Seeing Jesus Through Paul’s Eyes

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Reading through the Pauline Epistles helped me see Jesus in a deeper, fuller way than I ever expected. I have known Jesus as Savior, Lord, Teacher, Healer—but through Paul’s eyes? I saw Him as everything.

Paul did not just talk about Jesus. He lived and breathed for Him. Every letter, every sentence, every teaching was anchored in Christ. And not just the surface level parts either—Paul showed us Jesus in His fullness. Crucified. Risen. Glorified. Seated. Working. Returning. The way Paul described Him made me pause more than once and say to myself, “Do I really know Him like that?”

Through Paul’s letters, I saw Jesus as the Messiah andthe Son of God—not just a title, but a reality. The One who fulfilled every promise. The One who was sent to redeem, not just rescue. Paul did not shy away from the depth of what that meant. Jesus was not an optional part of the faith—He was the faith. The cornerstone. The whole reason we get to stand before God, righteous and accepted.

Paul kept pointing to the cross, over and over. And the more I read, the more I saw that for Paul, the cross was not just a moment in history—it was the center of everything. Jesus crucified meant my old life was crucified too. Paul made that personal. “I have been crucified with Christ,” he said. “It is no longer I who live…” That challenged me. Because sometimes I want resurrection power without dying to self. But Paul reminded me—you cannot have one without the other.

Then he showed us Jesus resurrected—not just alive, but victorious. Alive in us. Giving life to our dead places. That filled me with hope. Because sometimes I forget that the same power that raised Christ from the dead is at work in me too. Paul never let us forget that Jesus is not just someone we look back on—He is alive now. Working now. Reigning now.

Paul also taught me that Jesus is the source of salvation and justification. That I do not have to perform, strive, or beg to be accepted by God. Jesus handled it. Fully. Forever. That part always brings me to tears. Because I know what it feels like to try and earn what was always meant to be received. Through Paul’s words, I was reminded again: I am saved by grace. I am kept by grace. And I stand in grace.

And finally, Paul introduced me to Jesus and the Christian life—how He shapes how I live, how I love, how I lead. Paul made it clear: this walk is not about religion. It is about relationship. It is about being hidden in Christ. About living in such a way that people do not just see me—they see Him.

Reading Jesus through Paul’s eyes was more than theology—it was testimony. It was transformation. It made me want to know Jesus deeper. It made me want to be more rooted, more surrendered, more aware of who He is and who I am because of Him.

Through Paul’s lens, I saw Jesus not just as Savior—but as my everything. And I do not want to unsee that.

 

Reading the Book of Titus

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Reading the book of Titus felt like a leadership crash course rooted in grace and grounded in responsibility. Paul did not waste any words. He got straight to the point—“Here is what you need to do. Here is why it matters.”

Titus was left in Crete, and apparently, the folks there had a reputation. They were known for being dishonest, wild, and hard to manage. Paul acknowledged that and still said, “Set things in order.” That part challenged me. Because sometimes I look at a messy situation and want to walk away. But Paul was saying, “You are there on purpose. Bring order. Bring truth. Bring sound doctrine.”

That made me pause. God does not always place us in easy environments. Sometimes He plants us in chaos—so that we can be a stabilizing force.

What stood out most was Paul’s emphasis on sound teaching. Not just preaching. Not just opinions. But teaching that shapes lives. He told Titus to teach older men, older women, younger women, younger men, and leaders how to live in ways that reflected the gospel. That felt so practical, so direct. It reminded me that the gospel is not just about what we believe—it is about how we behave.

And then Paul hit on grace. He said, “The grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people…” But he did not stop there. He said grace teaches us how to live. That part was powerful. Because we often treat grace like a free pass, but Paul said grace is a teacher. Grace trains us to say no to ungodliness. Grace empowers us to live with self-control, integrity, and hope.

That reshaped how I see spiritual growth. It is not about trying harder. It is about responding to the grace I have already received.

Paul also told Titus to remind people to be good citizens—to submit to authority, to be kind, to avoid arguments, and to be ready for every good work. That convicted me. Because sometimes I want to be “deep” and theological, but Paul was saying, “Be decent. Be kind. Be different.” That kind of witness speaks volumes.

Reading Titus reminded me that ministry is not about glamour—it is about grit. That leadership means helping others grow, even when the environment is tough. That grace is more than forgiveness—it is transformation. And that God can use me to bring order, stability, and truth—even in wild places.

 

Reading the Book of 2 Timothy

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Reading the book of 2 Timothy felt like reading someone’s final words. It was heavy. Holy. Tender. I knew Paul was writing from a dark prison cell, near the end of his life, and every word carried weight. This was not just a letter—it was a legacy.

Paul was not writing to a crowd. He was writing to one person: Timothy. His son in the faith. And you could feel the emotion in every line. This was not the time for grand theology or big corrections. This was personal. Paul was passing the torch.

That hit me hard.

He told Timothy to stay strong. To keep going. To not be ashamed of the gospel. To endure suffering. To guard the truth. To preach the Word, whether it was convenient or not. I felt like Paul was speaking to every weary believer who has ever wanted to quit. And I needed that. Because there are days when this walk feels heavy. When the pressure is real. When the loneliness sets in. But Paul said, “Be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus.” Not by grit. Not by talent. By grace.

He reminded Timothy that the faith he had came through generations—his grandmother Lois, his mother Eunice. That part made me emotional. Because faith that gets passed down is powerful. And Paul was saying, “Now it is your turn. Stir it up. Do not let it go cold.”

There were moments that made me tear up. When Paul said, “Everyone has deserted me... But the Lord stood by me,” I felt the ache in his words. And I also felt the hope. Because sometimes people walk away. Sometimes the crowd thins out. But the Lord never leaves. Paul knew that. And in his final days, that is what carried him.

The verse that stopped me cold was, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” That is the kind of testimony I want. Not perfection—but perseverance. Not applause—but endurance. I want to be able to say that I did not give up, even when it got hard. Even when I felt alone. Even when the fire burned low.

Reading 2 Timothy reminded me that this walk is not about being flashy. It is about being faithful. That legacy matters. That discipleship is sacred. That finishing well is possible. And that even if everyone else fades into the background, God is still present. Still faithful. Still standing beside me.

 

Reading the Book of 1 Timothy

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Reading the book of 1 Timothy felt like listening in on a mentoring conversation—personal, practical, and full of wisdom. Paul was pouring into Timothy, his spiritual son, and I could feel the weight of that relationship. It was not just instruction—it was legacy.

Right away, I noticed that Paul was setting the tone: protect the gospel. Guard the truth. Do not let false teaching take root. That urgency came through every chapter. And it made sense—Timothy was young, navigating leadership in a challenging culture, and probably feeling the pressure. Paul was not just giving him advice—he was giving him backbone.

That resonated with me. Because sometimes I feel the pressure too—especially when it comes to standing for what is right in a world that constantly wants to shift the line. Paul reminded Timothy to be bold but to also be kind. To hold fast to the truth, but to do it with grace. That balance is not always easy. But it is necessary.

I was struck by how personal Paul got. He talked about his own story—how he had once been a blasphemer, a persecutor, the worst of sinners. But God had shown him mercy. That part got me. Because sometimes I need to remember that leaders are not perfect—they are redeemed. And their past does not disqualify them when God has written redemption all over their lives.

Then Paul gave Timothy instructions for how the church should function—how leaders should behave, how widows should be honored, how wealth should be handled, how prayer should be prioritized. Some of it felt cultural. Some of it felt hard. I wrestled with a few verses, especially the ones about women. I had to sit with them. Think. Pray. Ask questions.

But even in the tension, I could tell Paul was trying to build something that lasted. He was not just addressing problems—he was shaping a model for healthy, godly leadership. Leadership that serves. That teaches. That corrects. That sets an example in speech, conduct, love, faith, and purity.

The verse that stuck with me most was: “Fight the good fight of faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called.” That stirred something in me. Because faith is a fight. And sometimes I get tired. But Paul reminded Timothy—and me—that this fight is worth it. That what we have in Christ is worth holding onto.

Reading 1 Timothy reminded me that leadership is a calling, not a spotlight. That guarding the gospel is everyone’s responsibility. And that even when I feel young, unqualified, or unsure—if God called me, then He will equip me.

Reading the Book of Philippians

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Reading the book of Philippians felt like breathing fresh air. Every word lifted me. Encouraged me. Reminded me why I keep going. This book is short—but it is powerful. It is my favorite for a reason. It gave me hope all over again.

Paul wrote this from prison, and yet, joy pours off the page. That alone stopped me. Because how do you write about joy when you are locked up, when your future is uncertain, when your freedom is gone? Paul was on house arrest and still managed to sound freer than most people I know—including me.

He said, “Rejoice in the Lord always,” and I had to sit with that. Always? Even when I am tired? Even when life feels unfair? Even when I do not understand what God is doing? Yes. Because the kind of joy Paul had was not tied to what was happening around him—it was rooted in who Jesus is.

That spoke to me. Loudly. Because sometimes, I lose sight of joy. I get wrapped up in the fight, the fatigue, the distractions. But Paul said, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” That one verse alone has kept me going so many times. It reminded me that God is not done with me. That I do not have to be perfect to be progressing.

Philippians also reminded me of the importance of mindset. “Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus…” Paul described how Jesus emptied Himself and humbled Himself—even to death on a cross. And because of that, God exalted Him. That flipped something in me. Sometimes I want elevation without humility. I want the crown without the cross. But Philippians reminded me that resilience starts in the mind. In choosing to think differently. In choosing to serve, even when it is hard.

And then there is Philippians 3. Paul said he considered everything a loss compared to knowing Christ. Everything. He had status, education, reputation—but none of it mattered next to Jesus. That realignment hit me hard. What am I clinging to that I need to let go of? What do I still count as gain when it is really holding me back?

He talked about pressing on. About forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead. That felt personal. I needed that. Because there are days when moving forward feels like a crawl. But this letter whispered to me: “Do not quit. Keep pressing.”

Reading Philippians reminded me that joy is a choice. That resilience is spiritual. That hope is not just a feeling—it is a promise. And that no matter where I am or what I face, I can still say, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

And I believe it. Still.

 

Reading the Book of Ephesians

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Reading the book of Ephesians felt like being reminded of who I am—and whose I am. From the very beginning, Paul did not start with correction or conflict. He started with identity. He started with purpose. And it was like he was speaking directly to me.

He said I am chosen. Adopted. Redeemed. Sealed. Blessed. That kind of language was so rich, so affirming, that I had to go back and read it again slowly. Because the truth is, I do not always feel chosen. I do not always walk like someone who has been sealed with a promise. But Ephesians reminded me that my identity is not based on how I feel—it is based on what God has already done.

Paul took his time laying the foundation. He reminded the believers in Ephesus that they were once far off, without hope, without God—but now? They had been brought near. Reconciled. United. That hit me. Because sometimes I forget just how far grace had to reach to get me. And how beautiful it is that God did not just save me individually—He placed me in a body. A family. A church.

And then came chapter 3, where Paul talks about the mystery of the gospel and his role in sharing it. He prayed that we would be strengthened in the inner being and know the love of Christ—how wide, how long, how high, how deep. I paused there. Because I need that kind of strength. I need that kind of love. And I need to remember that I do not have to earn it. It is already mine.

But Paul did not stop with who we are. He moved into how we live. Chapters 4 through 6 were like spiritual marching orders. He said, “Live a life worthy of the calling you have received.” That was a heart check. Because I can know all the right things and still walk in a way that does not reflect them.

He talked about unity. About maturity. About putting off the old self and putting on the new one. About not giving the enemy a foothold. About living in the light. That part about not letting anger linger? Yeah… that got me. Because sometimes I hold on to things too long. Paul was clear—let it go. Do not give the devil room to work.

Then he closed with the armor of God. And I felt like he was reminding me that this life is a spiritual battle. That I cannot walk through it casually or carelessly. I need to be dressed. Covered. Alert. Standing firm.

Reading Ephesians reminded me that I am not lacking—I am loved. That I am not wandering—I am walking in purpose. That I am not powerless—I have access to every spiritual blessing in Christ. And I need to live like I believe it.

 

Reading the Book of Philemon

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Reading the book of Philemon was different. It was short—just one chapter—but it said a lot. It felt like opening someone’s private letter and catching a glimpse of what grace looks like in real life. No doctrine. No sermon. Just a deeply personal appeal from Paul to a friend.

At the heart of it was Onesimus—a runaway slave who had somehow crossed paths with Paul, found Jesus, and become like a spiritual son to him. And now Paul was sending him back… back to Philemon, the man he had wronged. But Paul was not just sending him back as a servant. He was sending him back as a brother.

That moved me.

Paul did not demand or force. He appealed. He called Philemon higher. He basically said, “I could command you, but I’d rather appeal to you in love.” That spoke volumes. Because sometimes we want change through pressure—but Paul modeled transformation through relationship.

Reading this letter made me think about reconciliation—not just the pretty, social media kind, but the hard kind. The kind that requires humility and forgiveness. The kind that says, “I will not hold your past over your head if you are standing in your new identity.”

Paul put his own name and reputation on the line for Onesimus. He said, “If he owes you anything, charge it to me.” That hit me hard. Because that is what Jesus did for me. For all of us. He stood in the gap. He took the cost. And He changed my status—from outsider to family.

It also made me wonder: who am I willing to vouch for? Who do I need to forgive and receive—not based on their past, but based on what God is doing in them now?

Philemon challenged me to see people through the lens of grace. To release offense. To open my heart wider. To let love do the work that law and tradition never could.

Reading this letter reminded me that sometimes, the most powerful gospel moments do not happen in church—they happen in how we treat each other. In the quiet decisions. In the willingness to see someone not as what they were—but as who they are becoming in Christ.

 

Reading the Book of Colossians

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Reading the book of Colossians felt like being reminded of who Jesus really is—and who I am because of Him. It was like Paul gently turned my face away from the noise and confusion of life and said, “Look at Christ. Just look at Him.” And when I did, I saw Him more clearly.

This book is not long, but it is rich. Every verse felt intentional. Paul was writing to a church he had never even met, but you would never know it. He sounded like a protective father, guarding his kids from teaching that would steer them off track. The Colossians had started in Christ, but there were outside voices trying to convince them they needed more—more rules, more rituals, more philosophy.

Paul said, “No. Jesus is enough.”

And honestly, I needed that reminder. Because sometimes I drift into feeling like I need to add something to grace. Like I have to perform. Like I have to earn. Like Jesus needs a little help from me to keep me saved and steady. But Colossians said loud and clear—He is the fullness. He holds everything together. He is the head of the body, the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. And He lives in me.

That truth wrecked me a little.

Paul reminded them—and me—that we are complete in Christ. That in Him we have been raised to new life. That our old self was nailed to the cross. That we do not have to be ruled by empty religion or human traditions. I needed that. Because even though I love God, I sometimes get caught up in doing things out of habit or fear instead of out of love and understanding.

But Paul did not just preach theology—he showed us how to live it. He told us to set our minds on things above. To put off the old self and put on compassion, kindness, humility, patience. He called us to forgive, to love, to let peace rule our hearts. That part got me. Because it reminded me that being rooted in Christ should shape everything—how I talk, how I love, how I show up in the world.

One verse in particular settled in my spirit: “Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus.” That made me pause. Everything? Even the small things? The frustrating things? The things I think do not matter? Yes. Everything.

Reading Colossians reminded me that I do not need to add to Jesus. I just need to stay connected to Him. It reminded me that spiritual maturity is not about performing—it is about abiding. It is about walking in the identity I already have because of what He has done.

Jesus is enough. And because He is enough, I am secure.

 

Reading the Book of Romans

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Reading the book of Romans felt like sitting through a master class on salvation, grace, and the righteousness of God. But it also felt like being gently, yet firmly, stripped down—layer by layer—until all that was left was the truth. No pretending. No church face. Just me, God, and the gospel.

Romans is deep. There is no other way to describe it. Paul did not come to play. He laid out the problem of sin, the beauty of justification by faith, and the reality of what it means to be truly transformed. At times, I had to pause. Reread. Reflect. Because this was not just theology—it was my story. Our story.

Paul started by leveling the playing field. Jew, Gentile, religious, rebellious—we all fall short. That truth humbled me. I can try to dress up my life, try to do better, try to compare myself to others, but at the end of the day, we all need saving. And Paul made it clear—salvation is not something we earn. It is a gift. That truth is freeing, but sometimes hard to accept, especially when I catch myself trying to earn God’s approval again.

The way Paul explained grace—unearned, undeserved, unstoppable—it shook something in me. Especially when he wrote, “Where sin increased, grace increased all the more.” That brought tears to my eyes. Because there are places in my life where sin has had the upper hand. There are parts of my past that still whisper shame. But Romans told me that grace shouts louder.

And then came the shift—Paul did not just stop at salvation. He walked us into sanctification. What it means to walk in the Spirit, to live as someone who is no longer a slave to sin. That convicted me. Because grace does not give me permission to live sloppy—it empowers me to live free. Paul reminded me that I have a new identity, and with that comes a new mindset.

I will be honest—some chapters felt like climbing a steep hill. Complex. Theological. Layered. But even in that, there was beauty. Paul wrote with passion and purpose. He wanted us to know that God's plan was never random. That salvation through Christ was not a new idea—it was the fulfillment of everything God had always promised.

By the time I got to Romans 12, I felt like I had been through something. And Paul knew it. He said, “In view of God’s mercy…” and then he told us how to live. That part was so practical. Genuine love. Humility. Serving. Honoring others. Blessing our enemies. It was like he was saying, “Now that you know who you are—live like it.”

Reading Romans reminded me that grace is not cheap, and faith is not passive. That God’s righteousness is not just a theory—it is the foundation of my life. And that the gospel is not just for sinners out there—it is for me, every single day.

 

Reading the Book of 2 Corinthians

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Reading the book of 2 Corinthians felt different. It was emotional. Raw. It was like Paul had pulled back the curtain and let us see his heart—bruised, exhausted, but still beating for God’s people.

This letter came after some drama. There had been tension between Paul and the Corinthians. They had questioned his authority. Some had fallen for flashy new teachers. Others were just tired of being corrected. And Paul? He was hurt. You could feel it in his tone. This was not the Paul from Romans—bold and theological. This was Paul the spiritual father, trying to hold it together while loving a church that had broken his heart.

I felt that. I have been there—trying to love people who misunderstand you, who talk about you, who flip-flop on their support. It is hard. And yet Paul did not give up. He opened himself up even more. He reminded them of everything he had endured for the gospel—beatings, shipwrecks, sleepless nights, pressure from all sides. Not to boast, but to say, “I have been here. I have stayed. I have not walked away.”

What really moved me was how Paul kept pointing them back to the grace and comfort of God. He started the letter by calling God the “Father of mercies and God of all comfort.” That stuck with me. Especially because Paul wrote those words while carrying deep sorrow. He was not preaching from a mountaintop—he was testifying from the valley.

And then there was his transparency about weakness. That hit different. In a world that rewards strength, Paul bragged about his thorns. He said God's power shows up best when we are weak. I needed that reminder. I have spent so much time trying to look strong, to hold everything together. But Paul showed that it is okay to not be okay. That God actually meets us in the broken places and does His best work there.

He also gave practical wisdom about giving, generosity, and integrity in ministry. But even then, it was not about rules. It was about heart. About love. About trust. About living with sincerity and godly character.

Reading this letter felt like getting a second chance. Like having a hard conversation, and instead of walking away hurt, you both walk away healed. Paul was asking them to make room in their hearts again—and I think he was also modeling what it looks like to forgive, to persevere, and to keep loving, even when it hurts.

2 Corinthians reminded me that ministry is costly. That relationships are messy. That being misunderstood does not mean you stop showing up. And most of all, it reminded me that God is close to the crushed, strong in the weak, and glorified through scars we often try to hide.

 

Reading the Book of 1 Corinthians

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Reading the book of 1 Corinthians was like reading a long, heartfelt letter to a church that had potential—but was messy. Very messy. I found myself shaking my head at some of what they were dealing with, and then pausing—because I saw us in them. I saw me in them.

This church had gifts. They had knowledge. They had passion. But they also had drama, division, pride, confusion, and sin that was not even being addressed. Paul had his hands full. And honestly, I could feel his frustration, but I could also feel his deep care.

What struck me most was how Paul started the letter. With grace. With thanksgiving. He acknowledged who they were in Christ before getting into what they were doing wrong. That stood out to me. He did not just come in swinging—he reminded them of their identity first. That was powerful. I need to remember that when I deal with others—and when God deals with me. Identity before correction.

But then? Whew. Paul went in. There were cliques in the church. People choosing sides—“I follow Paul,” “I follow Apollos”—and Paul was like, “Did any of us die for you?” That part hit hard. How often do we elevate personalities over Christ? It reminded me that the church cannot afford to be divided over human leaders. We are supposed to be united in Jesus.

Then there was the issue of immorality—and not just any immorality. The kind that even the outside world side-eyed. And the church was proud, like they were being “gracious.” Paul said, “No. You need to deal with that.” That was convicting. Sometimes we hide behind words like “love” or “grace” when really, we are just avoiding confrontation. But love does not ignore sin—it addresses it in truth.

There were parts that made me uncomfortable. I had to wrestle with what Paul said about women, about marriage, about head coverings, about the Lord’s Supper. Some of it felt like a cultural clash. Some of it, I had to sit with. But I appreciated how Paul kept bringing it back to love. Love was the thread that held the whole letter together.

And 1 Corinthians 13? The love chapter? It hit different in context. It was not a cute wedding verse—it was a rebuke. Paul was basically saying, “You are gifted, but you are missing love. And if you do not have love, you have nothing.” That made me stop and check my own heart. Am I using my gifts to build up others, or to be seen? Am I walking in real love, or just spiritual performance?

By the time I got to the end, with Paul talking about resurrection and the mystery of our transformation, I felt renewed. There is hope. There is more. And even though this church had a lot to work through, Paul believed in what God was doing in them.

Reading 1 Corinthians reminded me that church is beautiful and broken. That correction is a form of care. That love is the highest calling. And that grace never runs out—but it also never leaves us where we are.

 

Reading the Book of 2 Thessalonians

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Reading the book of 2 Thessalonians felt like stepping into a room where things had gotten a little tense. You could tell that Paul was writing to clarify, to correct, and to calm some confusion. The love was still there, but this time, it had a sharper edge of urgency.

The Thessalonians were still faithful, still holding on under pressure. But somewhere along the way, things had gotten a bit out of order. Some folks were convinced that Jesus had already come back. Others had just stopped working and were acting out, maybe waiting around for the end times. Paul had to address all of it. And I get it. Confusion mixed with fear can make people behave in ways that do not make sense.

This letter reminded me that even a faithful community can drift when fear takes root. It made me think about how I respond when I do not understand what is happening in the world or in my life. Do I cling to truth—or do I panic and start chasing after every new theory that sounds spiritual but is not rooted in the Word?

Paul’s words were firm but fair. He told them to stand firm in the truth they had been taught and not be shaken or alarmed. That stood out to me. Not be shaken. Not be alarmed. That is not always easy when the world feels chaotic. But it is necessary. Stability in Christ does not mean the absence of trouble—it means being grounded when trouble comes.

The part that hit me hardest was Paul’s command about idleness. He called it out—straight up. Some of them were being busybodies instead of being busy with what mattered. Whew. That was a check. I had to ask myself: am I using my time wisely? Or am I letting distractions and laziness steal my energy and focus?

He did not just say “get a job”—he connected working with walking properly and not being a burden to others. There is a dignity in doing your part. A spiritual maturity in not expecting others to carry what you refuse to carry yourself.

And yet, even as Paul corrected them, he still prayed for them. He still reminded them of God's faithfulness. He still spoke hope. That balance is what stood out most to me—truth and tenderness. Correction and compassion. I need to hold people that way. I need to hold myself that way.

Reading 2 Thessalonians helped me see that good theology matters, and so does a good work ethic. It reminded me that waiting on Jesus is not passive—it is active. It is faithful. It is steady. I do not need to be afraid or check out. I just need to stay rooted in truth, do my part, and keep pressing on.

 

Reading the Book of 1 Thessalonians

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Reading the book of 1 Thessalonians was unexpectedly refreshing. I do not know what I was expecting exactly, but what I got was Paul’s heart on full display. He was gentle, encouraging, and almost… tender. That surprised me.

Most of the time when I think of Paul, I think of strong rebukes and deep theology. But in this letter, he came across more like a spiritual parent—checking in, praising progress, urging growth, and expressing genuine care. It made me pause and think: do I show that kind of warmth and consistency to the people I say I care about? Or am I always jumping to correct?

Paul was proud of the Thessalonians. They had endured persecution, and instead of folding, they held firm in the faith. That hit me. I have not had to endure anything close to what they experienced, but I still find myself wanting to retreat when things get uncomfortable. Their example made me want to stand stronger.

The letter reminded me that spiritual growth is a process. Paul celebrated their progress but also called them to more. I felt that. Sometimes I want people to applaud where I am, but Paul reminded me that encouragement and accountability are supposed to go hand in hand. You can cheer someone on and call them higher. That is love.

I also appreciated how Paul kept pointing to the return of Christ. Every chapter had some reference to Jesus coming back. That theme gave me both comfort and conviction. Comfort because this world is not the end of the story. Conviction because I do not always live like He is coming back. Reading this made me want to live with more urgency—not in panic, but with purpose.

Something else stood out to me: Paul’s integrity. He made sure to let them know he was not in ministry for the money or the applause. He was there because he genuinely loved them and wanted to see them grow in Christ. That challenged me. Why do I serve? Why do I show up? Is it for approval, or am I truly driven by love and obedience?

Reading 1 Thessalonians reminded me that encouragement is powerful. That faith can thrive even in hardship. That growth matters. That Jesus is coming. And that love—real, patient, godly love—makes a difference.

 

Reading the Book of Galatians

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Reading the book of Galatians was… whew. Eye-opening and a little jarring. I knew Paul did not play when it came to protecting the gospel, but the way he came at them in this letter? He was not holding back.

I had read parts of Galatians before—familiar verses like “I have been crucified with Christ” and the fruit of the Spirit—but reading the whole letter all the way through gave me a different perspective. This church was wilding out. Like… seriously. They had started off in grace and somehow ended up thinking they could earn their salvation by works. Paul was hot. Righteously angry. And he let them know.

I felt a mixture of emotions reading it. Part of me was shocked at how quickly they had turned from the truth. But another part of me had to admit—I have done the same thing. I have tried to “prove” my salvation through behavior, performance, and church activity. I have fallen into the trap of thinking God’s love is something I have to earn. Galatians called me out. Lovingly, but directly.

It was hard to miss Paul’s passion. He loved these people. Deeply. That is why he spoke so forcefully. It reminded me that real love is not always sweet or soft. Sometimes love shows up in truth-telling and rebuke. Sometimes love gets loud, especially when someone is drifting into danger.

I also appreciated how Paul brought his own story into the letter. He reminded them that he had been radically changed by grace. He was not about to let anyone rewrite the gospel message. Reading his words made me check my own foundation—am I standing in grace? Or am I mixing in law and performance without even realizing it?

Probably the most freeing part of reading Galatians was coming back to the simplicity of the gospel. Faith in Jesus. Full stop. Not faith plus circumcision. Not faith plus religious tradition. Not faith plus perfection. Just faith in Jesus Christ.

And that freedom? It hit me. Galatians made me realize how often I live in silent bondage—tied to the opinions of others, the pressure to “be better,” or the shame of my past. But Paul said it plainly: “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” And when he said, “You foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you?” I had to ask myself the same question. What voices have I allowed to whisper lies that pull me away from the truth?

Reading Galatians challenged me, corrected me, and ultimately comforted me. It reminded me that God does not love a future, more polished version of me. He loves me now. Because of Jesus. Period.

 

Reading the Book of Acts

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Reading the book of Acts was interesting and eye opening.  While I have read verses and passages from the book of Acts before, I had never read it all the way through.  Doing this, help me get a full glimpse of the church and how it started.  It let me see the turmoil of the church and the turmoil of the first believers of Christ.

I must say, I have a better perspective of what it was like to be a believer.  It was hard.  At times, I feel like it is hard to be a believer in this day and age because of how people feel about church and believers, but in all honesty, it is not as bad for me as it was for the early Christians.  Compared to them, I have it easy.

Reading the book of Acts help me see that conflict in the church is not anything new.  I am not sure how I feel about that.  To know that we have probably gotten worse with handling church conflict in this modern era.  As one pastor alluded to… the early Christians could not just leave a church and go to another church down the street.  They had to stay where they were.

Seeing how the first believers worked together to build churches and help get the Word of God out was exciting.  It was enjoyable to see so many people wanting to be a help to Paul and his mission.  I did hate to see the fall out between Paul and Barnabas.  That one hurt my heart.  I felt like they were a great team.  But, I understand that at times, you have to move on.

Paul and Barnabas parting ways helped me to see that you can move on when it is time to move on.  This is one of the things I have struggled with in my own Christian walk.  I have been at churches and with people who made the strong case that if you left a church or no longer wanted to fellowship with people from the church, you were sinning.  I know for a fact, I have stayed at a church too long for this reason, to my spiritual detriment, as well as stayed friends with people for too long, to my mental and psychological damage.  I understand now, when it is time to move, you need to move.

I am somewhat ashamed to say that I never knew this happened between Paul and Barnabas.  I knew of their relationship and how excellent Barnabas was as an encourager, but I never heard a sermon on how they ended up parting ways.

Probably, the most interesting thing to see was that the apostle Paul was the first multi campus pastor.  His ministry crossed continents and oceans.  It has been said that he traveled around 10,000 miles to more than 40 cities, sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  That is pretty marvelous.

We see the letters he wrote that are included in the Bible.  It would be interesting to see what other letters he wrote to his flocks.

It was wonderful to understand the history of the church and to see how it parallels to today’s church.  Understanding how the first believers learned, grew, worked, and helped build the kingdom inspired me to be better.