Soft, protein-packed, and naturally sweet. This is a family favorite, and goes over really well with two boys. I always double the recipe, for the right amount. Between two adults and two boys, there are no leftovers. There’s also a way to make it with applesauce or whole wheat flour for some healthier options, but I was out of wheat flour and applesauce.
Ingredients (makes ~8 small pancakes)
Dry:
1½ cups rolled oats (blend into oat flour)
1½ tsp baking powder
1½ tsp cinnamon
Pinch of salt
Wet:
¾ cup Greek honey yogurt
¾ cup milk (any kind you like)
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp maple syrup or honey (optional, for a little extra sweetness)
1 small apple, finely grated (no need to peel unless you want to)
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Instructions
1. Make oat flour: Blend rolled oats until fine (a blender or food processor works great).
2. Mix dry ingredients: In a bowl, whisk oat flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt.
3. Combine wet ingredients: In another bowl, whisk yogurt, milk, egg, vanilla, and maple syrup/honey.
4. Stir in grated apple, then fold in the dry ingredients until just combined. Let the batter sit for 5 minutes to thicken slightly.
5. Heat a skillet over medium heat with a little butter or coconut oil.
6. Cook pancakes: Pour about ¼ cup batter per pancake. Cook until small bubbles form and the edges look set (2–3 min), flip, and cook another 1–2 min.
7. Serve warm with:
A drizzle of honey or maple syrup
Sliced apples and a sprinkle of cinnamon
Or an extra spoon of Greek yogurt on top for creaminess
A biblical deep dive into the earthly ministry of Jesus and how we as believers hold the tension between truth and Grace, law and love.
Last night, as I sat in church group, I heard something that made me pause — “Jesus hates…”
It was the first time I had ever heard anyone, person or pastor, say those exact words. It caught me off guard. My heart tensed, not because I don’t believe Jesus stood firmly against sin, but because those two words together felt foreign. I started to wonder — is that really what Scripture shows us about Jesus? Does Jesus hate?
I was unsettled and turned to God and the Bible to unpack it. Honest deep dive into Scripture below:
1. Jesus Never Says “I Hate” in the Gospels
In all the red letters — Jesus’ own words in the Gospels — you’ll never find Him saying, “I hate.”
He rebukes. He corrects. He grieves. He flips tables, but in the study of his life, we do not see Jesus meeting sinners with hate.
Think of the woman caught in adultery (John 8:1–11). The Pharisees were ready to stone her according to the Law of Moses, but Jesus said, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone.” When her accusers left, He told her, “Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin.”
Jesus didn’t ignore her sin — He called her out of it — but He did so with mercy.
We see the same pattern in the story of the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4). She’d had five husbands and was living with a man who wasn’t her husband. Jesus knew that, and yet He didn’t shame her. He offered her living water.
And Zacchaeus — the despised tax collector (Luke 19:1–10). Jesus didn’t list his sins. He said, “Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today.” That invitation to relationship is what led Zacchaeus to repent and make restitution.
In His ministry and life, Jesus did not shout hate, instead he showed us that transformation follows Love.
Jesus did not shame people into repentance; He loved them into freedom.
2. So Where Does the Bible Say Jesus Hates?
The only direct mention is in Revelation 2:6:
> “But you have this in your favor: You hate the practices of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate.”
The Nicolaitans were an early group in the first-century church that distorted Christian freedom and encouraged compromise with pagan culture. When Jesus says He hates their practices, He is expressing righteous opposition to corruption that harms His people.
Notice — the practices, not the people. The original Greek emphasizes moral disgust for corrupt deeds, not hatred of individuals.
Even though Revelation 2:6 is the only moment where Jesus directly says “I hate,” it aligns with the Father’s heart throughout Scripture.
3. God and Jesus Are One — And They Hate Sin
While Jesus may not have explicitly said, “I hate” in the gospels, the heart of God the Father is perfectly reflected in Him — and Scripture tells us that God hates sin.
Proverbs 6:16–19 lists what the Lord hates:
> “There are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to Him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies, and a person who stirs up conflict in the community.”
Jesus and the Father share one heart (John 10:30). So it’s safe to say that Jesus also detests the things that destroy His children and separate us from the Father’s love.
4. Jesus’ Righteous Anger and Grief
> “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean.” Matthew 23:27–28
Jesus detested religious hypocrisy. He flipped tables in the temple and called out the hard-heartedness of the Pharisees (Mark 3:5).
He wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35), showing His grief over death and the brokenness of this world. He lamented over Jerusalem, saying, “How often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.” (Matthew 23:37)
If anything, Jesus “hated” what sin does — how it corrupts, separates, and destroys. But His posture toward people remained love, mercy, and an open invitation to repentance.
5. Truth Matters — But It Must Be Spoken in Love
> “Speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of Christ.” (Ephesians 4:15)
Lately, I’ve been asking myself: What is my impact? What difference am I really making?
It’s easy to look at the lives of public figures and feel like our own contributions pale in comparison. Recently, when Charlie Kirk passed away, his death shook the nation. He left behind a wife, two young children, parents, siblings, and a legacy of influence. Reports said over 270,000 mobile devices were tracked at his memorial service in State Farm Stadium. That’s a staggering number.
But then I look at my own life. If I were to die tomorrow, the world at large wouldn’t stop. Life would go on because it has to. There wouldn’t be a day of remembrance for me. My name wouldn’t trend on social media. Maybe my birthday would be remembered by a few people for a while, but even that would fade.
And yet, I have two boys. To them, I am their world. I have a husband, and my absence would create a deep wound in his life. I have family and friends who love me. My “reach” might be about 50 people. That’s a far cry from a stadium filled with mourners.
Is that okay?
The Bible offers a perspective here that quiets my heart. In Matthew 22:37-39, Jesus says:
> “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
Notice Jesus didn’t say, “Amass a following” or “Go viral.” He said, “Love God” and “Love your neighbor.” Love the people in front of you.
And yet, in Matthew 28:19-20, He also gives the Great Commission:
> “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations…”
So which is it? Are we called to live quietly, loving our small circle, or to go and have a broad impact like Charlie Kirk did?
I think it’s both. God calls some to national influence and others to faithful presence. Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians 4:11:
> “Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you.”
And yet, every act of faithfulness — no matter how small — ripples further than we realize. Raising children in the knowledge of the Lord, encouraging a friend, serving your community, speaking kindness when it’s costly — these may never fill a stadium, but they echo in eternity.
We are not measured by our reach. We are measured by our faithfulness.
When I start to believe my impact is too small, I remember the widow in Mark 12:41-44 who gave two small coins. Jesus said she gave more than all the others. Why? Because her heart was fully His.
Maybe your life will look like Charlie Kirk’s — wide influence, a public legacy. Maybe it will look like a mom at home, changing diapers and shaping two eternal souls. Either way, the call is the same: Be faithful where you are.
Because eternity will tell a far bigger story than a headline ever could.
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Takeaway
Your impact is not measured in numbers but in faithfulness. Love God. Love your neighbor. Make disciples where you are. If God expands your reach, walk through that door. If He keeps you in a quiet place, walk that path faithfully.
Our forgiveness comes in waves. God’s forgiveness comes in one flood—once for all.
Forgiveness is one of the most beautiful and one of the hardest words I know.
When I am hurt by someone, I may forgive them today, but tomorrow the wound still aches. Grief and trauma don’t move in straight lines—they come in waves. Healing takes time. And so forgiveness is not always a one-time declaration; it is often a repeated act of surrender. Lord, I forgive again. Lord, help me let go once more.
How I wish forgiveness worked the way we want it to—that we could just say it once, and never feel bitterness, anger, or sorrow rise back up again. But the truth is, our hearts are human. We wrestle. We revisit the pain. We forgive, and then we forgive again.
Jesus understood this when Peter asked Him, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:21–22). Forgiveness is not math—it’s mercy. It’s a continual letting go, an ongoing practice of releasing others into God’s hands.
But here’s the difference: while our forgiveness often has to be repeated, God’s forgiveness does not.
When God says forgiven, He means it. We don’t have to beg Him over and over to erase the same sin. The cross was once for all. “For by one offering He has perfected forever those who are being sanctified” (Hebrews 10:14).
Think about this: if even the most hardened sinner—a murderer, an oppressor, someone who has shattered lives—comes to God in true repentance, agonizing over what they’ve done and crying out for mercy, the blood of Jesus covers them completely. They may feel guilty again as memory rises, but God does not keep forgiving the same sin again and again. He already said: It is finished (John 19:30).
We see this at the cross itself. Jesus was crucified between two criminals. One mocked Him, but the other repented, confessing: “We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Jesus answered him, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise’ (Luke 23:41–43).
One desperate prayer. One broken confession. And Jesus’ response was immediate: forgiven.
That is the unfathomable grace of God. Our forgiveness may come in waves. His forgiveness comes in one flood. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).
So today, if you are struggling to forgive someone again and again, remember: that’s the human journey. That’s what it means to walk in grace. But when it comes to your own sin—when it comes to standing before God—you don’t have to question or repeat or beg. You don’t have to live in endless guilt. His forgiveness is once, for always, and for all.
Because of the cross. Because of Jesus. Because of grace.
Lately, I’ve been carrying a heavy heart toward my husband. Maybe you’ve been there too. It feels like he gives everything to work and hobbies and leaves little left for me or our children. Meanwhile, I’ve been keeping our home and our little family afloat, but I feel weary. I’ve asked for change, and while maybe there are slow shifts, if I’m honest—I feel numb.
What I’ve realized is this: I am grieving the gap between the husband and father I hoped for and the one I have right now. I am also grieving the weight of (most of the time) being the one to keep everything together. That’s a lot to hold.
But here’s the Truth God whispered to my heart: I don’t have to keep a scoreboard. I don’t have to measure who’s giving more or less. I need to release that—not because my husband has earned it—but because it’s not healthy, and I deserve to cultivate joy. My children deserve a mom who is engaged, energetic, and joy-filled. That’s the kind of mom I long to be.
And I know I don’t have to manufacture that joy on my own. God promises it to me as a gift of His Spirit:
> “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” (Nehemiah 8:10)
> “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22-23)
The bible doesn’t say the joy of my husband will be my strength, or the joy of a thriving marriage. It says the joy of the Lord. That means joy is available to me here and now, even in the middle of exhaustion, unmet expectations, and slow change.
I still believe God can transform my marriage. I still pray for my husband to rise up as the servant, leader, and joy-filled father I know he can be. But while I wait, I am choosing not to live bitter and empty. I am choosing to cultivate joy. To play with my kids. To find laughter in small things. To spend time in God’s Word and refill my soul.
If you’re a mom in this same season—feeling tired, stretched thin, maybe even resentful—I want you to know you’re not alone. God sees the weight you carry. And He has more for you than numbness and fatigue.
Friend, you can lay down the scoreboard. You can release the pressure of carrying it all. You can believe for change and still choose joy right now.
Because you and your children deserve a mom who is filled with God’s joy, no matter what season your marriage is in. And that joy is already yours in Christ.
> “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.” (Psalm 34:5)
Today I was listening to a song called The Church, and the theme is unity in God. My heart is heavy with everything happening in our world — the violence, the wars, the division, the loss of innocent lives. It feels like the left points at the right, the right points at the left, and we’re all forgetting this truth: a house divided cannot stand (Matthew 12:25).
If we want to be strong as a nation, as communities, as churches, even in our own family units, we must be unified. When we meet hate with hate, love will never win, and the greatest call on our life is to love God and love each other (Matthew 22:36-40).
Unity doesn’t mean we will always agree. It means we choose to see each other first as people–people with stories, families, hurts, and hopes. It means choosing love over hate, respect over contempt, and remembering that what binds us together is always greater than what tries to tear us apart. Maybe then unity won’t feel so far off. Love has to begin there.
🙏 Prayer Our Father in heaven, holy is Your name. Today we ask for renewed hope and healing in You. Give us eyes to see one another not as labels or sides, but as people — fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, friends — all made in Your image. Bring unity to our nation, to our politics, to our churches, and to our families. Amen.
In Latin, there is a phrase: dignitas infinita — infinite dignity. It reflects the truth that every human life carries an inherent worth that cannot be taken away. We are created in the image of God, and that identity precedes all titles, positions, and ideologies. Before anything else, we are human.
On September 10th, Charlie Kirk was shot and killed in broad daylight while speaking at Utah Valley University. He entered a college campus with words — and was met with bullets. For days, many of us have woken up asking the same question: Did this really happen, or was it only a bad dream?
In the aftermath, we have seen memorials erected and torn down. We have seen tributes offered and mocked. We have read words from those who say he “deserved it” or celebrate that he is gone. And in those moments, the question only deepens: Is this reality?
It is essential to remember that before Charlie Kirk was a political activist, a debater, or a public figure, he was a human being. And all human beings have the right to life. Unborn children. Foster kids. Orphans. Immigrants. Survivors of abuse. The forgotten. Politicians. Activists on the left and on the right. Whatever category you choose, every person carries the same infinite dignity.
Charlie Kirk was first a son — to his mother and father, and ultimately to God, in whose image he was made. He was a brother to his sister, a husband to his wife, and a father to two young children who desperately need him. He was a grandson, a nephew, a cousin, a friend, and a neighbor. These are the most important titles he ever held — human titles, relational titles.
As a human being, he did not deserve to be murdered. Not for his opinions, not for his ideology, not for his words. The greatness of America lies in the freedom to exchange ideas, to disagree, and to wrestle with difficult questions openly. Violence silences that freedom.
If we believe that a man — a husband, a father, a son — deserved death because of his politics, then we have lost sight of something essential. Disagreement is inevitable in every relationship, but the call is to navigate those differences with kindness, patience, and respect.
Scripture “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
Prayer Heavenly Father, we entrust the Kirk family to Your care. Bring peace to his wife and children, and comfort to his parents, his sister, and all who mourn. Surround them with Your presence, and hold them close in their grief. We pray for our nation, Lord — soften hardened hearts, restore compassion where there is hatred, and remind us that every life bears infinite dignity. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Also, if you want to support the Kirk family and legacy, there are ways to donate at Turning Point USA
I did not know Charlie Kirk personally, yet his life and sudden death have left a deep mark on my heart. I admired his courage, his conviction, and his devotion to God, to his wife, to his children, and to the youth of America. The senseless violence that took his life is horrific and heartbreaking, but I believe his story does not end here. I felt compelled to write this tribute, not because I knew him, but because I believe his legacy deserves to be honored and remembered — and because in Christ, even in death, there is hope.
Charlie, my heart breaks — it shatters — for what happened to you. You are a son of God, made in His image, and you deserved so much more than a senseless act of violence. The heavens weep with us. What happened to you mirrors what happened to Jesus and His disciples — persecution, suffering, and loss in the face of truth and faith.
But you were not only God’s son. You were also the son of a beautiful mother and father who raised you well. I can only imagine the joy your parents felt when they learned they were expecting a baby boy — the late nights rocking you, feeding you, caring for you, praying over you. The sports games, the sacrifices, the lessons, the love. To be a mother and lose her son in such a horrific way is unimaginable. My heart aches for them in ways words cannot hold.
And then there is your wife — the woman you loved, cherished, and chose to spend forever with. You lived out your calling as a husband by protecting, providing, and honoring her. I admired how you encouraged men to rise to responsibility — to work hard, to lead with strength, so their wives could have the sacred choice to raise children at home if they desired. That vision is noble, courageous, and beautiful. You lived it. I can only imagine the devastation, the shock, and the heartbreak your wife is facing now.
And your children. Your precious daughter and son. They will never again feel the warmth of your embrace on this earth — the security of your arms to pick them up when they fall, the laughter of a dad cheering at Little League games, or the proud steps of you walking your daughter down the aisle someday. The world tried to steal those moments. But it cannot.
“Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere.” (Psalm 84:10)
My prayer is that heaven feels like this for you, Charlie: you went to sleep in Utah, your heart longing for home. And when you opened your eyes, you were greeted first by the open arms of your Savior, and then by the sweet embrace of your wife, your three-year-old daughter, and your one-year-old son. Not grown, not distant, not strangers — but the same little ones who need you, who love you, who want to be held by you. You are able to scoop them up, hug them close, and step right back into these precious moments. This world tried to cut short and take them away, but Heaven redeems what is stolen. Heaven redeems time and all that evil tries to steal away. In Christ, these joys are eternal.
Rest now, good sir. Your life has purpose, your words carry weight, your faith bears fruit, and your legacy will echo through this world long after. Your death is not in vain. The truth you spoke, the love you poured into your family, and the passion you gave to the youth of America will continue to shine like a torch in the darkness.
Until we meet again, well done, Charlie. Well done.
Closing Prayer
Father in heaven, We come before You in grief, but also in hope. Your Word tells us that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord, and we cling to that truth. We thank You that Charlie now rests in the arms of his Savior, where there is fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore.
Lord, comfort his wife, his children, his parents, his loved ones, and all who mourn him. Remind them that this story does not end in death. You promise that death is swallowed up in victory, that one day You will wipe away every tear, and that mourning, crying, and pain will be no more.
We long for the day when You will return, when the dead in Christ will rise, and when families will be reunited — whole, restored, redeemed. We trust that Charlie will see his children again, not as strangers but as beloved son and daughter, embraced in the joy of eternity. Thank You that heaven does not erase time but redeems it, restoring what was broken and stolen in this world.
Give us strength to live with the same courage, faith, and conviction that he carried. May his life and legacy echo in the generations to come, pointing many to Jesus.
Until that day, Lord, we say with confidence: “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” For in Christ, death has been defeated, and eternal life has been secured.
When my husband and I moved from Reno, Nevada, we carried with us more than boxes and furniture. We carried grief. We carried the weight of closed doors, unmet expectations, and the heaviness that comes when life feels more confusing than clear. With two little boys in tow, we entered a season that left us mentally, emotionally, and spiritually drained.
My husband even spent a short season believing the heaviness was caused by the kids. But before we had kids—back when we were praying desperately to have them—he clung to Psalm 127:3-5
“Sons are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the sons of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame.”
Back then, this verse gave us hope. It reminded us that children are not a burden but a reward, a blessing from the Lord Himself. But somewhere along the way—between the sleepless nights, the tantrums, and the exhaustion—we lost sight of that truth.
Having a four-year-old and a one-year-old is hard. Really hard. There are moments of joy, yes, but there are also countless moments of disobedience, frustration, and endless needs. It can be easy to slip into thinking, this is too much, or this is the reason we feel so low. But that’s not the whole story.
This morning, as I sat down with a long list of tasks—200 things I felt I needed to do to get our house in order—I felt a nudge in my spirit: Go meet with the Lord first. So I opened the book of Psalms, and my eyes fell right onto Psalm 127:1:
“Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.”
It stopped me in my tracks. Here I was, striving to get every detail of our house settled, organizing, arranging, cleaning—when the truth is, none of it matters unless God is at the center. I can labor and toil until I am exhausted, but if I’m not inviting God into my home, into my parenting, into my marriage—then I am only filling my life with anxiety and emptiness.
And in the same Psalm, God gently reminded me of something I know but forget so quickly: my sons are not interruptions to my productivity; they are the reward. They are not obstacles to building a home; they are the blessings handed to us by God himself
I want to invite God back into every corner of our life—not just into Sunday mornings, not just into our prayers before meals, but into the chaos of raising toddlers, into the daily grind of marriage, into the way we build this home together. Because only then will our work, our parenting, and even our tiredness carry eternal meaning.
So today, I’m choosing to praise God not only for what He has given us, but for who He is. And I want to remind my husband—and anyone else walking through a weary season—your children are not the reason you’re overwhelmed. They are the blessing in the middle of it. Your house won’t be built on your effort alone, but on the foundation of God’s presence.
I’ve asked myself this question so many times. I thought when we moved to Minnesota we would finally “arrive”—but we didn’t. Then I thought maybe it would come when we bought a house and felt settled. But we bought the house, and the unsettled feeling lingered. I thought perhaps it was just a matter of getting organized, putting things in their place, creating order out of the chaos. Yet even then, the arrival never came.
Every time I get to where I think I’m going, the destination shifts. The goalpost moves. What I thought would bring peace doesn’t. And I’m left chasing again.
It feels like living in constant motion, always reaching, never resting. The striving leaves me weary, and worst of all, I realize I’m missing life while waiting to arrive at some elusive place called there.
But maybe “there” isn’t a place at all. Maybe “there” isn’t about a house, or a city, or an organized life. Maybe arriving is not a where but a who.
Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30).
Maybe true arrival is found not in finally getting the house perfect, or the career established, or the kids on the right schedule. True arrival is found when I come to Jesus. When I rest in Him.
The challenge, though, is not just arriving at Jesus—it’s staying. It’s learning to linger long enough with Him that I stop chasing the world’s approval of my life. Scripture reminds me, “Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere” (Psalm 84:10). Yet I still find myself wandering, distracted, restless.
The world will always dangle another milestone, another achievement, another “there” just out of reach. But Jesus offers here. His presence, His rest, His peace. “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you” (Isaiah 26:3).
And maybe that’s the only place I’ll ever truly arrive. Not in a destination I can map, but in a Savior who says, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
A Prayer to Arrive
Lord, I confess that I’m often restless—always looking for the next thing, the next milestone, the next “there.” I confess I am striving so hard to create my heaven on earth instead of your heaven.
Help me to remember that true rest is not found in circumstances but in You. Teach me to come to You daily, to stay with You long enough to let Your peace sink deep into my heart. Free me from chasing the approval of the world, and help me to find joy in simply being with You. You are my arrival. Amen.
Katie's Corner 