Allen Reding

Standing Strong in the Chaos

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Four years after the chaos of COVID-19, life is still shifting underneath us—economy, unrest, people at each other’s throats. Some say faith means no fear; I wonder if that’s reckless. Scripture doesn’t say faith equals bravado. It balances trust and wisdom—like avoiding the oncoming traffic even when you’re brave enough to cross the road. Sometimes faith is pausing, not running. It’s not a failure of belief. Maybe it’s a decision to walk wisely—and continue being a source of light anyway.

An oak tree

The Scars of Resilience

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Living among Texas oaks has its lessons: storms leave scars, but the tree stands firmer for it. Psalm 1 paints that same image—one rooted by streams, standing through seasons, bearing fruit. Not a symbol of perfection, but perseverance. It’s tempting to drift like a tumbleweed, but a life grounded in truth can weather the chaos. Real strength is quiet. It’s nestled in deep roots, consistent nourishment, and choosing where you walk, stand, and sit—in ways that let life grow from the inside out.

A Perfectly Styled Ham

A Con in a Can: The Relentless Chase for More

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As kids, we thought a ham in a can looked glamorous—until we tried it and found it slimy and disappointing. That quick lesson stuck: packaging can lie. Casinos push the same fantasy—flashy lights promising big wins, but mostly draining pockets and hope. And real stories? Like the lottery winner who cursed his fortune instead of celebrating it, remind us that “more” doesn’t always mean better. Proverbs matters: wealth gained quickly seldom lasts. True gain grows slowly—and quietly holds meaning long after the shine has faded.

contented sunrise

Clouds, Coffee, and Contentment

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On our last morning at sea, I watched a sunrise break through gray skies while an older couple walked by hand in hand. That simple scene broke through me. Back in our cabin, Becky and I shared coffee as the world began moving again. We ate a fancy brunch that felt both absurd and perfect—soups poured with flair, fruit towers, steak plated like crown jewels. Yet all I thought about were the pancakes we fed our kids twenty years ago. I’ve learned contentment grows in welcoming what’s present—not chasing some bigger, grander image of happiness.