If all I ever plant are excuses, fear, and my own comfort, I cannot be shocked when there is no harvest of joy, mercy, or transformed lives. We love to talk about ‘reaping what we sow,’ but we forget the flip side: if I never actually share Christ with anyone, why am I surprised when there’s no fruit? I don’t get to custom‑order the kind of sinners I’m willing to love. God puts real neighbors in front of me – the mentally ill, the homeless, the addict, the thief, the one who makes my skin crawl – and then asks, ‘Will you love this one, too?’

The Great Commandment and the Great Commission are not theory; they have an address. My cul‑de‑sac, my workplace, Westport Road, exit zero, my Walmart parking lot. If I refuse to plant the seed of the gospel there, I can’t stand before God later and complain about the lack of harvest. The issue isn’t that the soil was too hard; half the time, it’s that I never opened my mouth or my Bible. No one is too far gone to repent, but they may be too far from anyone willing to bring them the Name that saves. If I won’t even lay a Bible in the hands of the outcast, then I need to stop pretending I’m ready for ‘ministry’ in some cleaner, safer field.

However before I ever talk about harvest, I have to listen to what Romans 10 says about how God actually saves people. ‘Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved’ (Romans 10:13), but Paul doesn’t stop there. He asks, ‘How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard?’ (Romans 10:14). If my neighbor has never heard the Name from my porch, my driveway, my side of the fence, how will he call on Him? I keep wanting a harvest of saved souls while refusing to be the voice that carries the gospel down the street. Romans 10 won’t let me pretend those two things are separate.

Romans 10 reminds me people can’t call on a Jesus if they’ve never heard about Him. Galatians 6 reminds me that what I plant actually matters. ‘Do not be deceived: God is not mocked. For whatever a person sows, he will also reap’ (Galatians 6:7). If all I ever sow toward those God puts in my path is avoidance, fear, and gossip, why am I shocked when the harvest is more darkness and more brokenness on my street? Paul doesn’t just warn about bad seed; he invites me to ‘sow to the Spirit’ and ‘not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up’ (Galatians 6:8–9). Planting a Bible in hands of the lonely, accused, addicted, and troubled, a conversation, a kind but honest word about Jesus may feel small, but in God’s economy that is Spirit‑seed, and Spirit‑seed always has harvest potential.

“Anyone who knows me knows I love Bibles. Different colors, translations, sizes, styles – I’ll carry one for a whole season and just live in it. Lately the Lord has had me doing something new with them: instead of just keeping these well‑loved treasures to myself, I’ve started giving them away to whoever He lays on my heart. I don’t hand out ‘clean’ Bibles either; I share the ones I’ve actually cried over, highlighted in, written little love notes and prayers in, with Post‑its sticking out the sides.

I never know who might need to see, in the margins, that they’re not the only one who has wrestled with that verse or that struggle. It’s one thing to read, ‘God loves you’ in printed text; it’s another to see, in someone else’s shaky handwriting, ‘He met me here when I thought I was done.’ Those Bibles become a quiet way of saying, ‘You’re not alone, and Jesus walks with worn‑out, messed‑up people like us.

At the end of the day, Romans 10 and Galatians 6 won’t let me hide behind my excuses. If I want a harvest, I have to open my mouth and my Bible, even when the person in front of me is the last one I would have chosen. The same Jesus who met me in my mess is able to meet them in theirs. My job is not to fix them or to clean up the story; my job is to plant the seed, slide the worn‑out Bible across the table, knock on the door, and trust that the Lord of the harvest knows exactly what to do with every shaky, obedient yes.” Love your Sister in Christ Sunnye 🔆

There is a wilderness for many in their walk in faith , and it is rarely forty calm, quiet mornings with a latte or for me a diet mountain dew. It is forty days and forty nights of hunger, forty scans, forty sleepless weeks, forty plus years of carrying a body that does not cooperate. We act like the wilderness is the exception, but if you belong to Jesus, this is kind of the normal. This is where the Spirit leads you, and where the enemy leans close and runs the same three plays he ran on Christ.
First temptation comes the stones and the bread.
“Turn this into relief. Right now. If you are really His, He will not let you sit in this much pain.” For me, it sounds like, “Fix this body, remove these autoimmune diseases. Fix this fatigue. Take whatever edge‑numbing thing is in front of you and call it self‑care.” It is the offer to live on bread alone – on comfort, on meds, on distraction – instead of on the word from the mouth of God. But Jesus answers, “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God’” (Matthew 4:4; Deuteronomy 8:3). My forty days feel like lying there with a body screaming for shortcuts and having to say, “My life is not in how fast this calms down. My life is hidden in what He has already spoken.” That is wilderness lesson one.
Then comes the temple.
“Prove it. Make God perform for you. Make Him do something impressive so everyone finally shuts up.” In my world, that is the fantasy of one big healing that erases every accusation: one clean report, one dramatic turnaround, one promotion or platform that makes it obvious I am not lazy, not faking, not faithless. It is the itch to say, “Okay God, throw me off this cliff and catch me in front of the whole office, the whole family, the whole internet.” Forty days can feel like forty opportunities to dare God to put on a show. But when the enemy quotes Scripture at Jesus, twisting Psalm 91, Jesus answers, “Again it is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test’” (Matthew 4:7; Deuteronomy 6:16). Joy in the wilderness is learning to worship without demanding a stunt, to say, “You are God even if You never give me the scene I scripted.”
Finally, the mountain.
When you are tired enough, the offer to skip the cross starts to sound reasonable. “All this can be yours. The ease, the influence, the image of having it all together. Just bow a little. Bend truth here, control harder there, worship the outcome instead of the One who writes it.” My forty days are full of those little bargains: “If I over‑manage everyone, maybe I can finally rest. If I soften Your word so it does not offend, maybe I can have a bigger audience. If I live for the approval in front of me, maybe I will not have to feel so small and unseen.” The wilderness pulls back the curtain and shows me which kingdom I really want. And when Satan offers Jesus “all the kingdoms of the world and their glory” if He will just bow, Jesus answers, “Be gone, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve’” (Matthew 4:10; Deuteronomy 6:13). The only way out for me is the same way He walked, by picking up my cross and following him: “Get out Satan! I know Who I worship. I will bow to God alone, even if that means I stay on this hard road longer. I know the one who holds my today, my tomorrow, and my forever.”
Because underneath every offer in the wilderness is the same ugly goal: Satan wants worship. He is not content for me to just make a bad choice; he wants my gaze, my agreement, my bend at the knee. He wanted to be bigger than God in the beginning, and he still wants that throne in my little life right now. If he can get me to bow to comfort, to spectacle, or to control, he has dragged my worship away from the only One who actually deserves it.
So I have to stop and ask: where am I in this wilderness?
Am I in the “stones to bread” days, where all I want is for the pain to stop and I am tempted to grab any fake relief in front of me?
Am I standing on the edge of the temple, daring God to put on a show so I can finally feel vindicated?
…Or am I up on the mountain, eyeing all the kingdoms and wondering if it would really be so bad to take a shortcut, to bow just a little, so I can feel in control again?
Maybe you are at the place where your faith feels thin and cracked, and you do not even know if you believe He is good anymore. Maybe you are so tired you are ready to hand the steering wheel to anybody who promises quick peace. Can I just say this: lift your eyes. The same Jesus who walked through forty days and forty nights in the wilderness without sin is the same Jesus who walked every single day of His earthly life without sin. He was perfectly righteous in a real human body, on real dusty roads, with real temptation pressing in on every side. He is the only One who has actually defeated the tempter.
So name it. Name your wilderness. Name your current temptation. Where is the enemy whispering, “Turn these stones to bread,” “Jump and make God catch you,” or “Bow here and take control back”? Then answer it out loud with what is written – the same way Jesus did. “It is written: I do not live on bread alone. It is written: I will not put the Lord my God to the test. It is written: I will worship the Lord my God and serve Him only.”
And hear this: this wilderness is not wasted. It is not proof that God forgot you; it is one of the places He is growing your faith. You may not see the purpose it serves right now, but it serves a purpose – to strip away false worship, to teach you His voice, to anchor you in what is written instead of what you feel. Your forty days may feel long, but they are not forever. The wilderness is not the whole story. The One who walked through it without sin, who stayed faithful every step of His earthly life, is with you in yours – and His kingdom is the only one that will still be standing when your forty days are over.

“Holding fast with you in the wilderness,
your sister in Christ,
Sunnye ☀️”

“This morning driving in, I was thinking about how God really is in everything.
He is sovereign over everything. Scripture says that all things were created by Him, through Him, and for Him—nothing is outside His hands, not even my messy commute.
Driving in this morning, my windshield was covered in bug splatter and grime. I could still technically see, but every bit of sun glare turned those little spots into big distractions. My husband keeps reminding me I need washer fluid, need to use it more and my windshield is so dirty he can’t see out it, but it hit me that my heart and spirit works the same way.
Every day, stuff hits our ‘spiritual windshield’—’spiritual lens’ stress, compromise we call ‘no big deal,’ bitterness we never deal with, constant noise.
We’re still moving, still going to work and church, but the view of God and what’s actually true gets more and more smeared.
We start wondering why everything feels confusing and heavy, why we can’t see what God is doing. But bug guts and road grime aren’t my deepest problem.
The truth is, without the blood of Jesus I don’t even have a way to be clean. The cross is where the real washing starts.
We don’t just need a little positivity or a reset; we need to actually receive what Christ did for us, let His blood wash over our sin, and let His Spirit make us new.
Then, day after day, the Holy Spirit and the Word of God are our wipers and washer fluid. They don’t change the fact that we’re driving through a messy world, but they keep the mess from crusting over our vision.
As we stay in the Word and stay surrendered to the Spirit, He keeps wiping away what hits us so we don’t slip back into driving blind.
And here’s the wild part: God is sovereign over all of it. The same God who made the sun that glares on my dirty windshield is the One using a messy commute to tap me on the shoulder.
When we actually want to see Him, when we seek Him with real hearts, He lets us find Him—in bug splatter, in windshield wipers, in traffic, in hospital rooms, in ordinary Tuesdays.
Nothing is random. If you’ll ask Him, the Holy Spirit will use even the little things in front of you today to turn your eyes back to Jesus.
If you feel stuck, foggy, or lukewarm right now, it might not be that God walked away. It might be that your washer fluid is low. Come back to the cross.
Open your Bible. Ask the Holy Spirit to wash your mind and heart again. Let Him clear the glass so you can see Jesus clearly and follow Him without guessing.”
From my morning commute to from Salem Indiana to Louisville, Kentucky. ☀️Sunnye Anne

In a world panicking about artificial intelligence and new technology, I keep coming back to this: God has never once lost control. Daniel 2:20–21 says He’s the One who “changes times and seasons” and raises up and removes kings. Colossians 1:16–17 says that all things were created through Jesus and for Him, and that in Him all things hold together. Hebrews 1:3 says He upholds the universe by the word of His power. Psalm 115:3 reminds us, “Our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases,” and Proverbs 16:9 says that while we plan our way, the Lord is the One who establishes our steps. That means every data center, every line of code, every “new thing” is still sitting inside His sovereignty. People can absolutely misuse technology, twist it, and even try to build new Towers of Babel with it—but Genesis 50:20 and Romans 8:28 remind us that even what’s meant for evil, God can turn for good for those who love Him. The real issue isn’t the tools; it’s the hearts holding them. As followers of Jesus, we have the chance to take these same tools and aim them at worship, truth, mercy, and the gospel—using what the world fears to point back to the One who sits above it all and holds every server, every system, and every breath in His hands. ☀️Sunnye Anne