by Kevin Tillman | Apr 2, 2026 | Blog, Thoughts
It felt like it was over. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just that quiet kind of weight where you already know how the story ends. They had seen the crowds… They had heard the shouting… They had watched Him ride into the city like something big was finally happening…. They had been waiting on this moment for what seemed like forever.
And then it just… started slipping. What they thought would happen, wasn’t happening. Their expectations were crushed. By Friday, whatever hope they were holding onto was hanging on a cross. By Saturday… it was gone.
We skip that part pretty fast, because we know what’s coming. They didn’t. To them, this wasn’t leading anywhere. It wasn’t building toward anything. It was over.
What’s interesting is how quickly it turned.
Just a few days earlier, people were all in. They were lining the streets, celebrating, convinced that this was it. This was everything they’d been waiting for. Finally, the long awaited King was going to make everything right. They had expectations, but they were seeing it through their own lens. They had a version of how this was supposed to go. What kind of King He would be and what He would fix first.
But Jesus didn’t move that way. Not because He couldn’t… but because He wasn’t doing what they thought He should be doing. And once that started to become clear, things felt off. Expectations weren’t being met, and frustrations were rising.
You ever had that moment? Where something you were sure about… starts to not look the way you thought it would? That’s exactly where they were.
As the week progressed, it became more and more obvious that the way Jesus was dealing with things, was not the way they had hoped. More tension. More resistance. Conversations that didn’t settle anything, just stirred more and more questions. You can almost feel it building underneath everything. This isn’t going how they thought it would go.
And then Friday shows up and removes any doubt. This is done. All of the years of hoping that this Jesus was the answer were now dead and buried. There’s nothing hopeful about a cross. Nothing that suggests things are about to turn around. It looks final… because it is final. At least from where they were standing.
And then Saturday. Honestly, Saturday might be the hardest part. Because absolutely nothing happens. No explanation. No movement. Just time to sit in it.
That kind of silence can mess with you. You start replaying everything, trying to figure out where it went wrong. What you missed. You start thinking, “Maybe I misunderstood, or maybe this wasn’t what I thought. I thought I knew, but I guess I was wrong.”
We know that space so well. When nothing’s changing and you’re just… there with it…. stuck!
But then Sunday came…
There was no announcement. There was no warning. There was no dramatic music playing in the background.
Just an ordinary day. Just a couple of women walking toward a tomb, dealing with a loss and living in grief. But, as they approached… Something was off. Things didn’t seem right. The stone’s not where it should be. The tomb… empty. Then a few short words, “He is not here.” That’s it.
A short and simple message. But it changed everything, because what they thought was the end… wasn’t. It just looked like it.
And that’s where this stops being their story and starts hitting a little closer to home for us. We still do the same thing today. We have those moments that feel final and we call them finished. Things fall apart. Plans don’t work. Doors close. Prayers don’t get answered the way we thought they would. And, without even saying it out loud, we start to settle into it. We just accept things the way they are.
Our mantra becomes, “I guess this is just how it is.” But the resurrection doesn’t let you stay there. It doesn’t always explain everything. It doesn’t always fix things the way you’d want. But it does remind you of this… Just because it looks like the end… doesn’t mean God is done.
They thought it was over. They weren’t even close. Maybe there’s something in your life right now that feels just as settled. Like there’s no coming back from it. But God has a way of working in places that feel sealed off to us. The tomb looked final too.
It looked like the end… until it wasn’t!
by Kevin Tillman | Mar 5, 2026 | Blog, Thoughts
When Life Feels Stuck
What God May Be Doing When Nothing Seems to Be Moving
There are seasons when life seems to move forward without much effort. New opportunities appear. The Doors open and the decisions feel clear.
And then there are those “other” seasons. The seasons where everything seems to stall. Nothing makes sense. And, life just seems hard.
You keep doing the things you know to do. You pray. You work. You go to church. You try to stay faithful with the responsibilities in front of you. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind there’s a quiet question that starts showing up.
Is anything actually changing? Is anything ever going to change?
It’s not always discouragement. Sometimes it’s just the feeling that you’re standing still while time keeps moving. The world is still spinning and others seem to be content and happy, but not you.
Obviously we don’t enjoy those seasons. We like progress. We like the sense that something is happening. When that feeling disappears, it can leave us wondering whether we’ve somehow missed the direction God intended for us.
But if you read Scripture carefully, you begin to notice that many of the people God used most walked through long stretches where nothing seemed to be happening at all.
Joseph spent years in places he never planned. What began as betrayal eventually led to prison. Those years must have felt confusing at times. Yet later it became clear that God was arranging circumstances Joseph himself could never have orchestrated or imagined.
David had already been anointed as the future king of Israel long before he actually wore the crown. Between those two times were years of uncertainty and waiting. Some of those years were even spent hiding in caves. From the outside, it might have looked like his life had taken a wrong turn. Yet God was shaping something in him. There was a preparation going on in the background.
There is a quiet and subtle kind of work God often does in seasons where movement feels slow. This is where character is formed. Patience develops. Perspective begins to change in ways that only time can produce. Those things rarely happen in the fast-moving times of life. They tend to grow in the quiet ones.
One of the challenges with feeling stuck is that we measure progress mostly by visible change. New opportunities and new direction. But, sometimes God measures progress differently. He’s working beneath the surface in ways that aren’t immediately obvious.
The things matter more than you likely realize are… The way you respond to frustration and the faith you display even when life feels routine. The willingness to keep walking with God despite not having clarity.
Looking back over the years, many believers discover that some of the seasons they once described as “stuck” were actually seasons where their lives were being prepared for something they couldn’t yet see. It’s difficult to recognize that while you’re in the middle of it. In the moment, it often feels like standing in the same place longer than you expected, and it can be frustrating. Still, the absence of visible change does not mean the absence of God’s work. Often the most important things God develops in a life happen slowly. Gradually enough that you may not notice the change while it’s happening. But one day you look back and realize something is different. Something has shifted. I’m the same person, but I’m not the same person. Your trust has deepened. Your perspective has matured. The things that once unsettled you don’t carry the same anxiety… You’ve grown. That growth began during a season when you thought life had stopped moving.
So if you happen to be in a season where things feel slower than you hoped. If you feel “stuck” right now try not to assume that nothing is happening. God’s work isn’t always dramatic. It often unfolds little by little, shaping a life from the inside long before the results become visible on the outside.
The seasons that feel the most uneventful at the time are the very ones that prepare us for what comes next. If you feel stuck today, just realize you might be in the best place you can possibly be. Hold on to your faith, and keep moving forward. God’s still got this!
by Kevin Tillman | Feb 19, 2026 | Blog, Thoughts
Faith is funny because most of us think of it as a point we reached at some time in the past. A decision, a prayer, or a moment we could circle on a calendar. But, when you spend time with Abraham’s story you start realizing his life didn’t really work like that. Nothing about it was tidy enough to circle.
God didn’t sit him down and explain the whole future. He told him to go… and promised clarity would come somewhere “out there” on the road. That had to feel strange. We prefer the opposite order. We want the explanation first so we can decide if obedience seems like a good idea or not. That’s where most of the tension lives for us. Not in believing God exists, but in moving without knowing how this whole thing is going to turn out.
What always stands out to me is that Abraham’s biggest problems didn’t come from rejecting God. They came from trying to help Him. Years had passed after the promise of a son. Silence was wearing on him. Eventually that waiting led to feelings of irresponsibility. So he made a decision that felt practical at the time. Not rebellious… practical. That’s what makes it relatable.
We do it all the time. We fill in the blank because God hasn’t given us an answer. We push conversations forward because we’re tired of not knowing. We’re tired of waiting! We tell ourselves we’re just being wise or proactive. Later we realize we mostly just didn’t like uncertainty and we missed having control. Control is comforting for a short period of time, but then it starts creating things we have to manage.
There’s something hard about letting God be slow. Not lazy slow… deliberate slow. It starts forming a patience in you whether you asked for it or not. I know in my life some of the hardest acts of faith have been the invisible ones. Not the big, bold decisions, but the subtle ones that required a quiet restraint. The moment you decide not to force an answer doesn’t receive applause. Actually, most people will never even know. But little by little, decision by decision it changes you.
You see it in Abraham building altars in different places along the way. No big speeches recorded. Just markers… God met me here, I trusted Him here, I’m still trusting Him now. A life shaped more by repetition than intensity. A life shaped by a series of small choices. Transformation isn’t always some big dramatic moment. A lot of it just feels like returning to the same trust over and over again until it becomes instinct.
Then there’s the moment nobody wants… that Isaac moment. The part of the story that always feels heavier when you slow down and reflect. God pressing His hand on the very thing that explained everything else in Abraham’s life. The promise itself. I don’t think surrender ever feels natural. It feels like handing God the one thing that finally made you feel settled and hearing Him say, trust Me with that too.
The strange part is how often peace shows up right after release. Not always immediately, but eventually. Carrying something tightly creates a constant fear of losing it. Giving it to God doesn’t make it disappear… it just means the outcome isn’t yours to hold together anymore.
By the time you reach the end of Abraham’s life there’s no dramatic closing scene. Scripture just says he died “satisfied with life”. I like that so much, because it sounds quieter than victory. More like someone who lived long enough to see that God had been faithful even when he wasn’t. And somehow the faith kept going after him. Isaac had watched him long before Isaac ever had to trust God personally.
That’s usually how it works. People don’t absorb faith mainly through what we say. They absorb it through what they keep seeing. How you react when things fall apart. Whether you panic or pray first. Patterns preach way louder than words, and their impact last longer.
Abraham didn’t do everything right. That’s probably why his story helps. He veered off course more than once, but he kept turning back the same direction. Over time that direction mattered more than the detours.
Maybe that’s what faith actually is. Not a flawless line forward. More like a person who keeps reorienting themselves toward God over and over and over. Some days confidently, some days barely… but still turning.
Eventually all those turns become a path. And one day you look back and realize the destination wasn’t a place you arrived at all at once. It was the person you became while you kept walking.
by Kevin Tillman | Jan 1, 2026 | Blog, Thoughts
Most days don’t begin with clarity. They begin with noise.
Notifications. Conversations. Responsibilities waiting in line before we’ve even taken a breath. And somewhere between waking up and getting moving, we quietly decide what kind of day this will be—often without realizing we’ve done it.
That’s usually how years start too.
Not with bold resolutions or confident faith, but with momentum. We carry last year straight into the next one. Same worries. Same expectations. Same internal limits we’ve learned to live with.
And yet, every now and then, God slows us down long enough to ask a better question.
Not, What do you want this year?
But, What are you actually expecting?
Most believers don’t struggle with whether God is able. We’ve seen His faithfulness before. We know the stories. We’ve experienced His help in hard seasons. The issue isn’t belief in God’s power, it’s how much room we leave for it to work.
Paul says “God is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think”. That sounds encouraging until you realize where that power operates. Not around us. Not merely for us. But within us.
Which means the question isn’t whether God can do more. The question is whether we’re open to receiving it.
Life has a way of closing us off. Disappointment teaches caution. Delay teaches restraint. Fatigue teaches survival. And before long, we’re still praying, but with guarded expectations. Still believing, but only for what feels reasonable.
We don’t stop trusting God. We just put a lid on our faith.
God has never had trouble filling empty vessels. Scripture proves that again and again. What limits overflow isn’t emptiness, it’s closure. A heart that has quietly decided how much God will “probably” do.
Sometimes we ask God for more while clinging tightly to control, comfort, and conclusions we’ve already drawn. And God, in His mercy, waits. Not because He is unwilling, but because He will not force abundance into a closed life.
This year might not begin with God adding something new. It may begin with Him removing what has crowded your heart. Old fears. Old assumptions. Old expectations shaped by what didn’t happen before.
Because more doesn’t come from striving harder. It comes from opening wider.
Expecting greater isn’t hype. It’s trust. Believing bigger isn’t denial, it’s alignment. It’s choosing to let God be as big in your future as His Word says He already is.
You don’t need a new plan for this year.
You don’t need to carry pressure into it.
You don’t need to manufacture change.
God has never asked that of you.
He has only asked for room.
So don’t rush this year. Don’t seal it shut with fear or lowered expectations. Stay open. Stay surrendered. Stay available. Let God interrupt your pace and exceed your assumptions.
Because when hearts open, heaven moves.
And more begins the moment we stop closing what God wants to fill.
by Kevin Tillman | Nov 13, 2025 | Bible Study, Blog, Thoughts
If you’re quiet enough, you can almost hear it … a whisper rising from the dusty pages of Ezra.
Not the whisper of a defeated people, but the whisper of a rebuilding God.
A God who steps into ruins and begins again.
Ezra is more than a story about returning home after exile. It is the story of a God who refuses to leave His people in pieces. Stone by stone. Prayer by prayer. Heart by heart. He gathers what’s been scattered
and restores what’s been scarred.
And maybe that’s why this ancient book feels so modern. Because we know something about ruins too, don’t we?
Not the kind shaped like broken walls … the kind shaped like broken hearts.
The relationship that cracked under the weight. The mistake you still replay. The disappointment that sits heavy in the corners of your soul. The spiritual drift you didn’t plan… but somehow lived.
Ezra reminds us:
God does His best work in places that look beyond repair.
When the people returned to Jerusalem, they didn’t arrive to triumph. They arrived to rubble. The temple was more memory than building. The city looked like a warzone. And the people looked like they’d forgotten how to hope.
But God hadn’t forgotten how to rebuild.
He stirred a pagan king to fund the work. He stirred a priest to teach the Word. He stirred a weary people to lift the stones.
And out of all that lifting and learning and leaning on Him, something beautiful began to rise.
Because rebuilding is never just about construction. It is about restoration. It is about a people returning not only to their land but to their Lord.
This is the heartbeat of Ezra:
When God’s hand is on you and God’s Word is in you, God’s work will flow through you.
Not perfectly. Not instantly. But faithfully… in the quiet, consistent, grace-filled ways that only God can orchestrate.
And maybe that’s the part we need today.
Because some of us are trying to rebuild things only God can raise. Some of us are sweeping up pieces when God is calling us to put the broom down and lift our eyes up.
Some of us are standing in front of ruins and forgetting that God specializes in resurrection.
Ezra whispers the truth we forget:
What sin breaks, God restores. What life dismantles, God rebuilds. What seems too far gone, God can redeem.
So if you find yourself standing among the rubble … of choices, of seasons, of circumstances … take heart.
Your Father is a Master Builder. He does not panic at ruins. He does not flinch at fractures. He does not back away from broken things.
He rebuilds them.
And in the story of Ezra … as in the story of your life … grace gets the final word.
