Walk By Faith Ministries, Phoenix, AZ (2026)

09/24/2026

My blessing today is two parts. First writing my blessing again in my blessing challenge book. My last writing was from July 17, 2026.

My second blessing is getting my thoughts captive. My thoughts wanted to go to a ungrateful posture knowing I had somethings to do with our trailer, including driving on the road,

BUT....

The Holy Spirit led me to sit outside & sit on our patio & to enjoy his doing of rain & thunder.

As I'm sitting with worship this visual was impressed upon me. When we have kids or when we were kids. When we cross a street our parents takes our hand & leads us safely across the street..........

NOW PICTURE JESUS DOING THAT WITH YOU!!

HE HAS NEVER LEFT YOU. HE IS JUST WAITING FOR YOUR HAND!!

09/21/2026

Dear heavenly father I come to you for every person that reads this prayer. Lord I pray that this prayer pops in their text message and they read it not when it will just go by the waste side but when they truly need it based on your will father because you already know that timing. Your timing is never early, never late it's always perfect timing.

Lord I speak to any of our spirits that is not settled right now and I say Peace be still in the name of Jesus. Allow us to bask in your presence.

In that process help walk us under the coverage of your umbrella because when we are under your umbrella all things are possible, not easy BUT POSSIBLE.

I speak to the anxiety and say Peace be still in the name of Jesus

I speak to the frustration and I say Peace be still in the name of Jesus.

I speak to the grief and say Peace be still in the name of Jesus.

I speak to the feeling of being overwhelmed and say Peace be still in the name of Jesus.

You know what our heart and souls need father so let your will be done. We thank you for this day. We thank you for waking us up today so because of that we are blessed in Jesus name Amen.

09/21/2026

Who Sees?

Who sees you
when the room is full
but your heart has never felt more alone?

Who sees you
when you smile so beautifully
that no one thinks to ask
if it hurts to hold it up?

Who sees you
when you say, “I’m okay,”
because explaining the ache
would take more strength
than you have left?

Who sees you
when the lights go down,
the laughter fades,
the phone is quiet,
and the tears you held hostage all day
finally fall free?

Who sees the man in you
who learned to be strong too soon?
Who sees the woman in you
who keeps showing up,
even when she is tired
of being the one who always does?

Who sees the prayers
you cannot put into words—
the ones that come out as a sigh,
a shaking breath,
a tear on your pillow,
a whisper in the dark:

“God… I don’t know how much more I can take.”

El Roi.
The God who sees.

He sees the pain
you tucked behind your “I’m fine.”
He sees the disappointment
you tried to call a lesson.
He sees the empty chair,
the unanswered prayer,
the door that closed,
the love you gave
that was never returned in the same way.

He sees you
when your guard is down
and there is no one there to applaud
how brave you have been.

And He sees!
He stare does not look away.

He does not look past your tears
or ask you to make your hurt
more convenient.

No, beloved—
He sits beside you in it.

He counts every tear
as if it were sacred,
because it is.
He holds every shattered piece
as if it were still whole,
because to Him,
you are.

So when you wonder
if anyone notices the battle
behind your eyes,
remember this:

The world may see your strength,
but God sees your surrender.
The world may see your smile,
but God sees your scars.
The world may see what you survived,
but El Roi sees
what it cost you to survive it.

And He...

Still loving you.
Still holding you.
Still calling you His.
Still whispering,
“I see you…
all of you.”

And you have never—
not for one second—
been unseen.

09/14/2026

Another Episode of the Nudge: “Being Still”

In my walk with Christ, I’ve been guilty of not taking the time to simply sit in His presence.

There’s always something to do, somewhere to be, someone who needs me.

And even though my faith has grown tremendously through the storms of these past two years, I’ve still made excuses for why I can’t just sit in His presence.

“I need the right environment.”
“I need no distractions.”
“I need more time.”

But this past Sunday, God reminded me that being still has nothing to do with everything around me being still.

During worship, my mind was wandering. I was looking around, distracted…

And then suddenly, it was like God stopped time.

The room didn’t change.

I did.

His Spirit overwhelmed me. My body grew warm. Tears began rolling down my face, and for a moment, it felt like I was the only person in the room.

My body wasn’t still…

but my spirit was.
My mind was.
My heart was.

And there was nothing left to accomplish, fix, plan, or figure out.

There was only Him.

God reminded me that being still doesn’t require the perfect environment.

It doesn’t require worship music blasting in my headphones.

It doesn’t require 15 minutes, 30 minutes, or an hour.

It requires intentionality.

Maybe being still isn’t about waiting for the world around us to become quiet.

Maybe it’s becoming so aware of His presence that everything else becomes quiet within us.

God doesn’t need perfect circumstances.

He just needs room.

And when we intentionally make room for Him, He has a beautiful way of meeting us right where we are.

So I hear the nudge again…

Be still.
Make room.
Let Him meet you there.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”
Psalm 46:10

09/12/2026

Today, we pause to remember September 11, 2001—a day that forever changed our nation and countless lives. We honor the innocent lives lost at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and aboard Flight 93. We remember the first responders who ran toward danger, the passengers who acted with extraordinary courage, the survivors who carried unimaginable pain, and every family whose heart still holds an empty space.

May we never allow hatred to have the final word. May tragedy remind us to choose compassion over division, unity over fear, and love over violence. We will never forget.

Prayer

Heavenly Father,

Today, we remember every precious life lost on September 11. Comfort the families, survivors, first responders, and communities still carrying the grief and lasting effects of that day.

Lord, so much violence has been committed while misusing Your name. Remind the world that You are a God of love, mercy, justice, and peace. Heal our divisions, soften hardened hearts, and teach us to see one another as Your children.

May we honor those we lost—not only with our memories, but by living with greater compassion, courage, unity, and love. Let peace have the final word.

We will never forget.

Amen. 🇺🇸🕊️

09/11/2026

Can You Imagine?

Can you imagine
creating children in your own image—
breathing life into their lungs,
placing purpose inside their bones,
and watching those same bones
rise to say,
“I’ve got a bone to pick with God”?

Can you imagine
painting the sunrise,
carving mountains with your voice,
teaching oceans where to stop,
then watching your children stand in awe of creation
while refusing to acknowledge the Creator?

We worship what His hands have made,
then ignore the hands that made us.

We bow to money,
status,
relationships,
success,
our own reflection—
anything that promises satisfaction
without requiring surrender.

We take the gifts,
remove the Giver,
and call ourselves self-made.

When life is good,
we say,
“I worked for this.
I earned this.
I made this happen.”

But when life breaks,
when death knocks,
when disappointment enters without permission,
suddenly we remember His name—
not to worship Him,
but to blame Him.

“Where were You, God?”

Yet when He whispered,
“Where are you?”
we were too busy building a life
that had no room for Him.

Can you imagine?

We blame God for a world
that keeps choosing against His heart.

We demand that He remove evil
while protecting our right to choose it.

Free will?

Uh-huh.

We want the freedom to walk away
but hold God responsible
for every road we wander down.

We ask why He allows hatred
while hatred lives comfortably in our hearts.

We ask why He permits suffering
while stepping over hurting people.

We ask why He doesn’t feed the hungry
while our tables overflow.

We ask why He doesn’t show up—
as though He did not create our hands,
our feet,
our voices,
and command us to love.

Can you imagine
being Love Himself
and being told You do not love us?

Being rejected by the very hearts
You designed to know You?

And still—
He stays.

Still,
the sun rises on those who curse His name.

Still,
His mercy knocks every morning.

Still,
He leaves the porch light on
for children determined
to find their way home without Him.

We say,
“I don’t need anybody.”

But that is not strength.
Sometimes that is pain
wearing pride as armor.

It is the voice of every disappointment saying,
“Never trust again.”

We glorify our isolation,
celebrate our walls,
and call loneliness independence.

But we all need somebody.

We all need to be known.
We all need to be held.
We all need love.

Yet we barely understand love
because we keep turning it into a transaction:

“I’ll love you if you please me.
I’ll stay if you don’t hurt me.
I’ll choose you as long as choosing you
doesn’t cost me too much.”

Then God shows us a cross—
a love that stayed
when staying cost everything.

And what do we do
with a love like that?

We take it for granted.

We ask for blessings
but resist the One who blesses.

We ask for peace
but reject His presence.

We ask for direction
then become offended
when He tells us to turn around.

We say we want something real,
something good,
something faithful—
but when Goodness stands before us,
we mistreat it,
neglect it,
question it,
and sometimes crucify it.

Woe to us.

Because the good we know to do,
we do not do,
and the very things destroying us
are the things we keep choosing.

We look at the condition of the world
as though we are only witnesses—
as though none of our fingerprints
are on the brokenness.

But perhaps the world is not only “out there.”

Perhaps the war begins within us.

In our pride.
Our selfishness.
Our unforgiveness.
Our refusal to love anyone
who does not look, think, vote, worship,
or live like us.

And still, we point toward heaven
and ask God,
“What are You going to do about all this?”

Can you imagine
hearing that question
while looking at the cross?

Can you imagine
loving people who deny You,
blame You,
replace You,
and use Your name
only when their own strength runs out?

Can you imagine
knowing every thought,
every secret,
every betrayal—
and still calling them
“My children”?

We are undeserving.

Not worthless—
never worthless—
but undeserving of a love this holy,
this patient,
this relentless.

A love that does not wait for us
to become lovable.

A love that keeps reaching
through our rebellion.

A love that says,
“You may have turned your back on Me,
but Mine is still carrying a cross for you.”

Can you imagine?

No—

we cannot.

Because even our greatest understanding of love
is only a drop
beside the ocean of who He is.

So before we raise our fists
and announce that we have
a bone to pick with God,

perhaps we should remember:

He formed those bones.

He filled those lungs.

He allowed that heart
to beat long enough
to question Him.

And perhaps the greatest miracle
is not that God created us—

but that after everything,
He still wants us.

Still calls us.

Still loves us.

Still stands at the door.

Still whispers,

“Child,
come home.”

09/05/2026

Outreach day with Faith's Hawaiian Kitchen

09/04/2026

DRIVE-THRU PRAYER

Children Don’t Have to Beg at Their Father’s Door

Welcome to the drive-thru:
“God, bless me.
God, fix this.
God, protect them.
God, give me.
God, help me.
Amen.”

Next.

We pull up to prayer
like we’re ordering something off a menu.

Quick.
Convenient.
No eye contact required.

We give God two minutes
between the notification
and the next appointment,
between scrolling
and sleeping,
between “I’m busy”
and “I’m tired.”

And somehow
the God who holds eternity
gets the leftovers of our attention.

Drive-thru prayer.

We speak,
but we don’t stay.

We ask,
but we don’t listen.

We say “Amen”
before our hearts
have even arrived.

And maybe it isn’t because
we don’t love Him.

Maybe life just taught us
to microwave everything.

Instant answers.
Instant gratification.
Instant results.

So now when heaven
doesn’t answer in thirty seconds,
we wonder if God heard us.

When the healing didn’t come
the way we prayed,

when the door stayed closed,

when the relationship still broke,

when the money still ran out,

when we prayed until our eyes hurt
and nothing seemed to move—

maybe something in us whispered,

“Maybe He isn’t listening.”

So we stopped telling Him everything.

Our prayers got shorter.

Safer.

More religious.

Less real.

Because disappointment
can teach a heart
to protect itself—even from God.

But child,

He heard you.

He heard the prayer
you thought bounced off the ceiling.

He heard the sentence
you couldn’t finish.

He heard the sob
that never became a word.

He heard you when you were angry.

He heard you when you questioned Him.

He heard you when you fell asleep
trying to pray.

He heard you when all you could say was,

“God… I’m tired.”

And maybe tonight
He isn’t asking you
for prettier prayers.

Maybe He just wants
the real you back.

Not the church version.

Not the polished version.

Not the “I’m blessed and highly favored” version
when your heart is actually bleeding.

Bring Him your real.

“Father, I’m hurt.”

“Father, I’m angry.”

“Father, I don’t understand.”

“Father, I’m disappointed.”

“Father, I believed You,
and this still broke my heart.”

“Father, I’m scared.”

“Father…
I don’t even know what to say.”

THAT is prayer.

Because prayer was never meant
to be a performance.

It is relationship.

It is a child
recognizing the voice of a Father,

and a Father
recognizing the voice of His child.

So stop disguising your voice.

Stop coming dressed like somebody else.

Jacob came wearing Esau’s clothes,
trying to receive a blessing
through an identity that wasn’t his.

But you don’t have to impersonate anybody
to approach your Father.

Come as you.

Because He knows your voice.

He knows your laugh.

He knows your cry.

He knows the difference
between your worship
and your pretending.

And He would rather hear
your honest frustration
than your rehearsed religion.

So come boldly.

Not arrogantly—

belongingly.

There’s a difference.

You are not a stranger
knocking on heaven’s door
hoping somebody answers.

You are not an orphan
begging for scraps.

You are not an inconvenience.

You are not interrupting Him.

You are His child.

And children do not have to beg
their loving Father
to be a Father.

Maybe earthly love taught you
that attention must be earned.

Maybe somebody made you chase them
just to feel chosen.

Maybe you had to perform
to be noticed.

Beg to be heard.

Prove you were worthy
of somebody staying.

But do not put
their face
on your Father.

God is not them.

You don’t have to chase Him
down the hallway screaming,

“Please listen to me!”

His door is already open.

His arms are already open.

His ear is already inclined.

And somehow—

the God who keeps planets in orbit,

the God who commands oceans,

the God before whom heaven bows,

the God seated upon the throne—

hears you.

Not because your prayer
was eloquent.

Not because you prayed
for an hour.

Not because you found
the perfect words.

But because—

you are His.

So kill the drive-thru.

Park the car.

Turn off the noise.

Put the phone down.

Stay awhile.

Cry if you need to.

Sit silently if you need to.

Fall asleep in His presence
if that’s all your tired body can give Him.

But come.

Come messy.

Come disappointed.

Come confused.

Come grateful.

Come angry.

Come hopeful.

Come weary.

Just come real.

Because we are not children
of empty words.

We are children
of a listening Father.

And prayer isn’t placing an order
and speeding toward the next thing.

Prayer is pulling up a chair
to the table of a Father
who has been waiting for His child to come home.

So stay.

Talk.

Listen.

Breathe.

And when you have nothing beautiful to say,

say what is true.

Because maybe the most powerful prayer
you pray tonight
won’t sound powerful at all.

Maybe it will simply be:

“Abba…
I’m here.”

And perhaps heaven whispers back:

“I know, My child.
I’ve been listening the whole time.”

09/02/2026

IF LOVE HAD HANDS
(Why we do outreach)
A love poem for us,the hands and feet of Jesus

If love had hands,
would they look like ours?

Would they be clean,
untouched,
folded safely in prayer?

Or would they be dirty
from digging through somebody else’s wreckage?

Would they smell like perfume—
or like the street,
the hospital room,
the shelter,
the kitchen,
the shoulder somebody cried on
until there were no tears left?

If love had feet,
where would they go?

Would they stay where it is comfortable,
where everybody looks like us,
believes like us,
lives like us?

Or would they walk toward
the places everybody else
keeps walking past?

Because we keep asking,

“Jesus, where are You?”

when another child goes hungry.

“Jesus, where are You?”
when somebody sleeps beneath a bridge.

“Jesus, where are You?”
when the lonely decide
that nobody would notice
if they disappeared.

“Jesus, where are You?”
when a mother is choosing
between groceries and electricity.

“Jesus, where are You?”
when the forgotten
start believing
they were meant to be forgotten.

And I wonder
if Heaven ever whispers back:

“Where are My hands?”

“Where are My feet?”

Because maybe
we have been waiting for Jesus
to come down and change the world,

while Jesus has been waiting
for His children
to get up.

Maybe the miracle
is already in the room.

Maybe it looks like your hands.

Maybe it walks on my feet.

Maybe it sounds like,

“I see you.”

“I brought enough for you too.”

“Sit with me.”

“You don’t have to pay me back.”

“You can call me.”

“I remembered.”

“I came back.”

“You matter.”

Maybe love isn’t always
a grand altar call.

Sometimes love
is a plate of food
placed into trembling hands.

Sometimes it is
a coat.

A ride.

A phone call.

A grocery bag.

A seat at the table.

A name remembered.

A door held open.

A bill quietly paid.

A person who refuses
to let another human being
hurt alone.

Because Jesus did not only tell us
that He loved us.

He put skin on love.

He touched the untouchable.

He sat with the unwanted.

He defended the condemned.

He fed the hungry.

He washed dirty feet.

He wept with grieving people.

And then—

as if loving us with words
would never be enough—

He stretched His hands
across a wooden cross

and let nails
tell the world

how far Love was willing to go.

Those hands were pierced.

Those feet were pierced.

And now He calls us
His body.

So how dare His hands
refuse to reach?

How dare His feet
refuse to go?

How can we sing about His heart
and ignore what breaks it?

How can we pray,

“Lord, send somebody,”

when perhaps
we are the somebody
He sent?

Church,

we are not here
just to fill buildings.

We are here
to fill empty stomachs.

Empty seats.

Empty hearts.

Empty spaces
where hope used to live.

We are here
to love so recklessly
that people who have forgotten God

taste something familiar
when they encounter us.

Because some people
will never read a Bible

before they read you.

Some will never hear a sermon

before they hear
the kindness in your voice.

Some may never understand
the bread of life

until somebody
hands them actual bread.

So feed them.

Hold them.

See them.

Hear them.

Go back for them.

Stand beside them.

Learn their names.

Sit on the pavement
if that’s where they are.

And if they ask,

“Why do you love me like this?”

don’t give them a performance.

Just tell them,

“Because once,
when I had nothing to offer Him,

Jesus loved me like this too.”

That is our banner.

Not fame.

Not applause.

Not titles.

Not how loudly
we can say His name—

but how deeply
someone can feel His love
because we came.

Let them taste it.

Let them feel it.

Let love have weight.

Let love have hands.

Let love have feet.

Let love show up
before somebody gives up.

Let love arrive
before hunger becomes hopelessness.

Let love knock
before loneliness locks the door.

Let love interrupt
what this world has decided
is inevitable.

Because maybe we cannot
fix everything.

But we can refuse
to do nothing.

And maybe one meal
doesn’t end hunger—

but for one person,
tonight,

hunger ended.

Maybe one embrace
doesn’t heal every wound—

but for one moment,

somebody remembered
what safe felt like.

Maybe one act of kindness
doesn’t change the whole world—

but it can change
someone’s whole world.

And isn’t that
what Jesus did?

One table.

One touch.

One person.

One broken heart
at a time.

Until Love
became a movement.

So let this be
our inheritance.

Let this be
what they say about
the children of God:

They came.

When everybody else walked away,

they came.

When nobody wanted to touch us,

they touched us.

When nobody remembered our names,

they remembered.

When we were hungry,

they fed us.

When we were ashamed,

they covered us.

When we were invisible,

they saw us.

And somehow,

when they loved us,

we could have sworn

Jesus Himself
had walked into the room.

So here are my hands, Lord.

Let them become Yours.

Here are my feet.

Send them where Yours would go.

Here is my table.

Make room.

Here is my heart.

Break it
for what breaks Yours.

And when this hurting world
asks us,

“Where is Jesus?”

may we never have to answer
only with words.

May they look at our hands.

May they follow our feet.

May they taste our love.

May they feel our embrace.

And through tears
may they finally whisper,

**“Oh…

there He is.”**

08/27/2026

Dear heavenly father i come to you in need of your warmth. Sit beside all sides of me o lord.

Open my heart for what you want me to have today. Remove my wants and desires and deposit your will for my life.

Water the areas of my life, my heart that maybe dry lord. Give me your daily bread today lord. Help me not worry about yesterday or tomorrow. Let me be present in the here and now and remind me that you have never left me.

You are The Great I Am, so do what you want with my life. Use what you saved me from to speak life into your children that is walking those paths right now lord.

Fill me with your greatest gift, the gift of love because people will know your disciples by the way that we love.

Use me, use me, use me. I'm your willing servant lord. I thank you in your mighty powerful majestic name

AMEN

Walk By Faith Ministries

09/24/2026

09/21/2026

09/21/2026

09/14/2026

09/12/2026

09/11/2026

09/05/2026

09/04/2026

09/02/2026

08/27/2026

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Organization

Shortcuts

Share

Category

Listing takedown request