John and Kathy Deisher

John and Kathy Deisher Every person deserves a chance to hear the Good News of Jesus Christ.

I had the privilege of spending Saturday with the South Texas Chi Alpha East Missions Training for students and staff. L...
02/22/2026

I had the privilege of spending Saturday with the South Texas Chi Alpha East Missions Training for students and staff. Listening to their stories, their laughter, their worship and their prayers was incredible.

It was in the wilderness that the voice was heard. Not in the busy streets or decorated halls, but out where the ground ...
12/02/2025

It was in the wilderness that the voice was heard. Not in the busy streets or decorated halls, but out where the ground was uneven and the air was raw. “Prepare the way of the Lord,” Isaiah cries. Valleys lifted, mountains leveled, crooked places straightened. This is not cosmetic work—it is excavation. Advent begins here, not with lights and music, but with disruption. God is coming, and the landscape must change.

For us, the wilderness may look different. It might be the clutter of our schedules, the weight of our worries, or the loneliness that creeps in even when we’re surrounded by people. Advent calls us to prepare the way—not by adding more noise or decoration, but by making space. Space for silence. Space for prayer. Space for presence.

We live in deserts of distraction and hurry. The invitation is not to escape them, but to stand in them and mark them as holy ground. To whisper to ourselves and to others: “The Lord is coming here, too.”

So this week, begin your mornings in stillness, even if only for a few minutes. Let that quiet remind you that God is already at work before you begin your day. As you move through your week, notice the rough places—strained relationships, cluttered routines, restless thoughts—and ask God to smooth them. And when you encounter others, offer small acts of kindness: a listening ear, a word of encouragement, a shared meal. These are not grand gestures, but they are the hidden ways we prepare a highway for God.

And as you walk this path, may your valleys be lifted, your mountains humbled, your rough places smoothed. May your life itself become a highway for the coming King. And may the glory of the Lord be revealed in the ordinary places where you wait.

I’ve been thinking about the ways we show up for people—in classrooms, offices, coffee shops, living rooms, and all thos...
11/17/2025

I’ve been thinking about the ways we show up for people—in classrooms, offices, coffee shops, living rooms, and all those quiet spaces where real conversations surface. Most of us don’t think of what we’re doing as anything special. But there’s something deeply meaningful—even holy—about that kind of presence.

And sometimes a question rises: Isn’t it enough to just be kind? Do we really need theology for that?

Howard Stone, in "Thinking Theologically", reminds us that every one of us is already a theologian—not academically, but in the everyday sense. We all carry “embedded theology,” the beliefs absorbed from church, family, culture, and experience. These shape the way we pray (or don’t), the hopes we cling to, the fears we carry, and how we make sense of the world.

But there’s an invitation to move from unexamined belief to intentional faith—to notice what we believe, why and how those beliefs guide our choices and relationships.

Eugene Peterson once wrote, “We don’t need more information about God; we need formation by God.” Theology isn’t about collecting ideas; it’s about letting truth soak into how we live. It’s about seeing how the gospel threads through our work, friendships, identity, calling, and struggles.

Think about the questions that show up when life presses in: "Why is this so hard? What am I here for? Who am I? Where is God in this?" These are theological long before they reach a sermon or classroom.

This is why theology matters. Without it, we drift. With it, we become steadier, more grounded, more attentive to what’s real.

So when you sit with someone wrestling with doubt or disappointment, you’re not only offering comfort—you’re helping them place their story within a larger one. Theology happens on late-night walks, over coffee, and in honest conversations.

Peter wrote, “Always be prepared to give an answer for the hope you have.” You don’t need to be impressive—just rooted, present, anchored in something deeper than the swirl of daily life.

Wherever you go this week, remember: you’re already a theologian. The invitation is simply to pay attention and let what you believe shape the way you live.

Philippians 3:10 isn’t just a verse to memorize—it’s a doorway. Paul swings it wide and says, “Come in. This is the path...
11/12/2025

Philippians 3:10 isn’t just a verse to memorize—it’s a doorway. Paul swings it wide and says, “Come in. This is the path I’m walking.” “I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.” He’s not drafting doctrine; he’s handing us a map, worn and creased, for anyone serious about apprenticing under Jesus.

Knowing Christ isn’t about collecting facts or polishing theology. It’s about intimacy—the kind that changes you. Paul doesn’t want secondhand knowledge; he longs for firsthand experience. It’s like standing barefoot at the ocean’s edge, salt spray on your face. You don’t just read about the waves—you feel them.

Resurrection isn’t only past—it’s present power. The Spirit that raised Jesus pulses through ordinary lives, turning endings into beginnings, ashes into beauty, despair into hope. It gives courage, knowing death doesn’t get the final word.

But Paul also speaks of suffering—sharing in it. That’s the hard part. It’s gritty, not glamorous. It means walking through pain, letting our hearts break for what breaks Christ’s. Yet in that crucible, trust deepens, character is carved, and grace becomes our lifeline.

Becoming like him in death? That’s daily dying. Not dramatic, but deliberate. Choosing love over ego, service over ambition, surrender over control. Laying down our lives again and again for others. The slow, sacred work of becoming more like Jesus.

Philippians 3:10 is a summons. A call to go deeper. To know Jesus not just in theory, but in lived reality. To walk with him through resurrection joy and suffering sorrow. To live a life shaped by sacrificial love. And in that journey, we discover what we were made for: communion, transformation, and joy that endures beyond circumstances.

As we settle deeper into the fall season, I’ve been reminded how powerful gratitude really is. This time of year can hol...
11/10/2025

As we settle deeper into the fall season, I’ve been reminded how powerful gratitude really is. This time of year can hold both beauty and strain—the quick pace, the full schedules, the constant needs that seem to arise out of nowhere. It’s easy to lose sight of thankfulness in the middle of it all.

But gratitude changes everything. It doesn’t deny the challenges; it reorients us to the One who’s still present in them. As Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, “Give thanks in all circumstances.” Gratitude frees the heart and steadies the soul. It reminds us that we’re not carrying the weight alone.

I’ve been especially thankful for the people who keep showing up—those who love, serve, and walk with others in quiet faithfulness. You’re helping create spaces of hope and renewal, and that matters deeply.

May this season bring moments of rest, peace, and the quiet assurance that God is near. Let’s keep choosing gratitude—it’s what keeps our hearts open and our community strong.

Discipleship isn’t a sprint or even a steady march; it’s a long obedience in the same direction.This morning, I watched ...
11/03/2025

Discipleship isn’t a sprint or even a steady march; it’s a long obedience in the same direction.

This morning, I watched the sunrise over the ranch. The sky was gentle and full of promise, and a few deer moved quietly through the woods—unhurried, alert, and completely uninterested in my to-do list. I sat with my coffee, soaking in the stillness.

It struck me that meaningful growth—whether in faith, relationships, or life—can’t be rushed. It’s slow, relational, and often invisible. You don’t see immediate results—just questions, fatigue, and students or friends wrestling with identity, purpose, and trust.

And that’s okay.

Our role isn’t to hurry things along. It’s to stay present, to walk alongside others, to listen more than we speak. To offer a rhythm different from the campus rush—a rhythm that says, “You’re not a project. You’re a person. And Jesus is already at work in you.”

As Eugene Peterson described, it’s “a long obedience in the same direction.” And Richard Foster reminds us that the Spirit is a gentle gardener. With that posture—patient, prayerful, rooted—we find our way.

Today, whether you’re preparing for a meeting, sharing coffee with a friend, or simply catching your breath—remember: you’re tending to souls, not managing outcomes. And the sunrise reminds us—God is already ahead of us, lighting the path.

There are quiet moments—between the noise and the next task—when we hear it again: “Come, follow Me.” It’s not shouted. ...
10/27/2025

There are quiet moments—between the noise and the next task—when we hear it again: “Come, follow Me.” It’s not shouted. It’s not rushed. Just a steady invitation from Jesus. Reassuring, yes. But also demanding. He asks for our attention, our trust, and sometimes, our willingness to walk roads that feel long and lonely.

This is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer called the “cost of discipleship.” Not to scare us off, but to draw us closer to the heart of Christ. To follow Jesus—especially in places where things feel dry, or progress feels slow—can be hard. You may know the ache of being misunderstood, the weariness of doing good work that seems unnoticed, or the quiet grief of letting go of comfort or approval.

But here’s the truth: every cost carries a promise. Jesus never sends us out alone. His Spirit goes ahead of us. His mercy walks beside us. His love holds us up. “If anyone wants to follow Me,” He says, “let them take up their cross daily.” That cross isn’t just a burden—it’s a signpost. A reminder that Jesus is with us in the struggle, in the sacrifice, and in the slow work of love.

Bonhoeffer reminds us: we don’t walk this road to earn anything. We walk it because Jesus already has. He’s inviting us to let go of the life that keeps us stuck, and receive the life that sets us free. He meets us—in classrooms, in kitchens, in quiet corners of our day—with a love that doesn’t quit and a presence that steadies.

So let’s keep encouraging each other. The path of faith may be narrow, and it may cost us something—but it leads to joy. To surrender. To life. Every small act of kindness, every whispered prayer, every faithful step matters. It’s seen. It’s held. And it will bear fruit.

If you’re feeling tired, you’re not alone. We walk this road together—held by grace, shaped by the cross, and sustained by resurrection hope. May you feel Christ near today. May His kindness surprise you. And may you know that nothing offered in love is ever wasted.

The staff of was hosted by our friends at Prayer in the Barn on Friday. It was a great morning of worship, prayer and i...
10/26/2025

The staff of was hosted by our friends at Prayer in the Barn on Friday. It was a great morning of worship, prayer and intercession followed by a meal and lots of conversations.

"Christ Between Us"When ministry relationships feel fragile, remember this:Community isn’t something we hold together by...
10/20/2025

"Christ Between Us"

When ministry relationships feel fragile, remember this:

Community isn’t something we hold together by effort or agreement — it’s something already held together by Jesus.

Scripture

“For where two or three gather together as my followers, I am there among them.”
Matthew 18:20 (NLT)

Reflection
Dietrich Bonhoeffer once reminded us that Christian community is not an ideal we must realize, but a reality created by God in Christ in which we may participate.

That means our teams, our churches, our ministries — even at their most imperfect — are already grounded in something deeper than shared goals or good chemistry.

They’re grounded in Christ Himself.

When a community is wounded, we often rush to fix things — to rebuild trust, to reestablish closeness, to do *something.*
But Bonhoeffer calls us to start somewhere deeper: by recognizing that Jesus is already present among us.

Even in tension or distance, He hasn’t stepped away.
In every honest conversation, every small act of grace, every moment we choose to listen rather than defend — He is quietly at work, making things new.

Our confidence isn’t in our ability to create harmony.
It’s in His faithful presence — the healer who stands between us, transforming even what’s been broken into grace.

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,
You are the one who gathers and restores Your people.
Help us to see You between us — in our words and our silences,
in our differences and in the work we share.
Where we have been hurt, bring healing.
Where we have grown distant, draw us close again in Your love.
Teach us to live not from our wounds, but from Your reconciling presence.
Amen.

My view this morning.
10/16/2025

My view this morning.

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