We all inherit things we didn’t choose.
A way of reacting. A fear that doesn’t make sense. A story that seems to replay itself in every generation.
You can feel it sometimes — in the way your temper mirrors your father’s, or how your mother’s anxiety hums quietly in your own chest.
We call it personality.
But what if it’s code?
We call it “survival.” We call it “doing our best.”
But let’s be honest—sometimes “doing our best” just means “barely holding it together with duct tape and caffeine.”
We’ve got people out here calling burnout “purpose” and anxiety “just part of the grind.” That’s not freedom—that’s a hostage situation with good branding.
Suspicion grows best in the dark.
When we’re hurt, when trust is fractured, when trauma has left its fingerprint on our souls, the temptation is to retreat. To circle the wagons. To pull back from people because people were the problem.
Isolation doesn’t just keep us “safe.” It breeds suspicion.
Suspicion whispers, “You can’t trust them. They’re out to get you. Better watch your back.” And soon, suspicion metastasizes into paranoia. Paranoia convinces us we’re discerning when, in fact, we’re simply afraid.
But the Bible tells a different story.
Our country has just walked through a major national tragedy.
The murder of Charlie Kirk was not only heard about—it was seen. Millions watched the footage, a demonic spectacle replayed on screens that seared itself into our collective memory.
Moments like this mark a generation. They don’t just change what we see—they change how we think. If we’re not careful, these moments embed lies into the background code of our soul’s operating system. They hum quietly, but they redirect our choices, limit our identity, and even reroute our destiny.
The work isn’t just to grieve. The work is to debug.
Here are seven lies that surface after tragedy—and the truths that expose them:
Most of us think of the fruit of the Spirit as a private list.
Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
Nine nice words to hang on a wall.
But what if Paul wasn’t handing us a personal development checklist?
What if he was describing a compatibility code?
There’s a danger most of us don’t see coming. It’s subtle, slow, and it hides behind words like “maturity” and “wisdom.” One day you’re curious, willing, open to the unknown—and the next, you’re cautious, closed, and endlessly analytical. It doesn’t happen overnight, but if we’re not careful, the childlike wonder Jesus said was essential to enter the Kingdom can quietly slip away. When willingness, open-mindedness, listening, and agreement start to fade, so does our ability to move in step with God. And what’s at stake isn’t just how much joy or adventure we experience—it’s whether we’ll even recognize the opportunities God is placing right in front of us.
Before God gave Adam and Eve a garden, He gave them something far more foundational: rhythm.
A rhythm of rule and rest.
Of stewardship and surrender.
Of doing and being.
Genesis opens with a mandate: “Be fruitful, multiply, take dominion.” But the very next beat? God stops. He blesses the seventh day. He rests.
God modeled something we often forget: Dominion doesn’t begin with hustle—it begins with holy rhythm.
