Faith & Culture

In August 2026, Massachusetts Governor Maura Healey signed the Prioritizing Patient Access to Care Act, removing the state's remaining gestational limits on abortion and giving health care providers broader discretion to perform the procedure later in pregnancy without legal consequence. The room applauded. Hard
to believe, I know. Massachusetts now stands alongside nine other states and the District of Columbia in permitting abortion up to the moment of birth.

Healey framed the law as protection for families facing devastating medical news late in pregnancy, and as a shield against a more restrictive national climate. But protection is not the word for it. What this law actually does is strip away the last legal limit on when a child's life can be ended — clearing the way for abortion up to the very moment of birth. Pro-life advocates have rightly called this what it is: the United States is now one of only a handful of countries on earth with no gestational limit on abortion whatsoever, and laws like this one expose late-term children, who can feel pain, who can survive outside the womb, to the most violent procedures medicine performs.

An entire room stood and applauded that.

There's something our culture rarely talks about, something this signing makes impossible to ignore: the faces we can see. The lives that are here.

I'm talking about the people who survived abortion attempts.

For decades, abortion in America has largely been discussed through politics, court decisions, and ideology. But behind all of that — there are human beings. And some of those human beings survived.

They are alive today. They have names, stories, families, and voices. You can look into their eyes and hear them tell you what happened. And that changes the conversation. Because suddenly abortion isn’t theoretical or abstract. It’s personal.

There are documented cases of babies surviving abortion procedures in the United States. Survivor organizations have worked to bring visibility to those stories. Survivors have spoken publicly about living with physical injuries, emotional trauma, and the lifelong reality of knowing someone once tried to end their life before they were even born.

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One of the most well-known survivors is Melissa Ohden, who survived a saline infusion abortion and has spent years speaking publicly about her experience and advocating for the born alive.

And even actor Sylvester Stallone spoke recently about being told by his mother that an attempted abortion failed before he was born. He has stated that his mother told him, "The only reason you're here is because the hanger didn't work.

Think about that for a moment. These are not "hypotheticals." These are people. People who laugh. Who love. Who contribute to the world. People made in the image of God.

And Scripture could not be clearer about the value of life.

Psalm 139 says: "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in mymother's womb."

And Jeremiah 1:5 says: "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you."

That means human worth is not determined by circumstance. Not by convenience. And not by whether a life was planned, expected, or even wanted by others.

Value comes from God. Because God is the author of life.

And when we hear the stories of abortion survivors, we are forced to confront a reality our culture often tries to avoid: What happens when the child survives? What happens when the life everyone was told would never matter... is standing right in front of us? With a face, a voice, and a testimony?

And maybe that is why these stories are so powerful. Because they remind us that every life carries purpose. Every life — not some, not only the easy or convenient lives. Every life.

Now I also know this conversation touches a deep pain for many people. There are women — and men — who carry grief, regret, and wounds connected to abortion. And the Christian message is not that forgiveness is impossible. It’s the opposite. There is grace through Christ. There is healing through God. And there is most assuredly
redemption at the cross.

But truth still matters. And the truth is that these survivors exist. They are living proof that what is in the womb is not potential life. It is life.

Make Your Life Count

There are moments when we are reminded just how fragile life really is. Hearing the voices of people who survived abortion attempts, looking into the faces of people who were never expected to live — it changes something. It forces us to remember that every single life carries value.

Not because society assigns it value, or because government recognizes it. And not because culture approves of it. But because God created it.

Every life.

And maybe that's the deeper message in all of this. Not just that life should be protected — although it absolutely should. But that life should mean something. That our lives should count for something greater than ourselves.

Ephesians 2:10 tells us: "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."

Think about that. Prepared beforehand. That means your life is not random. It is not accidental. And it is never without purpose. Not the child in the womb, the struggling mother, or the survivor whose story seemed impossible. Not you.

We are told that we were created for good works — that we have nothing to do with — God already prepared those good works for us before we were even born. All we need do is to walk in them.

God wastes nothing.

And the truth is, none of us knows how long we've been given here. But we do get to decide what we do with the time we have.

Will we use our lives to protect what is vulnerable? To stand for truth when it's unpopular? To bring light into places that have grown dark? Will we make our lives count and walk in good works?

Because one day, titles won't matter. Politics won't matter. Fame won't matter. What will matter is whether we lived with courage, loved well, stood firmly in truth, and whether we pointed people toward God.

That is a life that counts.

And maybe the people who survived what should have taken their lives understand that better than most. Because when someone survives what should have taken their life, they tend to understand something very deeply: life is a gift. A sacred gift. And gifts from God are never meant to be wasted.

So wherever you are today — whatever your story may be — remember this: you were created on purpose. By God. For a purpose. Because of that we should commit to live courageously, stand faithfully, and love boldly. And dedicated in love to the One who created you to make your life count.

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This subject was explored in depth on an episode of Rose Unplugged on Real Life Network; “Choice is a Person”.

Rounding the corner, I was surprised to see nearly a dozen Fulanis, mainly boys, sitting in a small hallway waiting to speak to us on a warm afternoon in Plateau State, Nigeria. Some smiled, and some just stared at my travel partner and me from Christian Freedom International as we entered the modest office space where we would be interviewing them.

The mainly Muslim Fulani tribe has risen in international awareness in recent years as antagonists in conflicts between Christians and Muslims in Nigeria, committing brutal acts of terrorism, violence, and kidnappings of Christians living in villages in Northern Nigeria. I witnessed the widespread scale of these attacks and their effects on Christian communities while visiting Nigeria earlier this year. However, the Fulanis lined up in the hallway were there to tell us a different story of what is happening among some Nigerian Muslims — they are turning to Christ.

Twenty-seven-year-old Mohamed was all smiles as he shared his story. Growing up in a Fulani Muslim family, he attended Islamic school where he was instructed to memorize the Qur’an in Arabic, a language he didn’t know. He asked his father why that was. Then he started to ask more and more questions about Islam, which made his parents suspicious.

So, Mohamed did his own research and continued to ask questions. It was at this time that he happened to become friends with a couple of Christians, who were able to tell him about Christianity. When Mohamed’s parents heard he was interested in Christianity, they gathered people in the community to persuade him to deny his growing conviction that the Christian faith was true. Yet, a woman in the community encouraged Mohamed to meet with her pastor — he did, and immediately gave his life to Christ.

After this, Mohamed’s mother acted very kindly to him and brought him a glass of milk. This was unusual given their strained relationship. Mohamed smelled what he thought to be rat poison in the milk and turned to his mother, asking “Mom, are you trying to kill me?” She denied it. He said, “Okay, well, it will be on your head.” After drinking one sip, Mohamed immediately doubled over and started vomiting. His mother said, “Let your God save you” and left him there.

Yet, Mohamed lived. When his mother came back to find him alive, she was furious and threatened to shoot him. He rose and started to run away just as his brother picked up a gun and tried to shoot him. In our interview, Mohamed lifted his pant leg to show the scar where a bullet had entered his leg as he escaped. Now, he is class president at his Bible school.

We also met 26-year-old Amadu. One night a few years ago, he had a dream of a man in white, but he couldn’t see the man’s face. Amadu prayed as a Muslim that God would show him what this dream meant. The dreams continued, and he couldn’t shake his need to understand them.

A small group of Christians at his work would gather on break to pray together. Searching for peace from his dreams, Amadu began to sit in on these gatherings. His Muslim boss told him to stop. But he needed someone to interpret his dreams, and his new Christian friends suggested he meet with their pastor.

This pastor told him that the man in white in his dreams was Jesus. The pastor said, “He wants to bring you from darkness to light and for you to know him.” Amadu asked, “What do I need to do?” The pastor told him he needed to accept Christ and become a Christian, but he told Amadu to go home and really think about it before making the decision because he knew it would be difficult with Amadu’s family.

A few weeks later, Amadu came back and announced he was ready to become a Christian. So, the pastor led him through the sinner’s prayer. Amadu started attending church, but something inside him told him not to tell his parents. Two months later, his parents began to ask why he wasn’t going to mosque or saying his daily Muslim prayers. Feeling their increasing scrutiny, Amadu made the hard decision to leave his parents’ house and flee to a different town. Amadu told us if his parents learned he became a Christian, “I will be killed.”

Another young man, Jalo, told us that he first became interested in Christianity when he was herding his father’s cattle. He would take the cattle to graze and sometimes go on to Christian farms, where his cattle could eat all the farmer’s crops in a single day. This is devastating to an impoverished farmer.

Yet, time and again, the Christian farmers would call Jalo’s father and say, “It’s okay, we forgive you, but please don’t do this again.” This was weird to Jalo. He thought, what kind of God do they serve that they forgive like this?

One day he asked the father of his Christian friend, “Why do you people always forgive when we do harm to you?” His friend’s father replied simply that Christians forgive. It was at that moment Jalo was sure he wanted to be a Christian. His friend told him to go home and that God would send someone to lead Jalo to Christ.

Jalo continued herding, and while he was sleeping overnight in a field, he began to have dreams. In one dream, a voice asked him, “You can have money, you can have everything. But what do you have if you have no salvation?”

With more determination than ever, Jalo pursued his Christian friend and asked to become a Christian. The friend took him to a pastor who gave Jalo a sober warning about the cost of following Jesus: “You will lose everything. They will persecute you. Christianity won’t give you anything… no money, not a wife. The only help we could maybe give you is send you to a Bible school.”

Jalo knew what it was to suffer; he had seen much suffering in the bush. And he was sure he wanted to follow Jesus.

Today, Mohamed, Amadu, and Jalo are all enrolled in the Bible college at Christian Faith Institute. There they are being discipled in the Bible and equipped to be missionaries and pastors themselves to be a witness for Christ in some very dark places.

I’m deeply grateful to have been able to travel to Nigeria with Christian Freedom International, a humanitarian aid group serving the persecuted church. Not only did I see first-hand the devastating impact of persecution, but I also saw the reasons to hope — that despite the darkness there, God is moving in the lives and hearts of those in the most difficult-to-reach and dangerous places.

Note: Names of those featured in this piece have been changed for their protection.

This article was originally written by Arielle Del Turco and published on The Washington Stand. For more content like this, visit Real Life Network.

These reflections first aired as part of an episode of Rose Unplugged on Real Life Network.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about how my life and responsibilities have changed. In a good way. A very good way. Maybe it's because I'm a grandmother now. Watching my son and daughter-in- law with their toddler has a way of pulling me backward and forward at the same time. It's made me think about my early days as a mom and the joys and challenges that came with that responsibility. And let's be honest, parenting really is the best job in the world… but it is also a very intense job.

And I've been thinking about the difference — the very real difference — between moms and dads. In fact, this is exactly what they're meant to do — be different. When a man lays his head down on the pillow at night, he's out. Just like that. He sleeps, he gets up, and he goes back out the next day to care for his family in his own steady way.

But when women lay their heads down at night? Our minds are still running. It takes us a while to fall asleep. Because every single day, as a mom, you are carrying around more information than anybody else on the planet. You know exactly where your child is. You know his schedule by heart. You know he has study hall sixth period. You know what he's going to have for lunch — not just today, but tomorrow. You know the school lunch menu better than the cafeteria does.

Moms know how to handle doctor's appointments. We know how to get them seen when they're sick. We know what soothes our children, what worries them, and what they're not saying out loud. Why? Because we're moms. And that's the job. But I also know the men in our audience — they are there, engaged. They work hard. That's why families work best when both roles are honored.When strong families are built intentionally.

And thinking about that strong family unit brought back a memory for me. Years ago, when my son was about five, I wrote a letter to my dad. I don't remember every word, but I remember the heart behind it. Even then, I understood that while Mom was holding the details of our days together, Dad was the foundation.

I remember going fishing with him. I don't remember if we caught a single fish — but I remember the ham and capicola sandwich, and the cold can of Coke we packed for lunch. I remember how excited I was to just have that time alone with him. I remember the sacrifices. I remember the day he had to sell the car he loved when the steel mills began shutting down in Pittsburgh. He owned a design business that had worked with many of them, and when that industry faltered, so did his livelihood.

After he sold the car, I can still see him counting the cash out on the table. I think he sensed how badly we felt watching him give up something he really enjoyed. So, he suddenly tossed the money into the air, just to make us laugh. I was sad for him — but relieved when he did that. He did what he had to do for us. And because he was a resilient man, he redirected, rebuilt, and his business thrived until the day he retired.

Aristotle explained: “A multitude of great events if they turn out well will make life happier … while if they turn out ill, they crush and maim happiness … Yet even in these — nobility shines through, when a man bears with resignation many great misfortunes, not through insensibility to pain but through nobility and greatness of soul.”

I remember hard moments, too. Sitting in the front seat as he drove me to the hospital after I fell down a hill. I was crying, asking if I was going to die. Yeah — I was always dramatic. Dad answered with such calm assurance — even though I could see the worry in his eyes. And that's the thing about fatherhood. So much of its impact is quiet. You don't always see it in the moment — you feel it later, when you realize how much of what steadied you was simply someone showing up day after day.

And there's another memory that shaped me just as deeply. I remember sitting at my mother's bedside as she was dying from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I was the oldest of four — all of us rather young; heck, she was young. Only 48 years old. I told her I was so sorry for all the trouble I caused her as a teenager — and let me tell you, I caused plenty. I was rebellious, strong- headed, and well — a bit wild.

Do you know what she said to me? She said, “Do you think I don't know how teenagers are?” That moment was grace. It was forgiveness without a lecture. It was a salve to my spirit. And what's remarkable is that years later, as I was parenting a teenager myself, I heard her words again — steadying me, softening me, reminding me what love looks like in hard seasons. Because parenting is a long game. I remember when my own five-year-old once said, “I don't like you, Mom,” after I had to discipline him. It hurt. But then I thought about my parents. And I realized something — children don't always understand love in the moment. But they remember it over time.

I remember far more now than I did then. And I honestly believe I wouldn't have the joy, the home, the fulfillment I have today without my parents — and without God's faithfulness woven through it all. That's what I want to dig into here — the mother's heart, the father's role, and the strength of the family unit. There is a poem written by Maureen Hawkins called The Miracle of Life, and there's a line I read while I was pregnant that has never left me: “Before you were conceived, I wanted you. Before you were born, I loved you. Before you were here an hour, I would die for you. This is the miracle of life.”

It truly is the miracle of life — a truth every mother recognizes, deep in her bones, long before she ever has the words for it. While preparing for my show on parenting, I was reminded of Jochebed — Moses' mother. She's mentioned only briefly in Scripture, yet her obedience and courage changed history. Her love didn't just save a child — it contributed to leading a nation out of slavery.

There was a new king of Egypt who didn't have the relationship with Joseph that the previous king had. As a result, over time the Israelites were no longer favored guests in their land. The Pharaoh began to imagine them as the enemy, and as a people to be feared should they rise or join forces against Egypt. Out of fear and growing hatred of the Israelites, Pharaoh first enslaves them then commands the death of male children. Exodus 1:15-21 reads: “The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah, ‘When you are helping the Hebrew women during childbirth on the delivery stool, if you see that the baby is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.’”

The midwives couldn't bring themselves to obey Pharaoh's command. When they were questioned, they answered with remarkable courage and wisdom. They said in their defense that the Hebrew women gave birth so quickly the babies were already born before the midwives arrived. I love that. Very clever. You must admire their boldness — their cleverness, their reverence for life, and their fear of God. And Scripture tells us that God honored their faithfulness by blessing them with families of their own.

During the time that Jochebed gave birth to her son Moses, Pharaoh ordered all Hebrew boys thrown into the Nile. So, she hid her baby for three months. When she could no longer keep him safe, she did the unthinkable — she placed him in a waterproof basket and set him among the reeds. Can you imagine the heaviness of her heart? Keeping him meant certain danger. Letting him go meant uncertainty. But one choice offered a chance at life. That's what mothers do — risk everything for their children.

God honored that trust. Moses was discovered by Pharaoh's daughter, and through Jochebed's daughter Miriam's quick thinking, Jochebed was chosen to nurse her own son — was even paid to do so. God allowed Moses to be loved by both his biological mother and his adoptive mother. What compassion. What grace. Especially towards Jochebed.

Moses is remembered for leading a nation out of bondage. But behind that story is a mother who trusted God with what she loved most. Jochebed's story is really a story of surrender. Of trusting God to take an impossible situation and turn it into something miraculous. I remember the day Iplaced my fears for my son into God's hands.

I had given my son my very best. I raised him up in the way he should go, I loved him, sacrificed for him. But there comes a moment when we must do what Jochebed did. We must entrust our children to the One who loves them even more than we do. I remember telling God: I love my son so much — but however much I love him I realize that my love cannot possibly compare to the love that you have for him.

Setting our children free to be what God intended them to be is, at some point in their lives, the right thing to do — the only thing to do. Setting our children free to become who God created them to be isn’t easy — but it is right. And like Jochebed, that act of trust becomes part of our own story too.

I began with a quote about a mother's love. But it also echoes the heart of God toward each of us: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you were born, I set you apart.”

Women — we must trust our child's life to the One who gives life. And that same God still holds our children — and us — in His hands.

For more content like this, visit Real Life Network.

Speaking to the rise of socialist candidates within the Democratic Party, House Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) warned that “the barbarians are inside the gate.” He went on to explain, “We are fighting right now in Congress over whether we’re going to maintain our status as a constitutional republic... or go down this dark road of death to communism.”

The Speaker isn’t crying wolf; the threat is real. But the battle to preserve the Republic will not ultimately be won in Congress. There will be legislative fights. There will be elections where your vote could determine the balance of power and whether socialist policies further undermine our freedoms. But if the barbarians are already inside the gate, we need to ask: How did they get in? And how do we get them out?

Congress reflects culture more than it creates it. Laws can restrain evil, but they cannot create virtue. A constitutional republic depends on citizens with the moral character to govern themselves and families that instill virtue in the next generation. Culture is ultimately shaped by what people believe about God, truth, and morality. When those foundations erode, political institutions follow.

To understand how this ideological and spiritual challenge gained traction in America, we have to look beyond politics to the forces that shape a nation’s character.

In his 1983 book “The Gravedigger File,” author and social critic Os Guinness warned that secularization was hollowing out the institution that had long guided Western civilization: the church. As biblical faith weakened, society’s moral foundations weakened, creating a vacuum secular ideologies would inevitably fill.

A little more than a decade later, Judge Robert Bork approached the same crisis from a different direction. In “Slouching Toward Gomorrah,” he argued that America’s moral and cultural foundations were being eroded by radical individualism and radical egalitarianism, weakening the institutions upon which constitutional government depends. Nominated to the Supreme Court by Ronald Reagan in 1987, Bork was rejected because of his originalist view of the Constitution. Though writing as a constitutional scholar rather than a theologian, he arrived at a remarkably similar conclusion.

After coming to Washington, I hoped to meet Robert Bork. I invited him to lunch, and he graciously accepted. During our conversation, I asked for his prognosis of America’s future.

He replied, “The culture is too far gone for the country to turn around.”

For a moment, I thought there was no hope.

Then he added, “There is one thing that could save the country, a genuine renewal of religion in America. But unfortunately, the church has been, and continues to be, in decline.”

So how did the barbarians get inside the gate? Through the church’s loss of its preserving influence as the salt of the earth. And how do we secure the gate once again?

Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth.” Salt preserves what would otherwise decay. History has confirmed what Christ taught. The decisive battle for America’s future will not ultimately be won in Congress, but in the church as it once again shapes the nation’s moral character. Change the nation’s character, and its politics will follow.

“In God We Trust” cannot remain merely a motto etched in stone. It must once again become the conviction written upon our hearts and reflected in how we live.

This article was originally published on The Washington Stand. For more content like this, visit Real Life Network.

This piece grew out of a recent episode of Rose Unplugged, where I  sat down with decluttering expert Joshua Becker to talk about the surprising overlap between our need for control and the clutter we hold onto. Here's some of what I shared with viewers that day. 

This is about relinquishing control to God — and about organizing and uncluttering our homes, our lives, and our faith. It's a subject I explored recently. 

Let's start with control: 

Last year someone very close to me experienced serious complications after surgery. What should have been a recovery turned into a two-month hospital stay, and ultimately, his passing. 

I was carrying the deep sadness of watching someone I loved slowly  fade away. There's no way to prepare yourself for that — for sitting  next to a hospital bed, hoping for improvement while quietly realizing the outcome may already have been decided. 

And naturally, during seasons like that, lessons surface. Growth happens — even when we resist it. Because if I'm being honest with  myself — and it took me some time to get there — I realized this  wasn't just about grief. It was about control. 

As my friend was dying, I was forced to come face-to-face with something I've struggled with my entire life: and that is-- I can't control everything. 

But I am a fixer. That's what they called me at home for years. You've got a problem? I can fix it. And most of the time — I did. I was good at it. Not only did I believe I could fix things — my family and friends  believed it too.  

If friends or family found themselves tangled in circumstances they couldn't sort through — I was there. Not just with a solution, but with a really good solution. I took pride in that.

I think when someone grows up surrounded by a lot of chaos — a lot  of distressing moments — that child learns early how to create order wherever they can. As they are growing into an adult that person will find ways to create their own order. Or essentially, control situations because growing up they felt things were so very out of control. 

That was me. 

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But the problem with being a fixer is that it doesn't always leave room for God to do what only He can do. 

During my friend's time in the hospital, I learned — painfully — that  there were things I simply couldn’t do. I didn't understand what was happening to his body. I couldn't make it better. I couldn't fix it. I had  to let go. And I had to let God finish a work He had already begun. 

Not everything is up to me. Not everything can be fixed by me. And  learning that — really learning it — changed me. And once that truth settled in, I began to look honestly at my own  life — and I realized just how many ways I exerted control. 

Now understand, my control came from a desire to help. But  underneath that help was often an inner turmoil — a constant hum of responsibility. Constantly asking myself, how do I make this better? What else can I do? What am I missing? 

But even in the midst of turmoil, God calls us to rest in Him. 

There were many times I did. But if I'm honest, there were just as  many times I did not. Or I would give a situation to Him — only to  take it back. We do that, don't we? Hand it over in prayer, then quietly reclaim it the moment things don't move fast enough or look the way we want them to. 

When you really think about it, it's arrogant. How in the world do we convince ourselves that we can control outcomes? Especially as Christians. We should know better. 

Proverbs 19:21 reminds us, "Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails."

And here's the part that stopped me cold: God was calling His child — my friend — home. To eternal life with Him. And if I'm being completely honest, I was almost working against that. Think about it. I felt like I needed to be part of the process that saved his earthly body, and yet all the while God was preparing to receive it. 

When you sit with that for a moment — you realize that's awfully presumptuous. 

During that time of awakening, I was reminded of something Oswald Chambers wrote in “My Utmost for His Highest”. In a July devotion, he talks about what he calls "calculating without God." He references Psalm 37:5: "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass." 

Chambers wrote, "Don't calculate without God. God seems to have a delightful way of upsetting the things we have calculated on without taking Him into account… Haul yourself up a hundred and one times a day in order to keep your heart from being troubled, until you get into the habit of putting God first and calculating with Him in view." 

That hit me. I decided I needed to stop managing God and start truly trusting Him. Trusting Him entirely. And I couldn’t do that with conditions and backup plans. But with open hands. And an open heart. And that surrender, real surrender, was the hardest lesson of all. 

It was a lesson that carried me through the rest of 2025. And it's one I hope to continue deepening as I move forward. 

I spent years believing peace came from holding everything together – from tightening my grip. But I've learned that peace isn't found in managing more – It's found in letting go, making room for God and trusting Him with the outcome. 

And all of that was on my mind when I interviewed Joshua Becker about a few of his books; “Becoming Minimalist”, “Uncluttered Faith”,  and “Clutter Free with Kids”. 

Long before "minimalism" became a trend, Christian leaders were preaching the power of decluttering our lives. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, emphasized extreme simplicity and faithful stewardship. In his sermon “The Use of Money”, he urged believers to "gain all you can, save all you can, and give all you can," warning  that accumulating luxuries was a burden that "chokes" the spiritual  life.  

Wesley himself lived with very few possessions; he considered it a crucial part of living a holy life and therefore freeing his heart for God's work and for helping others. 

And here is a story that really struck home for me about Wesley:

Wesley had just finished hanging and admiring some artwork he had purchased for his room when one of the chambermaids came to his door. It was a very cold winter day, and he noticed that she had only a thin linen gown to wear for protection against that cold.  

He immediately reached into his pocket to give her some money for a coat and realized he had very little left after his purchases. It struck him then that the Lord was not pleased with how he had spent his money. He asked himself: "Will Thy Master say, 'Well done, good and  faithful steward?' Thou has adorned thy walls with the money that might have screened this poor creature from the cold! O justice! O mercy! Are not these pictures the blood of this poor maid?" 

I can’t stop thinking about that. When we engage in excess, there is little left for those in need. 

And that raises an uncomfortable but necessary question: are we conducting our lives, our choices, and our spending, in a way that reflects stewardship, or self-indulgence? 

This isn't about luxury for luxury's sake. It's about whether our appetites have quietly replaced our accountability. Because every dollar, every resource, every moment we consume beyond what we  need is something that can no longer be offered to someone else. 

In a culture that celebrates more, faster, bigger; restraint has  become radical. But restraint is also where compassion lives. And maybe the measure of a life well lived isn't what we accumulate, but being mindful of making room to give. 

I shared initially in that program with Joshua Becker about control and then segued into reducing clutter which, when accumulated, is really a type of control.  

And here's the thing — we don't usually call it control. We call it  being responsible. Prepared. On top of things. But let's be honest, sometimes it's not organization we're after but reassurance. 

Most of us aren't trying to control life because we're bossy or rigid. We're doing it because life feels loud and unpredictable. And when the world feels uncertain, control feels comforting. That's where clutter sneaks in. Because clutter isn't always about having too much stuff. Sometimes it's about holding onto options, just in case. Just so we don't feel caught off guard. 

So, we keep the extra bins and the backup supplies. The things we might need someday. Even when what we're really doing is trying to manage our anxiety with labels and shelves. 

I do want to point out that order is not the enemy. God is a God of order. But order without trust can leave us exhausted. Because while control promises peace… it never actually delivers it. 

Scripture reminds us that peace doesn't come from managing every outcome. Jesus told us not to worry about tomorrow, not because tomorrow doesn't matter, but because we aren't meant to carry it. 

Sometimes the most freeing thing we can do isn't organize more, it's loosening our hold. And maybe the goal isn't a perfectly controlled life, but one where we trust God enough to release what we don't need to carry. One where we make space — not just in our  homes, but in our hearts.

For more content like this, visit Real Life Network.

Optimism is insufficient to hold you up against the harsh reality of telling your daughters you won’t be alive long enough to walk them down the aisle or letting your parents know they’ll have to bury their son, Ben Sasse shared in The Wall Street Journal late last year.

Sasse is a 44-year-old former senator from Nebraska who was diagnosed with metastasized, stage 4 pancreatic cancer in December 2025 and given mere months to live. He is also a husband and father of three children.

“I already had a death sentence before last week too — we all do,” Sasse said. “As a Christian, the weeks running up to Christmas are a time to orient our hearts toward the hope of what’s to come,” he continued. “Death and dying aren’t the same — the process of dying is still something to be lived.”

Sasse’s response to his diagnosis created shockwaves. While optimism is insufficient for Sasse, there’s one thing that isn’t: the hope, security, and comfort found in Jesus Christ.

“We [Christians] hope in a real Deliverer — a rescuing God, born at a real time, in a real place,” he wrote.

For the believer, Sasse’s response is not confusing — it makes sense. A Christian’s inheritance is the perfect peace of Christ.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid,” Jesus reassures us in John 14:27.

“The way in which the former senator and his family are clinging to Christ in the midst of profound suffering is a vivid reminder for so many of us that a Christian’s hope is not rooted ultimately in favorable circumstances, but really in the character of God and the resurrection of Jesus Christ,” David Closson, the director of the Center for Biblical Worldview at Family Research Council, told The Washington Stand.

In a recent survey, the American Bible Society asked respondents if they turn to the Bible when they encounter difficulties in life or if they blame God for their troubles and reject any religious expression.

The organization found an increase in Bible reading, which directly results in an increase in hope for those who have put their trust in the Lord.

“From a biblical perspective, this makes sense. Scripture never promises that Christians will be spared suffering. In John 16:33 Jesus tells his followers that in this world you will have tribulation,” Closson said. “But Scripture consistently teaches that suffering has a way of stripping away false securities, and reminding us of our dependence on God, and then we could also say trials often expose the inadequacy of the other things we are tempted to trust in, such as our health, careers, finances, relationships, or sense of control.”

The report shows that those who experience difficult life circumstances and trauma are even more likely to read the Bible and rely on their faith for peace and healing than those who haven’t dealt with hardships.

Steadfast faith does not deny the reality of pain, Closson said. “It rather demonstrates that suffering does not have the final word.”

Bible reading was recorded to be 48% for those who faced a life-threatening illness or injury, like Sasse, compared to 37% for those who have not.

The report also found that 38% of those dealing with a life-threatening illness or injury said that their faith was “a great source of comfort to them” as they navigated “life issues,” compared to 31% of those not experiencing a tragedy.

“The mind regulates more effectively when attention is gently anchored to something safe, meaningful and true,” Joanna Hargreaves, a Christian psychotherapist, posted. “Regular Biblical Meditation soothes your amygdala. The amygdala is your brain’s alarm system triggering fear, stress, and anger.”

It is the natural tendency of the heart of the believer to turn to God in the midst of trials and tribulations. It is a mark of spiritual health to lean on the promises of eternity found in God’s word rather than looking to the world for comfort during times of impossible pain.

Closson also observed that unique opportunities for gospel ministry are presented when people are confronted with their own mortality. “As believers, we should be prepared to meet those moments with compassion and care and share the hope that’s ultimately found in the gospel,” he argued. “This report confirms something that Christians have believed for centuries, which is that while God does not waste suffering, he often does use it to draw people closer to himself.”

Because of sin, we live in a world where dads lose their lives to cancer too early, where divorce is common, and confusion about gender and sexuality runs rampant.

But God.

“The testimony of many believers is the suffering that has become the very context in which the promises of God become most precious. Bible passages that maybe seemed abstract in times of ease suddenly become more personal when read from a hospital room or while caring for a sick loved one,” Closson mused.

Take heart, for I have overcome the world, Jesus tells his followers. He calls us not to be discouraged. Sasse is a living example of what it means to embrace this. Amid the trial, he understands what we could all benefit from as a reminder: though we live in a fleeting world, there is an unfailing hope.

This article was originally written by Quinn Delamater and published on The Washington Stand. For more content like this, visit Real Life Network.