Faith in the Fire - Armor & Light Project

Reflection: The Cry Under the Altar

Sep 14, 2025 | Faith in the Fire, Scripture & Insight

There are moments when ancient words suddenly become present reality. When scripture leaps off the page and lands in our headlines. You read about martyrs in Revelation and think it’s ancient history—until you see a modern witness silenced for speaking truth. You study the early church’s persecution and assume it’s past—until you watch faith cost someone everything in real time. These aren’t just Bible stories anymore. They’re today’s news. When heaven’s altar grows more crowded, and earth feels more empty.

Revelation isn’t just prophecy of the end; it is a mirror of the present, showing us what happens when darkness collides with light.

“And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held: And they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?” (Revelation 6:9-10 KJV)

The vision John recorded in Revelation pierces our hearts in fresh ways today. It is not just a distant picture of the early church. It is not just history. It is our story, unfolding again in our generation. When Charlie Kirk was shot and killed while speaking boldly on a Utah campus, the cry of Revelation 6 came rushing back to life. Another witness silenced on earth. Another soul gathered beneath the altar of God.

This passage forces us to face the reality of what it means to follow Christ without compromise. To live openly for truth in a world that rejects it. To know that our faith is not a safe hobby but a costly allegiance. The altar in heaven grows heavy with witnesses who bore that cost. Their blood testifies. Their voices cry out. Their faith still speaks.

The Reality We Face

And yet, even in our grief, we do not despair. The souls John saw were not abandoned. They were sheltered in the very presence of God. Their cry—”How long, O Lord?”—was not ignored. It was received. This means something crucial: God does not overlook the suffering of His people. He does not dismiss their blood. He counts every drop. He hears every cry.

For those of us who’ve worn different kinds of armor—whether kevlar or spiritual—we understand that standing for truth has always come with risk. Having stood watch in dangerous places, I know the cost of courage. Charlie knew it too.

This truth stirs three responses within us as believers:

Spiritually, we recognize that martyrdom is not the end of the story. Death for Christ is not an exit but an entrance into glory. The world may intend to silence, but heaven resounds with their witness. The altar grows heavy with witnesses, and we can almost hear Charlie’s voice joining that ancient chorus—crying out not in desperation, but in holy longing for God’s righteousness to prevail.

Emotionally, we ache. We feel the sting of injustice. We weep at the violence that tried to smother light. And yet our tears are anchored in hope. We know the promise: God will avenge. He will make right what is broken. The cry of “How long?” is not unanswered—it is being carried toward the day of perfect justice.

With joy and confidence, we remember that every act of hatred against God’s people has only ever strengthened the church. The cross looked like defeat, but it became victory. The blood of martyrs has always been seed for revival. What the enemy meant for silence, God uses to amplify.

The Call to Stand

Charlie’s life and death call us to examine our own. Are we willing to stand? Are we ready to be counted? The souls beneath the altar do not whisper—they cry out with a loud voice. Their boldness should stir ours. Their sacrifice should awaken us.

So we respond with both mourning and resolve. We grieve because we feel the loss. We resolve because we know their witness is not wasted. We lift our own voices, not in fear but in faith, not in bitterness but in boldness.

And here lies the paradox of the Christian heart: we ache and rejoice at the same time. We cry “How long?” and we also say, “Come, Lord Jesus.” We carry sorrow, but we also carry songs. Because we know that the Lamb who was slain is also the King who reigns.

Our Response

The end of the story is already written. Every martyr will be vindicated. Every tear will be wiped away. Every faithful witness will be clothed in white, standing before the throne with joy unshakable. Until then, we live as torchbearers in the darkness, confident that no bullet, no hatred, no grave has the power to stop the mission of God.

The altar is not empty. It is filling. And every soul beneath it reminds us that our testimony is worth everything—because Christ is worth everything.

The question isn’t whether we’ll face opposition—those who serve always do. The question is whether we’ll stand firm when it comes, armored in truth and shining light into the darkness. Will our lives echo their testimony? Will our faith cost us something real?

We are called to be watchmen on the walls—alert, faithful, ready. Like Ezekiel’s watchman who was commanded to warn the people, we stand guard in our generation. We watch for the enemy’s approach. We sound the alarm when truth is under attack. We hold the line when others fall back.

But the call is not just to watch. It is to stand armored in truth, carrying light into the very places darkness tries to reign. Armor without light is only defense; light without armor is only exposed. Together they form the testimony we are called to live.

Charlie answered that question with his life. The altar grows heavier with his witness. And heaven grows brighter with his light. His watch is ended, but ours continues. So let us take up the watch, armored and shining, until the day the cry under the altar is answered and the Lamb returns in glory.

Coasting Always Goes Downhill: The Cost of Unintentional Living

May 13, 2025 | Armor Up, Faith in the Fire

There’s a hard truth many people don’t want to admit:
If you’re not growing intentionally, you’re just coasting—and coasting always leads downhill.

It may feel like you’re maintaining, holding steady, or just “taking a breather.” But the reality is, life has a current—and it’s rarely one that pushes us upward by accident. Left on autopilot, we slowly drift. And over time, that drifting becomes decline.

The Illusion of Experience

We often believe that experience alone is what makes us wiser or better. That the more years we live, the more equipped we become. But that’s only half the story.

Experience alone is not enough.
If experience was the only teacher, then everyone who’s been alive for decades would be full of wisdom, humility, and strength. But we know that’s not true.

The real teacher is evaluated experience. Growth doesn’t come from simply going through things—it comes from going through them with intention and learning from them. If we don’t pause to reflect, to ask the hard questions, to challenge our assumptions, we just keep repeating the same cycles. Round and round. Stuck in patterns that slowly chip away at our joy and potential.

Unintentional living gives the appearance of progress—until you look up and realize you’ve settled. Worse, you’ve slipped. Slowly. Quietly. But definitely downward.

Discipline: The Engine Behind Growth

Intentional growth isn’t passive. It takes work. And more than that—it takes discipline.

Discipline is the quiet decision to show up when no one’s watching.
It’s waking up early to pray when your bed is warm and your body is tired.
It’s choosing the uncomfortable conversation instead of the easy silence.
It’s sticking to your values when compromise would be more convenient.

We all want results, but few are willing to embrace the process. Discipline is what carries you through the moments your motivation runs dry. Because it will. Motivation is a wave—discipline is the anchor.

Faith without discipline turns stagnant.
Dreams without discipline become regrets.
And even purpose, when not pursued with intentional effort, becomes diluted by distraction.

You don’t become the person God created you to be by accident.

Who You Surround Yourself With Matters

We weren’t made to grow in isolation. Scripture tells us: “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another” (Proverbs 27:17).

The people in your circle either sharpen you or dull you.
They either fan the flame inside you or slowly smother it.
And if you’re the strongest one in every room, you may not be growing—you may be performing.

Growth requires community—but not just any community. It takes a like-minded, purpose-aligned group that challenges you in the right direction. People who aren’t impressed by your talent but care about your character. People who will pray for you, speak truth to you, and walk with you when the road gets narrow.

Your growth is too important to leave to chance.
And your calling is too sacred to surround with the wrong crowd.

Climbing Takes Effort, But It’s Worth It

It’s easier to coast. No resistance. No risk. But no reward, either.
Climbing, on the other hand, takes effort. It requires focus. Sacrifice. Intentional steps.
But it also brings a view.

When you grow intentionally, you begin to see what you were blind to before—both in yourself and in others. You gain clarity. Perspective. Strength. You realize that the climb was always part of your calling.

And here’s the truth:
God doesn’t call us to easy paths. He calls us to faithful ones.

So if you’re reading this and realizing you’ve been coasting—this isn’t condemnation.
It’s an invitation.

An invitation to stop drifting and start climbing.
To stop surviving and start growing.
To stop settling and start pursuing the fullness of who you were created to be.

Because you don’t stumble into purpose. You walk into it—one disciplined, intentional step at a time.

No risk, No story.

May 4, 2025 | No Risk, No Story, Faith in the Fire

No risk, no story. There’s a profound truth hidden within this simple phrase. Life, at its core, is a collection of stories — stories of triumph, failure, perseverance, love, loss, and growth. But the most compelling stories, the ones that shape who we are and leave a lasting imprint on the world, are not born from comfort zones or playing it safe. They are forged in the fires of risk, uncertainty, and courage.

When you realize that without risk, there is no story, you begin to understand that standing still is never the path to greatness. Every achievement, every breakthrough, every moment that inspires others comes from someone who dared to step into the unknown, who bet on themselves even when the odds were unclear. Taking a risk isn’t about recklessness — it’s about believing in the possibility of what could be, even when fear tries to convince you otherwise.

The power of this realization is transformative. It means that the next step you take, no matter how uncertain or daunting, is the seed of your next great story. It’s the moment where you say, “I may not know exactly how I’m going to win, but I know one thing for certain — I’m not going to lose.”

This mindset isn’t just about blind optimism; it’s about relentless determination. It’s about embracing the power of “one more” — one more attempt, one more hour, one more idea, one more conversation, one more push when everything in you wants to quit. The difference between those who succeed and those who don’t often comes down to that one extra step, that willingness to go just a little further than everyone else.

Risk is the catalyst for growth. It’s the moment you decide that your fear of staying the same outweighs your fear of failing. Every leap you take teaches you something new — about yourself, your strengths, your resilience, and the boundless potential that exists when you refuse to give up. Even when you stumble, you gather wisdom. Even when you fall, you build character. And when you rise, you inspire others to do the same.

Think about it — the stories we admire most are never about those who had it easy. They’re about those who faced adversity head-on, who risked everything when the path was unclear, and who refused to let failure define them. Your story is no different. It is waiting to be written, but it requires your courage to pick up the pen.

So when doubt creeps in and fear whispers that it’s safer to stay where you are, remember this: No risk, no story. The unknown may be frightening, but it is also where every possibility exists. The greatest risk of all is looking back and wondering what could have been if only you had tried.

Push forward. Take the risk. Believe in the power of one more. You may not have all the answers right now, but if you keep going, you’ll find them. And in the end, your story will not just be one of survival — it will be one of victory.

And yet, beneath every risk taken, every bold step forward, lies a deeper truth: our lives are not random sequences of events, but threads woven into God’s divine tapestry. The risks we take are not merely for worldly success, but for the fulfillment of a purpose far greater than ourselves. “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” (Proverbs 19:21)

Taking risks is an act of faith — faith that even when we cannot see the outcome, God does. Every challenge we face, every obstacle we overcome, is part of a divine narrative where God’s wisdom is our compass and His strength our anchor. It is through these very risks, through the willingness to step into the unknown, that we encounter God’s greatest revelations. Just as Abraham left everything behind, trusting in a promise he could not yet see, we too are called to trust that when we walk in faith, we walk in purpose.

The beauty of risk, when viewed through the lens of faith, is that we no longer fear failure — because our trust is not in our own abilities but in God’s sovereignty. The Apostle Paul reminds us, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28) Even when we stumble, even when the path seems uncertain, God is working, shaping our trials into testimonies and our risks into stories of redemption.

And this is the ultimate truth: the greatest risk of all was already taken — by Christ Himself. On the cross, He bore the weight of our sins, risking rejection, humiliation, and death, so that we might have life. If Christ was willing to take the ultimate risk for us, how can we not step boldly into the challenges before us? How can we not trust that every risk we take is under the watchful eye of a loving God who has already secured our victory?

So yes, no risk, no story. But more profoundly, no faith, no purpose. Push forward, take the risk, believe in the power of one more — because your story, when surrendered to God, is not just about success, but about eternal significance. You may not know how you’ll win, but with God, you’ll never truly lose.