The Curious Pilgrims

Reflections from 76 Years of Living

This is me holding a chicken standing near the chicken coop on our farm in Mississippi in 1954

This is me in 2026. I am 76 and I live in Springfield, MO.

When I look back across seventy-six years, the distance from there to here feels both long and surprisingly short. Time has been my teacher—sometimes gentle, sometimes demanding—but always honest. What I have learned did not come all at once. It came through love and loss, belonging and loneliness, faith and doubt, certainty and change. These are the lessons that have endured.

Life Is a Gift

The first and greatest lesson is this: life itself is a gift. It is not owed to us, guaranteed, or fully under our control. Breath, health, opportunity, and even tomorrow arrive not as entitlements but as grace. I have learned this most clearly through suffering—my own and that of others. Nothing strips away illusion faster than loss. Yet even in pain, life remains sacred. Every day given is an invitation: to notice, to love, to grow, to forgive.

Life Is Relational

I once thought life was something I built on my own. Age has taught me otherwise. Life is relational at its core. None of us exists independently. We are shaped by parents and teachers, friends and strangers, communities and cultures. Even conflict forms us.

We depend on farmers we will never meet, workers whose names we do not know, systems we did not create, and generations that came before us. Meaning is never solitary. Joy deepens when shared; sorrow becomes bearable when witnessed. We are not islands—we are threads in a living fabric.

There Is a God Greater Than Us

Another truth has grown clearer with time: there is a God greater than us. Not a god confined to my opinions or traditions, but a mystery larger than human language. I have learned humility here. God is not something I manage or fully understand. God is encountered—in awe, in conscience, in beauty, in compassion, and sometimes in silence.

Faith, for me, is no longer about certainty. It is about trust. It is about standing before something vast and holy and knowing I am both small and deeply valued.

Four Foundational Relationships

Over the years, life has revealed four essential relationships that shape every human being:

1. Our relationship with God – the source of meaning, transcendence, and hope beyond ourselves.
2. Our relationship with others – where love is practiced, justice is tested, and grace becomes real.
3. Our relationship with ourselves – learning honesty, acceptance, and compassion toward our own story.
4. Our relationship with the universe – the earth, nature, time, and the wider mystery we inhabit.

When one of these relationships is neglected, life becomes distorted. When they are tended, even imperfectly, life finds balance and depth.

Truth Is Not Owned by One Religion

One of the most freeing lessons I have learned is this: truth is larger than any single religion. I have come to believe that wisdom appears wherever people seek meaning, justice, love, and transcendence. No tradition has a monopoly on truth. Each carries insight shaped by history, culture, and experience.

To learn from many religions is not to abandon one’s faith—it is to deepen humility and expand understanding. Truth does not fear dialogue. God is not threatened by curiosity. Listening across traditions has taught me reverence, patience, and compassion.

From There to Here

From youth to age, certainty to reflection, independence to interdependence, I have learned that the goal of life is not perfection but faithfulness—to love where we can, to listen when we do not understand, to remain open when it would be easier to close ourselves off.

If there is one thread that runs through all these lessons, it is this: we are here to love and be transformed by love—love of God, love of others, love of self, and love of the world that holds us.

From there to here, that is the journey I am still walking.

A Devotional Reflection on Revelation 2:18–29

The words Jesus speaks to the church in Thyatira are among the most searching and unsettling in all of Scripture. They are also deeply hopeful. This letter reminds us that Christ sees clearly, loves deeply, and calls His church to a faith that refuses to trade truth for comfort.

Jesus introduces Himself not as a gentle suggestion, but as the Son of God, with eyes like fire and feet like burnished bronze. He sees beneath appearances. He knows not only what we do, but why we do it. This is both sobering and comforting: sobering because nothing is hidden, comforting because nothing faithful is overlooked.

A Church That Was Doing Many Things Right

The church in Thyatira was not lazy or cold. Jesus praises their love, faith, service, perseverance, and even their growth. Their “last works” were greater than their first. This is the kind of church many of us would admire — active, compassionate, outward-facing.

Yet it was precisely here that danger crept in.

The church had learned how to love, but it had forgotten how to discern.

The Cost of Tolerated Falsehood

Jesus rebukes Thyatira for tolerating a teacher symbolically called “Jezebel.” She claimed spiritual authority while leading people into practices that distorted faith and harmed lives. The issue was not only what she taught — but that the church allowed it to continue.

This is where the passage presses uncomfortably into our own time.

We live in an age that prizes tolerance as the highest virtue. Churches are often tempted to avoid difficult conversations, to soften hard truths, or to excuse harmful theology in the name of unity or love. But Revelation reminds us that unchecked compromise does not preserve love — it eventually destroys it.

Grace that never calls for repentance is not grace. Love that refuses truth is not love.

The Patience — and Seriousness — of Christ

Jesus tells us He gave this false teacher time to repent. God is never eager to judge. He is patient, slow to anger, and rich in mercy. But patience has a purpose: repentance and restoration.

When repentance is refused, Jesus acts — not out of cruelty, but out of care for the community. A church that refuses to confront deception eventually wounds the vulnerable, distorts the gospel, and loses its witness.

Christ loves His church too much to leave it captive to lies.

A Quiet Word to the Faithful

Not everyone in Thyatira followed this teaching. To the faithful remnant, Jesus offers no new burden — only this:

“Hold fast to what you have until I come.”

This is one of the most tender moments in the letter. Faithfulness here is not loud or dramatic. It is the daily courage to remain rooted in Christ when compromise feels easier. It is the quiet refusal to surrender conscience for acceptance.

Many believers today know this tension well — holding convictions in churches, families, or cultures that pressure them to conform. Jesus sees that faithfulness. He honors it.

The Promise That Sustains Us

To those who overcome, Jesus promises authority and gives “the morning star.” The reward is not status or power for its own sake — it is Christ Himself. Union with Him. Shared life. Shared victory.

In a world that often rewards compromise and punishes integrity, Jesus assures us that faithfulness is never wasted.

A Word for Our Day

Revelation 2:18–29 asks the modern church hard questions:

• Have we confused love with avoidance?
• Have we silenced truth to preserve comfort?
• Have we tolerated what slowly erodes the soul of the church?

And yet, it also offers hope:
Christ still walks among His churches.
Christ still calls.
Christ still restores.
Christ still rewards those who hold fast.

Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,
You who see with eyes of fire and walk with steady strength,
search our hearts and our communities.
Give us love that is truthful, grace that transforms,
and courage that endures.
When compromise tempts us, help us to hold fast.
When faithfulness feels lonely, remind us that You see.
May we remain true until You come.
Amen.

“Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.” (Revelation 2:29)

There is a quiet danger in faithful religion. We can do many things right and still drift far from the heart of God. Revelation 2:1–7 confronts us with this truth as Jesus speaks to the church in Ephesus—a church known for perseverance, discernment, and doctrinal clarity. And yet, Jesus says something startling:

“You have abandoned the love you had at first.”

This is not a rebuke for immorality or heresy. It is a warning against loveless faith—a faith that has become correct, busy, and resilient, but no longer tender or joyful.

When read alongside Psalm 103, Isaiah 52:3–6, and John 2:1–11, a single theme emerges with clarity and power:

God does not desire transactional religion, but restored relationship marked by mercy, dignity, and joy.

Faith Is Not a Transaction

Psalm 103 begins not with commands, but with praise:

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”

The psalmist reminds us that God “does not deal with us according to our sins.” God is not keeping a ledger, balancing good behavior against bad. Mercy is not earned—it is given.

Isaiah deepens this truth:

“You were sold for nothing, and you shall be redeemed without money.”

Redemption is not a purchase, a bargain, or a reward for obedience. It is God’s free act of love toward a people who have been humiliated and oppressed. God’s name is dishonored when people are crushed—and glorified when they are set free.

The church in Ephesus had resisted false teaching and cultural compromise, including the practices of the Nicolaitans. This mattered. But Jesus reveals that truth without love slowly becomes hollow. Faith becomes a performance rather than a relationship.

God Restores Dignity, Not Just Order

Psalm 103 speaks of God who “crowns you with steadfast love and mercy.” Isaiah 52 declares that God acts because his people’s dignity has been stripped away. Redemption restores identity, not merely obedience.

This concern for dignity is beautifully revealed in John 2, where Jesus performs his first sign—not in a synagogue or a courtroom, but at a wedding. When the wine runs out, the family faces social shame. Jesus responds quietly, generously, and without condition.

He turns water into wine—abundant, excellent wine.

This is not accidental. Jesus’ first miracle is not about power or correction. It is about restoring joy.

Love Comes Before Command

Across these passages, God’s pattern is consistent:

• In Revelation, Jesus calls the church to remember and return.
• In Psalm 103, blessing comes before instruction.
• In Isaiah, liberation comes before obedience.
• In John, joy comes before teaching.

Grace always precedes transformation.

When love is lost, faith hardens. When love is renewed, obedience becomes a response—not a burden.

Joy as a Sign of God’s Presence

Perhaps the most striking connection among these texts is joy.

• Revelation warns against loveless endurance.
• Psalm 103 overflows with gratitude.
• Isaiah 52 bursts into good news.
• John 2 overflows with wine.

Joy is not superficial. It is a sign that God’s presence has broken into ordinary life.

Where fear rules, joy fades.
Where love returns, joy follows.

A Word for Today

Many of us live like the church in Ephesus—faithful, discerning, exhausted. We resist what is false, yet struggle to feel what is true. These Scriptures invite us not to try harder, but to return.

Return to mercy.
Return to dignity.
Return to joy.
Return to first love.

Jesus’ promise still stands:

“To the one who conquers, I will give access to the tree of life.”

Not to those who perform perfectly—but to those who come home to love.

A Closing Prayer

God of mercy,
Restore in us what routine has worn thin.
Free us from fear-based faith.
Teach us again the joy of being loved.
Lead us back to our first love—Jesus Christ,
in whom mercy, dignity, and joy meet.
Amen.