One of the easiest things in the world to do is judge people.
It’s easy to look at someone’s life from a distance and think, What were they thinking? It’s easy to see the addict and call them weak. It’s easy to see the prisoner and call them a criminal. It’s easy to see the angry person and label them toxic. It’s easy to see the person who keeps making bad decisions and assume they’re simply foolish, lazy, irresponsible, or beyond help.
If I’m honest, I’ve caught myself doing it too.
Read MoreOccasionally, a verse grabs hold of your soul and refuses to let go. For me, that verse is Jude 23: “Rescue others by snatching them from the fire.”
Not encourage them from a distance.
Not observe them from a safe place.
Not post about them online.
Rescue them.
Snatch them.
Pull them back from destruction.
It’s active. It’s urgent. It’s messy. It’s costly.
Honestly, I think we’ve forgotten just how radical that calling really is.
Read MoreThere’s something dangerous that can happen to people who spend their lives helping others.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
Not with some giant explosion.
It happens slowly.
Quietly.
You keep showing up for broken people. You keep carrying heavy conversations. You keep walking into hospital rooms, counseling sessions, funeral homes, addiction stories, marriage crises, anxiety battles, and spiritual darkness. You keep trying to rescue people from the flames like Jude 23 talks about.
Read MoreIn the ever-evolving journey of leadership, understanding the true cost of obedience is paramount. Today, I want to delve into what it truly means to be committed to a mission, a cause, or a calling—particularly when that mission involves rescuing others from the metaphorical flames of judgment, as inspired by Jude 23, my life verse.
The Smells Like Smoke Journey
Welcome to the Smells Like Smoke podcast blog. My name is Trevor DeVage, your host and guide on this journey of transformation and redemption. We've rebranded from "The Make" to "Smells Like Smoke"—a nod to a deeper, more resonant understanding of our purpose. This voyage that began with sermons and scriptures has now led to my first book titled "Smells Like Smoke," which encapsulates years of reflection.
Read MoreMy dad, calling Monday to check up on me and our weekend, offered a word of encouragement. “The Monday after Easter is a beautiful letdown,” he said, and I knew what he meant.
After the emotional high of Good Friday and Easter-morning services . . .
After all the weeks and weeks of planning every element to perfectly communicate truth and hope. . .
After the energy spent setting up, tweaking technology, and expending every possible ounce of energy again and again for the several services and every age group in multiple locations . . .
It was good to rest.
I thought about the day after Christmas or the day after our wedding. Such days are often just another normal day, except we’re more tired than usual. But I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t settle for that after Easter.
Actually, Monday was a celebration for me. The tomb was still empty Monday. It will still be empty this Sunday. In fact, the empty tomb of Christ will remain as proof of his power and provision until the day I die. And it seems to me we should see the days after Easter as a beautiful opportunity. The ground has been plowed. Now is the time to nurture growth and hope in the hearts of all those quickened by the message of Jesus.
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