Forgive Me!

 

Forgive Me — A Cry Beneath the Cross

“Forgive me.” This phrase should be much more present in my speech, not as something weak or hesitant, but as a bold and rightful response to what has already been accomplished for me. I have been saved by a glorious Saviour, yet I find that I do not always carry that reality with the weight it deserves. All hail King Jesus, for His sacrifice was once and for all, complete, final, and without equal.

And if I am honest, this was never merely symbolic; it was Him taking my place.

And still, I must face an uncomfortable truth: I do not always live as if I fully understand the magnitude of what was done for me. When I turn to passages like 2 Corinthians 5:17–21 and consider the transformation Paul describes, the shift from what we were to what we are now in Christ, I am reminded that this is no small matter.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, old things have passed away, behold, all things have become new. Now all things are of God, who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ…”
2 Corinthians 5:17–18

It is a total exchange, a complete renewal, something so profound that it should shape every thought, every action, every moment of my day, yet too often, I find myself slipping back into distraction, caught up in the weak and beggarly elements of life that pull my attention away from eternal truth.

Think of it like this: a magnet standing alone is useless and ineffective, but as soon as another magnet approaches, there is an instant connection, and the two become one. In much the same way, outside of Christ I am nothing, but in Him, there is life, purpose, and identity that cannot be achieved on my own.

That is why this cry rises again, forgive me. Forgive me for the moments when I shrink back into weakness, for the times I allow the temporary to overshadow the eternal, and for treating what is holy as though it were ordinary. It is a sobering realisation, because if I truly understood the depth of Christ’s work, my life would reflect it far more boldly; there would be greater urgency in my voice, a stronger conviction in my actions, and a deeper consistency in my devotion. I would not hesitate to speak, to write, to declare what has been done; I would be compelled by it.

And the truth is, I forget far too easily what it cost Him.

By God’s grace, there are moments when this truth becomes real to me; in the quiet of the morning, I turn my heart toward Him, and for that I am truly thankful. However, even in such moments, I recognise that it should not end there—this awareness, this gratitude, this understanding should carry me through the entire day with purpose and passion. Love and compassion should continually draw me back to my Saviour, rather than letting my mind be consumed by worries about tomorrow or the uncertainties of what may come.

The truth that “Jesus in my place” is not a trivial statement; when truly considered, it becomes overwhelming. He stood where I should have stood, He bore what I should have carried, He received what I deserved, and there was nothing casual about that price. It was paid in full whether I live like it or not.

Which means this was never about religion; it was about rescue and something deeply personal.

And this was not limited to physical suffering; as severe as that was, it went far deeper. He experienced separation from the Father so that I would never have to. This is a mystery that stretches beyond human understanding, yet it is the very foundation of my salvation.

And so, I must ask, what kind of love is this, what sort of Father gives His Son, not for the righteous, not for the deserving, but for sinners, for those who have turned away, for those who can offer nothing in return. It defies human reasoning; no earthly comparison can fully capture it, and yet, this is exactly what God has done.

This truth cannot remain distant or vague; it must become personal. It cannot be something I repeat thoughtlessly or without feeling; it must take root deep in my heart and influence how I live. While I may talk in terms of “us,” the reality is that each person must decide. This is not something that can be inherited or assumed, but something that must be genuinely chosen.

As for me, that decision has been made; as for my household and me, we will serve the Lord.

All glory to King Jesus.

Signing off,

Tyrone

Today Only!

 

Just for Today

How often do we sit at our desks early in the morning - deliberately seeking the face of Jesus - training our ears for the slightest vibration, a whisper, a word from the Spirit of truth? Anything… just to recharge - just enough strength for today.

Because that is a biblical thought.

Not strength for next week.
Not grace stored up for some distant storm.
But just for today.

As it is written in the Gospel of Matthew 6:34:
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

And again, we see this pattern throughout Scripture:

• Lamentations 3:22–23 - “His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.”
• Exodus 16:4 - God gave manna daily - enough for each day, no more
• 2 Corinthians 12:9 - “My grace is sufficient for you…”

Yet that is not how we are.

We rush ahead. We carry tomorrow’s weight into today. We strain under burdens we were never meant to hold all at once. And still, we are called to align ourselves with His way of thinking.

The reality of Christianity is not complicated. It is a simple, daily reflection - lived with eternity in mind. A life where sin no longer holds dominion over us.

And yet… the tension remains.

No matter how sincere our intent, we still inhabit bodies marked by weakness. There is a constant resistance - a pushback against the will that longs to follow Christ. Scripture tells us we are new creations, and this is the truth. But throughout the day, we still wrestle with what remains.

I feel it. I detest it.

That resistance against the light of my glorious Saviour.

It is a relentless tension - spirit against flesh.

And then life adds its own weight.

Financial strain. Pressure. Uncertainty.

How does one endure a single day without the hope of the resurrection?

In a strange way, I find myself thankful for the pressure. It drives me deeper into dependence on God. It strips away self-reliance. It forces me to look upward.

But even then, it presses hard against the heart. It stirs anxiety.

And so, the cry remains:

Even so - come quickly, Lord Jesus.

Like Paul the Apostle, I understand the longing. To depart and be with Christ - that is far better.

If I were given the choice, it would not be a difficult one.

But for now… we are here.

So, we rise again tomorrow morning…
We seek His face again…
We listen again…

And we receive what He gives:

Grace - for today, Thank you, Father, for our gift to cry Abba Father.

Praise and hail the mighty name of Jesus, now and forever more, Amen and Amen!

Signing off,
Tyrone

Spiritual Beginning 2

We all need to ask ourselves a serious question: have we made a personal effort to get Jesus’ attention?

Not casually. Not by association. Personally.

Think of Nathanael. There was intent. There was movement. There was a decision to come and see for himself. That’s where it begins.

If you think you are religious because of tradition, because of your household, or because of how you were raised, think again.

Ask yourself this: Are you more religious than Nicodemus?

He was a teacher of the Jewish faith. A man of knowledge, position, and discipline. And yet Jesus said to him plainly:

“Unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” - John 3:3

Nicodemus immediately went to the intellectual: “How can a man be born when he is old?” He tried to reason it out.

But this is where many miss it, God has already established the way.

Not evidence first, then belief.

But belief… then receiving.

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” - Hebrews 11:1

Could God have done it the other way around? Of course He could have.

But He chose faith.

Even though creation itself declares His existence, He still calls for something deeper - an honest, personal engagement from those who are serious about their sin, serious about who His Son is, and serious about what was accomplished on Calvary.

What Jesus achieved as a man is beyond our understanding.

The Passion of the Christ tried to capture it. And while it gave a glimpse, the reality is far greater than anything we could ever fully grasp.

The suffering. The weight. The cost.

And yet - He chose to die for a sinner like me.

Now here is the question that really matters:

Can you say that - with confidence?

Can you say, without hesitation, that Jesus died for you?

Are you absolutely persuaded?

Because if you’re honest, and when you’re alone with your thoughts, heaven feels like a guessing game-a “maybe,” like hoping your numbers come up in the Lotto - then something is not settled.

This is not something to gamble with.

You must be able to say with certainty: I have been born again.

Because Jesus also said:

“Unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.” - John 3:5

If that certainty is not there, then don’t ignore it.

Err on the side of caution.

Find a place where you can be alone. Get on your knees. Cry out to Jesus not because of your merit, but because of your demerit.

Because no one gets to heaven by being “good enough.”

“...there is none righteous, no, not one.” - Romans 3:10

The idea that your good will outweigh your bad is a lie.

And Scripture is clear about the one behind that lie:

“…the devil… the deceiver of the whole world…” - Revelation 12:9

He is the father of lies, and he is taking with him all those he can deceive.

Don’t be one of them.

Think of it like this—

You’re caught in a burning building. Flames everywhere. Smoke fills the room. And through it all, you hear a voice:

“Fire Department! Call out!”

Do you stay silent?

No.

You use everything in you and cry out:

“Save me! I’m here!”

That is the urgency.

That is the posture.

And Scripture gives the promise:

“For whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” - Romans 10:13

Being born again and being saved are not separate ideas; they are one and the same.

So, if you haven’t genuinely called-truly called-perhaps today is the day to pause, reflect, and respond.

This is personal.

This is eternal.

This is now

Signing off
Tyrone

Spiritual Beginnings

 

The Starting Point: Born Again or Still in the Flesh

There is a hard truth that many of us struggle with, whether we admit it or not. To be carnally minded is to be at enmity with God.

“Because the carnal mind is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God, nor indeed can be.”  - Romans 8:7

Scripture doesn’t soften that. It presses even further:

“So then, those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” - Romans 8:8

I’ve discovered that this feels most real when life pushes you into a corner—when you face something bigger than yourself, something you cannot fix, control, or reason your way through. In those moments, our true nature is revealed. Not by what we say, not by what we believe about ourselves—but by what we genuinely are: flesh or Spirit.

And that’s where things start to get uncomfortable.

Because we like to believe that effort counts. And in a sense, it does, but only within the boundaries God has already set. Step outside of that, and effort becomes dangerous. It starts looking like obedience, but it’s actually self-will dressed up as spirituality.

“For it is God who works in you both to will and to do for His good pleasure.” - Philippians 2:13

It’s God who initiates. God who draws. God who leads.

“...not knowing that the goodness of God leads you to repentance?” - Romans 2:4

The true danger is subtle. It occurs when our will is guiding us, but we interpret it as God’s will. That’s where carnality is concealed, not in overt rebellion, but in quiet justification.

And if I’m honest, that’s where most of us live longer than we’d like to admit.

We’re living in this tension, two natures, one life. We’re physical yet called to live spiritually. Both exist in the same space, in the same body, in the same daily decisions. At first glance, it feels like a setup for failure.

But it isn’t.

God designed it this way. Which means there is a way to live rightly within it.

So, the real question isn’t whether the tension exists. It’s this: where do we actually begin?

Because if we get the starting point wrong, everything that follows will be off.

And Jesus doesn’t leave room for interpretation here:

“Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”  - John 3:3

Not might not. Cannot.

You can grow up around God. You can understand the story of Jesus. You can celebrate Easter and Christmas and know all the right language. I did.

I was even christened as a baby. So, in many ways, I speak from within that space, not outside it. I was introduced to God early, taught the basics, and given a framework for belief.

But looking back now, I can see that wasn’t the beginning of my spiritual life.

It was exposure… not transformation.

And if I can say it carefully, it was almost like a kind of spiritual immunisation. Just enough familiarity to make me think I understood, but not the reality of having my eyes truly opened.

Because none of that equals life.

Until something happens, until God opens your eyes, you remain in the flesh. And if you remain there, Scripture is clear:

“Those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” - Romans 8:8

That’s not harsh. That’s honest.

There has to be a moment. A real one. A beginning.

Just as natural life begins at birth, spiritual life must also start somewhere. Not through ritual. Not through repetition. Not through trying harder. But through repentance.

“Repent, and let every one of you be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins…” - Acts 2:38

It’s reaching a point where you realise, deep down, not just intellectually, that you are a sinner before a holy God. That you deserve judgment. That you cannot fix it. And that only Jesus can.

“In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins…” - Ephesians 1:7

I remember struggling with this for days. I responded in a meeting when the call was made, and my hand went up almost instantly. But instead of peace, confusion followed.

People told me I was saved. My mind told me I wasn’t.

And I couldn’t fake it.

Eventually, I was left alone. On my knees, Bible open. No crowd, no pressure, just me and a cry out to God.

And I prayed something simple: Father, I’m not even sure what I’ve done… but I believe that Jesus died for me and has forgiven my sin.

And that’s when it happened.

God answered, not with explanation, but with certainty. With life.

I started crying uncontrollably. Not out of sadness, but something deeper, joy, relief, clarity all at once. There was no more guessing.

I knew.

I had been born again.

Now, here’s the part that matters. Not everyone’s experience will be the same as mine. But there must be a moment. Without a moment, an awakening of sorts, there is no foundation.

Because without being born again, everything else becomes a dead work.

You can try to walk in the Spirit. Try to apply Scripture. Try to live right. But it will all come back to effort, and it will fall short.

It doesn’t work. It can’t work.

So, if you’ve grown up in religion or around the things of God, hear this clearly: don’t oppose the Word. Trust it. Submit to it. Let it guide you.

Because until the Spirit is alive in you, everything else is a non-starter.

But when that moment comes—when God opens your eyes—you move from striving… to life.

And that’s the true starting point.

We need that before anything else. Before growth. Before obedience. Before understanding.

Without it, nothing stands.

With it, everything changes.

Being introduced to God is not the same as being known by Him. One is religion. The other is life.

We’ll go further into this in the next post.

Signing off,
Tyrone

Hope!

 

When the Hope Becomes Real

There is a hope set before us that is so profound, so far beyond anything this world can offer, that it almost feels too great to fully grasp, that one day we will receive a body like His glorious body. Not just restored, not merely improved, but transformed into something that reflects the very character and holiness of Christ Himself.

Paul writes with clarity and conviction:
“Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body…” (Philippians 3:21).

Just pause there for a moment.

To be free from the pull of sin in every decision… to no longer wrestle internally… to reflect Him not only in spirit but in nature, what a privilege. What a promise. What a future.

And yet, while we wait, we suffer.

Not aimlessly, not without purpose, but as a consequence of pursuing this very hope. Scripture reminds us:
“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” (Romans 8:18).

There is brilliance in this design. God has not left us drifting between salvation and glory. He has given us a path, one that stretches us, refines us, and anchors us in something eternal.

Still, there are always those who resist this truth. Those who raise objection after objection, attempting to reduce the magnificence of what God has promised. But no argument can diminish what God has already declared.

For the believer, the outcome is certain.

A day is coming.

And I find myself longing for that day, not merely to escape this world, but to be like Jesus in character. That is the true desire. That is the real transformation.

But here is where it becomes difficult, because we all understand a simple principle: anything worth attaining requires effort.

And yet, we are told it is by grace.

This tension, between grace and effort, is perhaps one of the hardest truths to settle in the heart. I know it was for me. It led me down roads of misunderstanding as I tried to reconcile what I thought were opposing forces.

But they are not opposed.

Grace is not the removal of effort. Grace is the empowerment of it.

“But by the grace of God I am what I am… yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.” (1 Corinthians 15:10).

It is grace that enables the believer to press forward. Grace that strengthens resolve. Grace that fuels the pursuit of becoming like Christ.

Where we often go wrong is here, we look for outcomes in this life that were never promised here. We ask for visible results, measurable success, and immediate change. But our vision is limited.

We struggle to see beyond the veil.

And so, the real work begins, not just in how we live, but in how we think.

Jesus said it plainly:
“My kingdom is not of this world.” (John 18:36).

If that is true, and it is, then we must guard our minds from becoming anchored in a world that is not our destination.

Regardless of how far we have wandered, how poor our decisions have been, or how many chapters we wish we could rewrite, the truth remains:

While we have breath, we have hope.

And sometimes, God reminds us of that hope in unexpected ways.

In the early hours of the morning, I was suddenly awakened by a thunderous crack, so loud, so immediate, that before I could even gather my thoughts, I found myself with arms raised, palms open.

And in that moment, half awake, half aware, one thought pierced through everything:

Is this it?

Was I about to be changed?
Was this the moment?
Was the rapture finally happening?

Of course, even as the thought formed, truth followed closely behind. Scripture is clear:

“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye… we shall be changed.”

(1 Corinthians 15:52).

There would be no confusion. No uncertainty. No gradual realisation.

And yet, what stayed with me was not the misunderstanding, but the instinct.

Even in that disoriented state, my heart was looking for Him.

The Spirit within was active.

And I am grateful for that.

It left me with a question I cannot ignore:

What am I truly waiting for?

What are we truly awaiting?

Have we become so consumed with daily living, with temporary concerns, with the visible and immediate, that the greatest promise we have has become an afterthought?

Or are we, even in our weakest and most unaware moments, still looking up?

Paul gives us the direction clearly:
“I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:14).

That is the call.

That is the pursuit.

That is life.

May God continue to give us the grace, not just to believe this, but to live in light of it. To press forward. To endure. To be shaped, refined, and prepared for what is coming.

Because one day, in a moment, everything changes.

And we will be like Him.

Signing off,
Tyrone