Hey there, friend… Let me ask you something: how much of your time do you spend worrying about stuff? I mean, really worrying—about money, food, clothes, gas prices, the weather, or whether folks like you or not? If you’re like most folks I know, it’s a full-time job with lousy benefits.

But Jesus, in Matthew 6:25, gives us a gentle nudge with a powerful truth: “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?”

He’s not saying your needs don’t matter—He’s saying you matter more. He’s reminding us that we weren’t made just to survive. We were made to live. And we’ve got a Father in Heaven who knows how to take care of His kids.

Worry is like sitting in a rocking chair—gives you something to do, but it won’t get you anywhere. Trust Jesus. Breathe deep. Look around. There’s beauty and blessing tucked into every corner of your day—if you’re not too worried to see it.

So today, let go of the worry. Grab hold of the grace. And walk in the peace of knowing your Heavenly Father’s got this—and He’s got you, too.

Sometimes the most ordinary moments set the stage for the most extraordinary encounters.

In Exodus 3:1-6, Moses wasn’t in a temple or revival tent. He was out in the wild, tending sheep—doing what he always did. But then came the bush. It burned, but it didn’t burn up. And out of that flame, God called his name.

Then came verse 5, where God said, “Do not come any closer. Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”

Now here’s the truth wrapped in that moment: the ground didn’t become holy because Moses was there. It became holy because God was. And when God shows up, the ordinary turns sacred. Dirt becomes divine. A bush becomes a beacon. A shepherd becomes a servant.

Friend, don’t miss the burning bushes in your life because they look too plain. That conversation, that phone call, that quiet moment on the porch—God could be in it. And when He speaks, He reminds us: slow down, humble yourself, and recognize the ground you’re standing on might just be holy.

So take off your sandals—lay aside your pride, your rush, your worry—and listen. Because God’s still speaking through burning bushes… and He might just be calling your name today.

Now, I don’t usually sit on the witness stand to testify about cigars, but when the subject is My Father The Judge, I’ll raise my right hand and swear to tell the whole smoky truth, so help me Nicaragua.

This cigar, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, walks into the room like a seasoned trial lawyer—dressed in an Ecuadorian Sumatra robe, confident, rich, and ready to argue its case. The box-pressed format feels like holding a leather-bound volume of justice, and when you light the foot, it doesn’t whisper—it testifies.

Opening statements? A bold combination of cocoa and black pepper, strong enough to raise an eyebrow but smooth enough to keep you listening. The Nicaraguan binder and fillers start to lay out the evidence—flavors of espresso, oak, a little molasses—layered with complexity like a well-argued brief. By the second third, this thing’s making closing arguments in your soul.

And here’s the kicker—burns straight as the moral compass of Della Street, with smoke as thick as courtroom suspense and a finish longer than a cross-examination from Perry Mason.

Some might call it a holy moment—where the Spirit meets the smoke and you learn something deeper than just tobacco. It’s not just a cigar; it’s a convincing argument in slow motion. Grace, grit, and a little fire.

My Father The Judge is guilty… of being one of the finest smokes to ever take the stand.

Verdict: in the mid to high 90’s on most scales. Sentence: One hour of pure, flavorful justice.

-MJHarvell