06/14/2026
I showed up to day work one morning flat hungover.
Didn't want the 3:30 start, didn't want the Texas heat — I wanted to BE a cowboy without the hard part.
Off to the side, an old hand sat alone, taking twenty minutes just to get his boots and leggings on so nobody'd see how bad it hurt.
I was there for the glory. He was there because the work made him feel alive.
Church was never a show ring for the put-together. It's a sick pen for the hurting — and the Doctor lives here.
A sick pen for sinners, not a show ring for saints — and the Doctor lives here.
So don't you dare think you've got to clean up before you come. The whole point is that you can't, and He can.
"And I tell you, you're Peter — the Rock — and on this rock I'll build my church, and the gates of hell won't hold against it." Matthew 16:18 SCV
Here's the deep part. Read that line slow. Gates don't charge anybody — gates HOLD. Jesus isn't picturing the church hunkered down behind the walls while hell beats on the door. He's picturing hell behind the gate, and the church riding down on it. We're not the fort. We're the cavalry.
A sick pen for sinners, not a show ring for saints — and the Doctor lives here.
Tomorrow's Sunday. Come as you are — hungover, heartbroke, half-put-together, whatever. The Doctor's in. 9:30, Elbert County Fairgrounds.
Let's pray: Father, thank You that the gate's open to the ones still getting their boots on. We quit pretending we're the show ring. Patch us up in the sick pen — then put us in the saddle with the cavalry. Amen.
