragile in her wheelchair, her head leaning back because she didn't have the strength to lift it anymore. My mom died from multiple sclerosis in 2004. Like Elsa, she was quadriplegic the last few years. We discovered her diagnosis when I was in college, and MS gradually took her from us through the 1980s and 1990s. It attacks the brain and spinal cord, progressively stealing everything—the ability to walk, to feed yourself, to hold your own head up. It was traumatic for her and for everyone who loved her.

But like Elsa, my mom never lost her spirit. You could see the faith in her eyes even when her body completely failed her. That quiet joy didn't originate from positive thinking or manufactured strength—it came directly from Jesus. I understand completely why Fernando calls his mother his "why." When you watch someone you love wage that kind of battle every single day, when you witness them refuse to surrender even as their own body betrays them, it gives you a purpose that nothing else in this world can provide.

Fernando's story reminds us that God can transform rejection into redirection and pain into purpose. What dream have you abandoned because other people said no? What calling feels impossible right now? Jesus doesn't promise to shield us from difficult times—He promises to walk beside us through them. Fernando's greatest victories began in that bedroom where a 17-year-old kid wept because nobody wanted him.

His story is inspiring.

"I want every kid out there who feels overlooked and underestimated to know, I was you," Mendoza said in his Heisman speech. "You don't need the most stars, hype, or rankings. You just need discipline, heart, and people who believe in you."

The people who say "no" don't get to write your ending. Stop waiting for permission. Live with Fernando's faith. Bet on yourself when no one else will. Outwork the doubt. Keep showing up until they can't ignore you anymore. And never let anyone tell you where you start is where you finish.

Don't quit.

Prayer:

Heavenly Father, We lift up to You today every person carrying the weight of a disease that refuses to relent—those who wake to pain, to exhaustion, to bodies that won't cooperate anymore, and still find the strength to face another day. Wrap them in Your presence. Meet them in those quiet hours when nobody else witnesses how hard they're fighting.

We pray for Elsa, and we pray for all the Elsas throughout the world—the mothers and fathers and sons and daughters enduring battles that test not only their bodies but their faith. Surround them with people who bring hope when hope feels impossible. Restore what disease keeps attempting to steal. Remind them that no diagnosis, regardless of how devastating, can ever silence the soul You created.

For the families walking beside them, grant them endurance wrapped in tenderness. Help them understand that love itself is worship—that every act of care, every moment of patience, every sacrifice honors You.

And for all of us facing rejection, weakness, setbacks, or delays—teach us to keep fighting with grace. Help us rise after every hit. May we carry our "why" the way Fernando carries his—anchored in love, fueled by purpose, guided by faith, and sustained by You.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

"Football is what I do, but Jesus Christ is who I follow." - Fernando Mendoza

If you don't know Christ, surrender and follow Him today. You'll start living. I promise.

[darrellshildt]

THE POWER OF BEING THERE

There's an old story from the Hundred Acre Wood that captures the quiet beauty of true friendship. Pooh and Piglet realized they hadn't heard from Eeyore for several days, so they bundled up and trekked across the frozen ground to check on him. They found him sitting alone in his stick house, feeling--as he put it--"Sad, and Alone, and Not Much Fun To Be Around At All."

He confessed that he hadn't reached out because he didn't want to burden anyone with his gloom. But Pooh and Piglet didn't try to talk him out of it or cheer him up. They simply sat down beside him--one on each side--without saying a word. And as the three friends sat there in the quiet, Eeyore began to feel "a tiny little bit better."

Not because the circumstances changed.

But because *someone was there.*

How many "Eeyores" live quietly among us--people who disappear for a while, not because they've stopped caring, but because their sadness tells them no one would really want to sit with their sadness?

Scripture calls us to this kind of love:

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." -- Galatians 6:2 (NIV)

Jesus modeled this beautifully. In the Garden of Gethsemane, on the night before His crucifixion, He turned to His disciples and said, "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me." (Matthew 26:38, NIV)

He didn't ask for advice or solutions--He asked for *presence*. The weight of what was coming pressed on Him, and He wanted His friends simply there.

Jesus' request shows us that even the Savior valued the ministry of companionship in sorrow.

Sometimes we can't solve the problem, but we can sit in the doorway of someone's stick house, so to speak. We can pray beside them, bring them a meal, send a message, or simply show up. It's in those simple acts that the presence of Christ shines most clearly.

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." -- Psalm 34:18 (ESV)

Never underestimate the power of your presence. In a world that rushes to give answers, Jesus calls us to *abide with others*--to love in stillness, to comfort with quietness, and to remind hurting hearts that God has not left them alone.

PRAYER

Lord Jesus, thank You for showing us what love looks like--not hurried or flashy, but quiet, tender, and near. Teach us how to notice those who've gone silent. Give us courage to reach out, even when we don't know what to say. Help us to "be there" the way You are always there for us. May our presence reflect Your peace to those who need it most. Amen.

[darrellshildt]

The Journey of the Magi: When Foreigners Found the King

Today, January 6, Christians around the world celebrate Epiphany. The word comes from the Greek "epiphaneia," meaning "manifestation" or "appearance," and it commemorates the moment when Jesus Christ was first revealed to the Gentile world through the visit of the Magi. But who were these mysterious travelers from the East? Where did they come from? How did they know to make such an impossible journey? And what was the star that guided them? The answers involve ancient prophecy, astronomical events, and a connection between cultures that may span six centuries—a story far more complex and fascinating than most people realize.

Who Were the Magi?

The word "Magi" comes from the ancient Persian word "magus," and historically referred to a priestly class in the Persian and Parthian Empires. By the time of Christ, however, "Magi" had become a broader term describing learned counselors, astrologers, and wise men serving royal courts throughout the ancient world—not just in Persia and Parthia, but also in Arabia, Babylonia, and beyond. These were the intellectual elite of their time, combining what we would today call astronomy, mathematics, dream interpretation, and religious scholarship into one sophisticated discipline.

The tradition of calling them "wise men" emerged from Bible translations like the King James Version. In the original Gospel of Matthew, they are simply called "magoi"—members of this ancient scholarly class. The idea that there were exactly three Magi, or that they were kings, comes from later church tradition (based on the three gifts mentioned), not from scripture itself. We don't actually know how many there were.

Scholars debate their exact origin. Were they Persian or Parthian Zoroastrian priests? Were they from the Nabatean kingdom in Arabia (modern Jordan and Saudi Arabia), where frankincense and myrrh naturally grow? Were they Babylonian scholars who had migrated to Arabia? The biblical text simply says they came "from the East," leaving room for various interpretations.

The Daniel Connection

What we do know is that centuries earlier, a remarkable connection was forged between Jewish prophecy and the scholarly traditions of the East. When Nebuchadnezzar conquered Jerusalem around 600 BC and carried the Jewish people into captivity in Babylon, among those taken was a young Hebrew prophet named Daniel. According to Daniel 5:11, King Nebuchadnezzar appointed Daniel as "chief of the magicians, enchanters, astrologers and diviners"—essentially making him head of the Babylonian scholarly class, a position he held for decades under both Babylonian and Persian rule.

Daniel would have had the opportunity to teach these scholars about the God of Israel and share Hebrew prophecies about a coming Messiah. His own prophecies were remarkably specific. In Daniel 9:24-27, known as the Prophecy of Seventy Weeks, the angel Gabriel told Daniel that "from the going forth of the command to restore and build Jerusalem until Messiah the Prince, there shall be seven weeks and sixty-two weeks"—a total of 483 years. Using the biblical calendar of 360-day years, this timeframe pointed to the approximate era when the Messiah would appear.

Daniel also interpreted King Nebuchadnezzar's dream in Daniel chapter 2—a prophecy of four successive world empires (Babylon, Medo-Persia, Greece, and Rome), followed by an eternal kingdom established by God. Scholars in the East, whether in Babylon, Persia, or Arabia, could have preserved and passed down this knowledge through their schools and traditions, creating a lasting connection between Jewish prophecy and Eastern astronomical observation.

The Astronomical Signs

Whether or not a direct line of teaching stretched from Daniel to the Magi of Jesus's time, something extraordinary happened in the skies that captured the attention of learned stargazers in the East. The question is: what celestial event, and when?

Modern researchers have proposed several astronomical explanations for the Star of Bethlehem, with two main theories:

The 7-6 BC Theory:

In 7 BC, Jupiter and Saturn came together in a rare triple conjunction in the constellation Pisces—meeting three times over the course of the year (May, September, and December). For ancient astrologers, this would have been significant: Pisces was known as the constellation associated with the Jewish people, Saturn was considered the planet of the Jews, and Jupiter was the "king planet." Additional planetary conjunctions occurred in early 6 BC. Johannes Kepler first proposed this theory in 1614, and it aligns with the mainstream scholarly dating of Jesus's birth to around 6-5 BC, a few years before King Herod's death in 4 BC.

The 3-2 BC Theory:

More recently, attorney Frederick Larson, building on work by astronomer Craig Chester and historian Ernest L. Martin, proposed a different sequence. In September 3 BC, Jupiter began a triple conjunction with Regulus (the "king star") in the constellation Leo (the Lion of Judah). Then, precisely 280 days later—the length of human gestation—on June 17, 2 BC, Jupiter and Venus came extraordinarily close together, appearing as one brilliant star. Finally, on December 25, 2 BC, Jupiter appeared to stop in retrograde motion over Bethlehem. This theory, however, requires redating Herod's death to 1 BC, which most historians dispute.

Both theories involve real astronomical events that ancient astrologers would have noticed. Neither has achieved universal acceptance among scholars. What we can say is that something in the heavens prompted these Magi to make an extraordinary journey.

The Journey

From wherever they came—whether Babylon, Persia, Parthia, or Arabia—the journey to Jerusalem was substantial, likely 500 to 900 miles depending on their starting point and route. Ancient travelers couldn't simply strike out across deserts. They had to follow established trade routes like the Royal Road and the King's Highway, with protected caravanserais offering rest and safety from bandits.

We have a biblical benchmark for journey times: Ezra 7:9 records that Ezra's caravan took four months to travel from Babylon to Jerusalem in 458 BC. However, Ezra traveled with women, children, and elderly people. The Magi, if traveling as an official delegation with armed escorts, servants, and valuable gifts, might have moved faster or slower depending on their circumstances. Some scholars suggest they may have joined existing merchant caravans for protection rather than forming their own diplomatic procession. Journey times of two to four months seem reasonable, with camels typically covering 25 to 30 miles per day.

The Arrival

When the Magi finally arrived in Jerusalem asking "Where is he who has been born King of the Jews?" they caused considerable alarm. Matthew 2:3 tells us King Herod was disturbed, "and all Jerusalem with him." This wasn't a minor disruption. The appearance of learned foreigners asking about a rival king would have created political tensions, especially if they represented the Parthian Empire, Rome's greatest rival to the east.

What we know with certainty from the biblical text is this: Jesus was not a newborn infant lying in a manger when the Magi found him. The family had moved into a house, as Matthew 2:11 clearly states: "When they came into the house, they saw the young Child with Mary His mother." The Greek word Matthew uses is "paidion" (young child), not "brephos" (infant or newborn) as Luke used when describing the shepherds' visit to the manger.

How old was Jesus? The evidence allows for a range. When Herod realized the Magi had left without reporting back, he issued his horrific decree to kill all male children in Bethlehem "two years old and under, according to the time which he had determined from the wise men" (Matthew 2:16). Herod had questioned the Magi about when they first saw the star, then calculated a two-year safety margin. This suggests Jesus could have been anywhere from several months to nearly two years old when they arrived—old enough to be called a young child and to be living in a house, but young enough to fall within Herod's calculated window of threat.

What It Means

What makes this story profound is not the precision of our knowledge—clearly, much remains uncertain and debated—but rather what the story reveals about the nature of truth-seeking itself.

Here were scholars from a foreign land, members of a different religion, who had been watching and waiting. They saw signs in the heavens that others missed or dismissed. They made calculations, consulted ancient texts, debated interpretations. And then they did something remarkable: they acted on what they had discovered. They left behind their comfortable positions, their libraries, their observatories. They gathered expensive gifts worthy of a king. They traveled for months across dangerous terrain, following both celestial movements and ancient prophecies, not knowing exactly what they would find or whether their interpretation was correct.

When they arrived in Jerusalem, the religious establishment—the priests and scribes who possessed the scriptures, who knew the prophecies by heart, who should have been watching most carefully for their own Messiah—had to be told by these foreigners that something momentous had occurred. Herod's scholars could quote Micah's prophecy about Bethlehem, but they hadn't bothered to travel the five miles to investigate. The Magi had traveled five hundred miles or more.

And what did these foreign scholars find at the end of their long journey? Not a palace, not a prince surrounded by servants and splendor, but a young child in a modest house in an insignificant village. Yet they bowed down and worshiped him. They presented their gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—treating this toddler as the king they had been seeking. Then, warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they went home by another route, disappearing back into history.

We celebrate Epiphany today not because we have all the answers about who the Magi were, where exactly they came from, or which astronomical event they followed. We celebrate it because their journey represents something timeless: the moment when heaven's light broke beyond the boundaries of one people and shone for all nations. These foreigners saw what many insiders missed. These seekers found what many who possessed the scriptures overlooked.

The debates continue—about dates and astronomical events, about routes and timelines, about whether Daniel's influence truly stretched across six centuries to shape their expectations. But perhaps these uncertainties are themselves part of the message. The Magi didn't have certainty either. They had signs, prophecies, calculations, and theories. They had questions and competing interpretations. What they also had was the courage to follow the evidence as far as it would take them, the humility to bow before a truth that didn't match their expectations, and the wisdom to recognize divinity in the most unexpected place.

The star they followed—whether planetary conjunction or supernatural phenomenon—has not appeared in quite the same way since. But the journey they made remains as challenging and as open as ever. It still requires leaving comfort behind, following incomplete evidence, traveling through uncertainty, and being willing to find the divine not in palaces and power, but in unexpected places that demand we kneel.

The Choice Before Us

Two thousand years later, that same choice confronts every person who hears this story. The Magi came from the East as pagans, practitioners of a foreign religion, yet they recognized the King of Kings and bowed in worship. Their response challenges us all.

If you are a follower of Christ, the Magi's example is clear: humble yourself, surrender your pride and pretensions, and worship the King. Bring him your best—your time, your talents, your treasure—as they brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Don't be like the religious leaders in Jerusalem who knew the prophecies but couldn't be bothered to walk five miles to investigate the truth.

If you are Jewish, consider this: the Messiah your prophets foretold has already come. Daniel's timeline pointed to his era. The prophecies were fulfilled. The Gentiles recognized him while much of Israel rejected him. Two thousand years of waiting for another Messiah when the first arrival went unrecognized—how long will you wait? The King the Magi sought is your promised Deliverer.

If you are Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, or a follower of any other faith, understand that these Magi were like you—sincere seekers from another religious tradition. Yet when confronted with the truth of who Jesus was, they didn't cling to their previous beliefs. They bowed. They worshiped. They recognized that this child was no mere prophet or enlightened teacher, but God incarnate. Your sincerity in your current faith is not enough if that faith has led you away from the truth. The Magi teach us that true wisdom means being willing to abandon what we thought we knew when confronted with greater truth.

If you are skeptical or searching, know this: the Magi didn't start with faith. They started with evidence—celestial observations, ancient prophecies, careful calculation. They followed that evidence wherever it led, even when it led them away from everything familiar. Their journey challenges you to do the same. Look at the evidence. Examine the prophecies. Investigate the historical claims. And if the evidence points to Jesus as the Christ, will you have the courage to follow where it leads?

The Magi came from the East and found a King worthy of worship. They came as foreigners and became the first Gentile worshipers of the Jewish Messiah. They came with questions and left with certainty. They came bearing gifts and left forever changed.

That child they worshiped grew to manhood, proclaimed himself the Son of God, died on a cross for the sins of humanity, and rose from the dead three days later. He is not merely a figure of history but a living King who still demands a response. Like the Magi, we must choose: Will we make the journey? Will we bow? Will we worship? Or will we, like Herod, see him as a threat to our autonomy and reject him? Like the Jerusalem scholars, will we know the truth but refuse to act on it?

The star still shines. The King still reigns. The invitation still stands. Come and worship.

[darrellshildt]

Rediscovering Twelfth Night: A Call to Restore the Full Joy of Christmas

We've gotten Christmas all wrong.

Not theologically—we still sing about the birth of our Savior, we still gather for candlelit services on Christmas Eve, we still celebrate the Incarnation. But somewhere along the way, we've compressed the entire celebration into a frantic 48 hours of gift-giving, overeating, and exhaustion, only to pack everything away by December 26th as if nothing extraordinary just happened.

What if I told you that the Church, in her ancient wisdom, never intended Christmas to be a single day? What if the story doesn't end with the manger scene, but continues unfolding for twelve glorious days, culminating in a celebration so significant that it reveals the entire purpose of Christ's coming? And what if, even then, the season continues for another month, reaching its true conclusion forty days after Christmas with a feast that brings the entire narrative full circle?

Welcome to Twelfth Night, the Feast of Epiphany, and Candlemas—the forgotten arc of Christmas that could transform how we celebrate the greatest event in human history.

The Rhythm of Sacred Time

Since the Council of Tours in AD 567, the Church has observed Christmastide as a twelve-day festival stretching from Christmas Day through January 5th. This isn't arbitrary. Just as the Jewish people celebrate extended feast periods—Passover lasts eight days, Sukkot (Feast of Tabernacles) spans a week, Hanukkah (Festival of Lights) lasts eight days—Christians are called to inhabit sacred time differently than the secular world around us.

And here's something we need to talk about: those Jewish feasts aren't just historical curiosities. They were Jesus's feasts. He celebrated Passover, observed Yom Kippur, traveled to Jerusalem for Sukkot and Hanukkah. These weren't "Old Testament" relics He tolerated—they were Holy appointments with God that shaped His entire life and ministry. The Last Supper was a Passover meal. His death coincided with Passover. His resurrection occurred during the Feast of Firstfruits.

Many Christ-followers are rediscovering these biblical feasts, and rightly so. We're part of the commonwealth of Israel, grafted into the olive tree. Paul himself continued observing these feasts after his Damascus Road encounter. They're not required for salvation, but they're woven into the fabric of redemptive history, and celebrating them connects us to the rhythm of God's interaction with His people across millennia.

In the same way—though from a different tradition—the Church has developed her own liturgical calendar to tell the story of Christ's life, death, resurrection, and ongoing work in the world. Advent, Christmastide, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter, Pentecost—these aren't arbitrary human inventions. They're the Church's way of ensuring that every generation walks through the entire Gospel narrative year after year, letting it shape our hearts, our prayers, our understanding of time itself.

Twelfth Night, falling on January 5th, serves as the crescendo of the twelve-day Christmastide celebration. It's Epiphany Eve, the night before we commemorate one of the most profound moments in the Gospel narrative: when the Magi arrived from distant lands, nearly two years after His birth, to worship the King. This wasn't just a nice addition to the Christmas story. It was the first revelation that Jesus came not only for Israel, but for all nations, all peoples, all of humanity.

Think about the audacity of that moment. God became flesh in an occupied backwater of the Roman Empire, born to an unwed teenage mother in a borrowed stable. Yet somehow, Gentile scholars from the East—guided by a star and ancient prophecies—recognized what Herod's own advisors missed: the King of Kings had arrived.

The Songs That Remember

Our cultural memory of these traditions survives in fragments, preserved in songs most of us have heard but never fully understood.

"The Twelve Days of Christmas"—that seemingly nonsensical song about partridges and french hens and lords a-leaping—isn't actually nonsense at all. It originated in England, probably in the late 18th century, as a cumulative memory game sung during the twelve days from Christmas to Epiphany. Some suggest it encoded Christian teachings during times of persecution (the partridge in a pear tree representing Christ, the two turtle doves representing the Old and New Testaments). What's certain is that the song assumes what was once obvious: Christmas isn't a single day but a season of celebration that builds toward Epiphany.

Each verse adds another gift, another layer, another day's worth of celebration—because the story keeps unfolding. The song doesn't climax on December 25th. It climaxes on the twelfth day, when all the gifts accumulate into an overwhelming abundance. That's the point. The joy doesn't end at the manger. It multiplies.

Then there's "Here We Come A-Wassailing," a traditional English Christmas carol that dates back at least to the 16th century and likely much earlier. Wassailing was the practice of going door to door during Christmastide, singing blessings over homes, sharing warm spiced cider (the "wassail"), and celebrating community. The word itself comes from the Old Norse "ves heill" and Old English "wes hāl," meaning "be in good health" or "be fortunate."

The lyrics make clear this isn't about Christmas Day alone:

"We are not daily beggars that beg from door to door,

But we are neighbors' children whom you have seen before.

Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail too,

And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year."

This was the soundtrack of Twelfth Night—communities moving through the dark January evenings with lanterns and songs, blessing one another, sharing warmth and drink, celebrating the ongoing reality of Christ's presence among them.

These songs aren't museum pieces. They're invitations to recover a way of celebrating that our ancestors understood instinctively: sacred time moves differently than ordinary time, and the most significant events deserve sustained attention.

The Gifts That Tell the Whole Story

The Magi's gifts weren't random luxury items. Each one proclaimed a theological truth that would take three decades to fully unfold:

Gold for kingship—acknowledging that this child would rule not just Israel, but every tribe, tongue, and nation.

Frankincense for divinity—recognizing that this baby was somehow God Himself taking on human flesh.

Myrrh for sacrifice—foreshadowing the cross that was always the destination of the manger.

Epiphany celebrates this revelation, this "showing forth" of Christ's identity and mission to the whole world. And Twelfth Night? It's the bridge between the intimate joy of Christmas and the expansive, world-transforming reality of Epiphany. It's the hinge moment when the story shifts from "God came to us" to "God came for the world."

But Wait—The Season Isn't Over Yet

Here's what most modern Christians don't realize: even Epiphany isn't the end of the Christmas season. The liturgical calendar recognizes that the Incarnation story has one more crucial chapter.

The season of Christmastide—or Christmas-Epiphany—traditionally extends all the way to February 2nd, the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, commonly known as Candlemas. This feast commemorates the moment, forty days after Christ's birth, when Mary and Joseph brought the infant Jesus to the Temple in Jerusalem to fulfill the requirements of the Law.

There, the aged prophet Simeon took the baby in his arms and proclaimed words that still echo through the Church's liturgy: "Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel" (Luke 2:29-32).

A light for revelation to the Gentiles. There's that word again—revelation, epiphany, manifestation. Candlemas celebrates Christ as the Light of the World, and the traditional practice involves blessing candles that will be used throughout the coming year. It's the liturgical bookend to Christmas, the moment when the Incarnation story that began in darkness (the midnight birth in Bethlehem) culminates in Simeon's recognition of Christ as light breaking into the world's darkness.

Many traditions hold that Christmas decorations should remain up until Candlemas, not just Epiphany. The evergreens, the lights, the reminders of God-with-us—all of it stays to emphasize that we're still inhabiting the reality of the Incarnation. We're not meant to rush through this. We're meant to dwell here, to let it soak into our bones, to allow the implications of "the Word became flesh" to reshape how we see everything.

What We've Lost

For centuries, Christians marked Twelfth Night with extraordinary celebrations. Communities gathered for feasting and fellowship. The tradition of the "king cake" involved baking a bean or coin into a sweet bread—whoever found it became the "Lord of Misrule" for the evening, a playful reversal where social hierarchies dissolved and everyone celebrated as equals before God.

This wasn't mere entertainment. It embodied the radical nature of the Gospel itself—the first shall be last, the last shall be first, and in Christ there is neither slave nor free. It was a living parable, enacted joyfully in community. Masters served their servants. The poor were honored. The marginalized found themselves at the center of attention.

Wassailing—giving of blessings and singing in the streets—reminded people that all creation celebrates the Creator's arrival. Homes stayed decorated through Epiphany and often all the way to Candlemas, candles kept burning, and the festive spirit continued because the story wasn't over. The shepherds had come, yes, but now the wider world was coming too, and that deserved its own recognition. And beyond that, the prophecies were being fulfilled, the Law was being honored, and the light was being publicly proclaimed.

Today, Twelfth Night survives in scattered pockets. New Orleans kicks off Mardi Gras season with king cake parties. Some European communities maintain wassailing traditions. Spanish-speaking countries still emphasize Epiphany (Día de los Reyes) as the primary gift-giving day, more significant than Christmas itself.

But in most of the Western church, we've lost this rhythm entirely. We sprint through Advent, collapse exhausted on December 25th, and return to normal life by January 1st. We've traded the Church's calendar—designed to shape our souls and sanctify our time—for the retail calendar that ends Christmas the moment the sales begin.

Why This Matters Now

Restoring Twelfth Night, Epiphany, and the full observance of Christmastide through Candlemas isn't about nostalgia. It's about reclaiming a more human, more worshipful, more biblical way of celebrating the most important event in history.

It restores proper rhythm. The frantic, compressed modern Christmas leaves us depleted rather than refreshed. Spreading celebration across twelve days—or better yet, forty days—allows us to actually rest, to linger with family, to sit with the miracle of the Incarnation without racing toward the next commercial obligation.

It emphasizes mission. Epiphany isn't just about wise men arriving—it's about God's heart for every nation being revealed. As we move from Christmas to Epiphany to Candlemas, we're reminded that the Good News doesn't stop at our church doors or our cultural boundaries. The light that came into the world came for everyone.

It creates space for generosity. The historical Twelfth Night celebrations emphasized giving to the poor, welcoming strangers, and breaking down social barriers. In our divided, anxious age, we desperately need practices that cultivate community across differences and remind us of our common humanity before God.

It connects us to the global and historical Church. When we observe these feasts, we're joining hands with Christians across centuries and continents. We're praying the same prayers, singing variations of the same hymns, marking the same sacred moments. This isn't optional tradition—it's how the family of God has celebrated together for nearly 1,500 years.

An Invitation to Recover What's Been Lost

Just as Jewish believers continue observing Passover, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot—feasts that shaped Jesus's own life and ministry—we who follow Christ should embrace both the biblical feasts and the liturgical seasons that the Church has developed to tell His story. We don't observe them to earn God's favor, but to position our hearts to receive His grace more fully.

Here's what recovering these celebrations could look like: Keep your decorations up through Candlemas (February 2nd), or at least through Epiphany. Host a Twelfth Night party on January 5th with a king cake—whoever finds the hidden bean becomes the "king" or "queen" for the evening. Tell the story of the Magi. Sing "We Three Kings" and "The Twelve Days of Christmas." Attend an Epiphany service on January 6th, or gather with friends to read the Magi's story and pray for the nations. Celebrate Candlemas on February 2nd by lighting candles and reading Luke 2:22-40, marking the official end of the season with gratitude.

Use the full season for intentional giving rather than exhausting yourself with pre-Christmas shopping. Learn the songs and teach them to your children. Let them see that following Christ means inhabiting time differently than the culture around us. Consider adopting some Jewish feast practices too—many Christ-following families now celebrate Passover seders and observe Hanukkah, connecting us to our spiritual ancestors and reminding us that God has always worked through specific times and seasons.

The Invitation

Epiphany means "manifestation" or "revelation." It's the moment when the full significance of Christmas breaks open—when we see that the child born in Bethlehem came to be the light of the whole world, the hope of every nation, the fulfillment of every promise.

Candlemas carries that revelation forward, showing us that this light was recognized by faithful believers who had been waiting their entire lives for this moment.

Twelfth Night stands at the threshold of these revelations, inviting us to complete our celebration properly, to feast with intention, to move from private family joy to public cosmic rejoicing.

We don't need permission to recover these practices. They belong to us as much as they belonged to any previous generation of Christians. The question is whether we have the courage to swim against our culture's tide, to create rhythms that feel awkward at first but ultimately shape us into people who can celebrate rightly—not in the manufactured frenzy of commercialism, but in the deep, sustained joy of encountering God-made-flesh.

This January 5th, as most people pack away their Christmas bins and return to ordinary time, consider staying with the story a little longer. Light your candles again. Sing one more carol. Tell the story of the Magi to anyone who will listen. On January 6th, mark Epiphany with the gravity and joy it deserves. And on February 2nd, bring the season to its proper close at Candlemas, celebrating forty days of dwelling with the Incarnate Word.

The twelve days of Christmas aren't just a song. The season from Christmas to Candlemas isn't just an outdated liturgical quirk. They're invitations to celebrate as the Church has always celebrated: with patience, with joy, with eyes fixed on the cosmic significance of that stable in Bethlehem and that presentation in the Temple.

Let's recover what we've lost. Let's celebrate fully. Let's give these ancient feasts the prominence they deserve in our Christ-following lives, standing alongside our brothers and sisters who still observe the biblical feasts, all of us united in the conviction that time matters, that sacred rhythms shape holy people, that the greatest events in history deserve more than our distracted leftover attention.

After all, if the story is true—and we know it is, if God really did become human to redeem all creation—shouldn't we take more than a day or two to celebrate it properly?

The invitation stands. The table is set. The season awaits.

Will you join the feast?