Ryan's Ramblings

They Don’t Even Try

October 1, 2026

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” —Psalm 19:1, NIV

The sun doesn’t try to shine. It doesn’t rise each morning wondering whether anyone will notice. The sky doesn’t strain to be beautiful. The stars aren’t concerned about making an impression. They simply are what God made them to be, and somehow—without saying a word—they speak.

King David says the heavens declare God’s glory and the skies proclaim the work of His hands. Then he says something almost contradictory: “They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth.”

They say something—a lot, in fact—without saying anything. I love that.

We live in a world that tells us to make our mark—build a platform, get noticed, go viral, be somebody, and make sure people know we were here. And if we aren’t careful, we can bring that same striving into our life with the Lord, feeling like we need to shine for Him, be impressive, and somehow prove that our lives matter.

But creation doesn’t seem to be worried about any of that. The sun simply burns with the life God gave it, and everything around it feels the warmth.

Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote: “The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.”

A simple piece of foil, catching the sunlight as it flutters in the breeze, flashes with brightness. Hopkins saw the world as a place where God’s glory is ever breaking through in places we might otherwise overlook. And our lives are meant to do the same.

The Apostle Paul says, “We are God’s workmanship” (Ephesians 2:10, NIV). We are His creation. In a way, we are His foil in the world—not producing His glory, but catching it and reflecting it into the world around us.

Sometimes life leaves us gently fluttering in the breeze, and other times it shakes us hard. We would probably choose stillness, but often it is the shaking that scatters the light. The point isn’t the foil (us)—it’s the Light (Jesus).

We don’t have to be impressive to honor God. Paul says, “It is God who works in you . . . to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose” (Philippians 2:13, NIV). Any good in our lives is in Him, through Him, and because of Him.

Maybe holiness is less about trying desperately to look like Jesus and more about becoming so surrendered to Him that His life begins to show through ours. Our lives must glimmer with God’s grace, reflect His love, carry His peace, and extend His kindness to others.

Madeleine L’Engle once wrote, “We draw people to Christ not by loudly discrediting what they believe . . . but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.”

That sounds a lot like Psalm 19 to me. The heavens aren’t arguing their case, and the sun isn’t clamoring for attention. They don’t even try. They simply bear witness to the One who made them. And that is what our lives are meant to do too.

So quit worrying so much about making your mark. You don’t have to make yourself shine. Stay focused on Jesus. Trust Him with your moments. Let His grace flow through your life.

And whether today finds you fluttering in a gentle breeze or shaken by a storm, live as His workmanship in the world—and you will reflect His beauty.
Beauty Along the Way – A Poem

September 25, 2026

Friends,

Sometimes we have to slow down enough to notice the beauty of God all around us.

Years ago, while we were living in South Korea and working at an international school, I looked out my office window one autumn day and saw Dina walking with her kindergarten class beneath the brilliant fall leaves.

It was one of those ordinary moments that suddenly didn’t feel ordinary at all.

The colors were resplendent, the season beautiful. And walking beneath it all were those little lives—each one carrying a beauty of their own.

The psalmist wrote,

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” —Psalm 19:1, NIV

Creation has a way of doing that. The changing leaves, the brilliant colors, the seasons coming and going—they quietly point beyond themselves to the One who made them.

And then there are people.

Sometimes God’s beauty is in the leaves, and sometimes… it’s walking right beneath them.

A School Yard in Autumn

by Ryan M. Roberts

Fall blankets the way;

adorning the path as

little feet scuffle off to class.

Beauty abounds;

in brilliance, color, leaves,

and children.
Be Ruthless

September 24, 2026

[This week’s Nudging is adapted from my book Be Ready: A Man God Can Use.]

Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles.
—Hebrews 12:1, NIV

I had a tumor in my pancreas that was killing me. Not figuratively… physically. The road to getting answers and treatment meant multiple trips to the Mayo Clinic, long days of uncertainty, and prayers that were far more desperate than polished.

There were moments when I was tired, but quitting wasn’t an option. I wanted the doctors to be ruthless. Cut it out. Get it gone. Do whatever it takes, because anything less would be the death of me.

But it’s strange how differently we can treat sin. The things that quietly work against our souls, we learn to live with. We rename them, manage them, and explain them away. “It’s just how I am.” “I’ve always struggled with this.” “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Scripture doesn’t speak that way. It calls it the sin that entangles—the thing that wraps around us, tightens its grip, and trips us up, keeping us from becoming who God is forming us to be.

At some point, we have to be ruthless. Not with others, but with ourselves. The cross is not comfortable, and there is nothing soft about it. It is God’s mercy dealing decisively with what would otherwise destroy us. Jesus didn’t come so we could learn to manage sin. He came to break it.

Scripture goes even further: “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature…” (Colossians 3:5, NIV). Not excuse it. Not minimize it. Put it to death. That’s strong language, but it matches the seriousness of what we’re dealing with. God is not asking for a few small adjustments. He is after a new life.

Most of us already know where this lands. We know the pattern, the pull, or the place we go when we’re tired, frustrated, or simply not paying attention. For some, it’s what we scroll through when no one is around. For others, it’s the edge in our words at home, the resentment we quietly carry, or the way we withdraw instead of engage. It may not look like much on the outside, but it isn’t small, because it is shaping us. What we tolerate is what we become.

There comes a moment when honesty has to replace excuse, when we stop saying, “This is just part of me,” and start saying, “This does not belong in me.” That moment matters, because that’s where freedom begins.

I think back to those hospital days. No one suggested leaving part of the tumor behind. No one said I could live with just a little of it. The goal was life, and life required that it be removed.

This is not about being extreme. It’s about being honest and letting the grace of God go deeper than surface change. Because the life we want and who we’re called to become will not be formed by managing what needs to be put to death. Don’t leave anything behind.

Be ruthless—and look to Jesus.
Don’t

September 17, 2026

[This devo is from my book, Nudgings: Gentle Whispers, Holy Reminders.]

Have you noticed all the “don’ts” in Ephesians 4?

Don’t be rebellious,

don’t lie,

don’t pretend to be something you’re not,

don’t seek revenge,

don’t stay angry,

don’t drive angry,

(sorry, that’s not from Eph. 4, it’s from the movie, “Groundhog Day”)

don’t steal,

don’t use foul language,

don’t talk bad about people,

and don’t hold a grudge.

All of those “don’ts” are good advice, but they pale in comparison to the “don’ts” in Ephesians 4:30:

“Don’t grieve God. Don’t break his heart. His Holy Spirit, moving and breathing in you, is the most intimate part of your life, making you fit for himself. Don’t take such a gift for granted.” (MSG)

Wow, maybe you should read that again . . .

God is not a cosmic killjoy, He is joy. Jesus came to give us life—His life—moving, breathing and living in us. We were made to have the Spirit of God filling and empowering our lives, and anything less simply breaks the heart of God.

The “don’ts” of Ephesians 4 aren’t there to keep us in line, they are there to keep us in Him. His Holy Spirit is a precious gift.

So, as we walk into another day full of challenges, trials, and temptations, and we are faced with the choice to dabble in or do something that will be detrimental to the most intimate part of our life, let’s all take Paul’s advice—

Don’t.
Leap of Faith

September 10, 2026

[This devo, from my book Nudgings: Gentle Whispers, Holy Reminders, feels especially meaningful as I recently passed the two-year mark of serving in full-time pastoral ministry.]

“I will follow you, Lord; but…”
—Luke 9:61, NIV

I used to be an elementary school teacher. A few years ago, I sent out an email to let my colleagues know I’d be leaving the classroom to become an associate pastor. They were all kind, supportive, and excited for me — but inside, I was feeling the weight of the moment.

I loved teaching and working with students. I’d spent a life doing it. And there’s a certain security that comes with the job — a steady paycheck, a predictable schedule, summers off, and a rhythm to the year you can set your watch by.

Walking away from all that to jump into full-time ministry? That’s a leap.

Spencer worked in the cafeteria and delivered student breakfasts to the classrooms every morning. For a couple of years, he stopped by my room almost daily with three trays of food and a cheerful comment about sports, movies, or whatever holiday break was coming next.

One morning after he heard I was leaving, he came into my room and said, “So, you’re not gonna be here next year? It’s sure been great to work with you.”

And then came the line that got me: “I think this decision could turn into something really great. Sometimes you just gotta take a leap of faith.”

I laughed—not at him, but with this sense that God had just spoken to me through him. There was something innocent, almost ironic, about being told that I needed to take a leap of faith… into a job that is all about faith!

But Spencer was right. I was standing on the edge of a decision that scared me a bit — leaving the safety of the known for the wide-open unknown of what God was calling me to do.

In those months leading up to my first day at the church, I sensed God whispering, I’m preparing you. I’m using everything I’ve taught you to get you ready for what’s next. Trust Me, even when you can’t see what’s coming.

Looking back now, I can see how true that was. God has been near. He’s been faithful. And He’s used every season of my life to prepare me for this one.

Oswald Chambers put it this way: “If you’re going to do anything worthwhile, sometimes you have to risk everything and leap.”

That’s what I did. And God caught me.

Serving as a pastor has been such a joy — more rewarding and fulfilling than I ever imagined.

In the Lord, the safest way forward isn’t always the most secure. The life — and death — of Jesus show us that God’s way can be difficult, dangerous, even costly, but it’s always good.

Maybe you’re standing on the edge of something right now — a decision, a calling, a change that feels uncertain. Jesus still says, “Follow Me” (Matthew 4:19) and He still promises, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20, NLT).

Hebrews 11:6 reminds us that “without faith it is impossible to please God” (NIV).

Life was never meant to be lived playing it safe — not in a world as broken as this one. Real security comes from trusting that the guiding, sustaining arms of Jesus are strong enough to catch you and keep you.

Sometimes you just gotta take a leap of faith.
Sermon: The Best Miles, 9/6/2026

September 9, 2026
Number 2

September 3, 2026

He must become greater; I must become less.
— John 3:30, NIV

For most of my school years, one item appeared on the supply list with almost sacred regularity—a pencil.

But not just any pencil. A Number 2 pencil.

Elementary school, junior high, high school—it was always there. Somehow that little yellow stick could do just about anything. With it I could work a math problem, write an essay, take a test, sketch a race car or a dragon, scribble a note to a girl, or even write something on a desk when I knew perfectly well I wasn’t supposed to.

And on the other end was that little pink eraser. Turn the pencil around—180 degrees—and mistakes could disappear. Stray marks, misspellings, bad math, wrong answers—a multitude of pencil sins could be erased and tried again.

That Number 2 pencil was quite a tool. Maybe there’s something worth noticing about that number—2.

Our culture has long encouraged us to be Number 1. Back in the 1970s, Looking Out for Number One became a huge bestseller. The title alone captured something that remains very much alive today—promote yourself, protect yourself, build your platform, discover “your truth,” gather followers, get the likes, make a name, go viral.

Be noticed. Be first. Be… Number 1.

John the Baptist had every opportunity to think that way. Crowds were coming to hear him. People were being baptized. His influence was growing. Then Jesus arrived, and some of John’s followers became concerned that everyone seemed to be going to Him instead.

John’s response was radical: “He must become greater; I must become less.”

John understood something I easily forget. There already is a Number 1—and it isn’t me. For John, Number 1 was Jesus, and for me, it must be Jesus too. Maybe humility is learning to be content in the second chair. Not insignificant. Not unnecessary. Just rightly ordered.

Jesus first. Me second.

Scripture says, “God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble” (James 4:6, NIV).

Pride keeps reaching for the pencil, wanting to write our own story, make our own name, and receive the credit. But humility places the pencil back into God’s hand and says, “You lead. You write. You increase.”

And when we get it wrong—and we will—grace invites us to turn around. To repent and let Him erase what needs to be erased and begin again.

Being Number 2 is more than stepping aside. It is trusting that Jesus knows better than I do, sees what I cannot see, and can do with my life far more than I ever could on my own.

There is a lot of freedom in being Number 2. I don’t have to be the center. I don’t have to get the applause. I don’t have to make sure everyone notices what I have done. I simply need to remember who is Number 1.

Jesus must become greater, I must become less. Jesus, teach me to be content—even grateful to be…

Number 2.
Who Doesn’t Want Amazing

August 27, 2026

[This week’s Nudging is adapted from my men’s devotional, Be Ready: A Man God Can Use.]

“Consecrate yourselves, for tomorrow the Lord will do amazing things among you.” —Joshua 3:5, NIV

It’s quite a moment. Israel stands at the edge of the Jordan River. Forty years behind them, the Promised Land before them. You can almost feel the anticipation—the quiet hope that this might finally be the moment. And this is the word God gives them—not pack your bags, not sharpen your swords, not get organized. But, “Consecrate yourselves.”

It feels almost out of place. Because if we’re honest, we want the second half of that verse more than the first: “The Lord will do amazing things among you.”

Who doesn’t want that—amazing things in our lives, in our homes, in our marriages, in our kids, in our churches? We want chains broken, addictions defeated, hearts made new, and a fresh sense of God’s presence. We want the amazing.

But we hesitate at consecration. Because consecration is not a feeling or a moment. To consecrate means to set your life apart—to belong fully to God. It is a quiet surrender of ownership—my thoughts are Yours, my time is Yours, my habits are Yours, my private life is Yours, my future is Yours. It’s where we stop managing appearances and offer God our lives.

For Israel, consecration involved preparation—but beneath it was something deeper… a heart turned fully toward God.

And that kind of surrender still matters.

Consecration shows up in the way we live. We become more attentive—quick to listen and ready to respond when God nudges. We grow more honest, with less hiding. We are more willing to let God lead. Sin is no longer managed, it’s brought into the light. And obedience is no longer occasional—it becomes the direction of our lives.

And in that place, something else happens. The presence of the Holy Spirit becomes more noticeable—His conviction more specific, His guidance more personal, and His power more evident in our lives. He strengthens what is weak, brings clarity where there was confusion, gives courage where there was hesitation, and produces what we cannot manufacture—a life that is aligned with God.

And then there’s that word: “tomorrow.”

We tend to think of tomorrow as distant. But in Scripture, tomorrow is tied to today. What God does next is connected to what we do now.

Israel would step into the Jordan tomorrow—but their preparation happened today. The water would part tomorrow—but their hearts were set apart today. The miracle was coming—but the moment of consecration was already here.

And that’s the tension we live in. We want God to do something new while we still hold on to what is old. We want breakthrough without surrender. We want the river to part without stepping in. But God’s pattern hasn’t changed. Consecrate yourselves… for tomorrow. What you do with God right now is not small—it’s preparation.

Tomorrow—whether it looks like a miracle, a breakthrough, or a deeper walk with Him—will be shaped by what you do today.

Who doesn’t want amazing?
Don’t Let Me Go Without You

August 20, 2026

“What else will distinguish me…?” — Exodus 33:16, NIV

In the movie The Truman Show, Truman Burbank believes he is living an ordinary life in an ordinary town. He has a home, a wife, a job, friends, and familiar routines. And every morning he gets up and goes about his day believing the world around him is real. But it isn’t.

His town is make-believe—a massive set built for a television show about his life. The people around him are actors. Even the horizon isn’t real. His whole world exists inside an enormous dome. Nearly everything Truman believes is real is fake. And slowly, Truman begins to see it. He begins to realize that the life he has accepted as reality isn’t what it seems.

That strange movie makes me think about Exodus 33.

Israel had sinned badly. While Moses was on the mountain meeting with God, the people made a golden calf and worshiped it. In the aftermath, God tells Moses that the journey can continue and the Promised Land is still before them. God even says He will send an angel ahead of them to drive out their enemies. They can keep moving and still arrive at the place they have been dreaming about. But He won’t be going with them.

Imagine hearing God say: You can have the destination, the land, and the victory. You can have what you have been working toward and longing for … but you won’t have Me.

Moses’ response is immediate: “If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here” (v. 15).

In other words, If You aren’t going with us … we don’t want to go.

Moses understood that the Promised Land without God’s presence would be something less than promised. It might seem like the real thing, but the One who made the promise would be missing.

Then Moses asks a question that’s hard to shake: “What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?” (v. 16)

What else will distinguish me? That isn’t just Moses’ question. It’s ours too.

What makes a life really alive? Is it getting the house? Building the career? Raising the family? Reaching retirement? Having enough money? Being respected? Accomplishing our “dreams”? Those can all be wonderful gifts. But none of them can take the place of God Himself.

Billy Graham once said, “My greatest fear is that God would remove His hand from me.”

Maybe one of the greatest dangers isn’t that our lives will fall apart. Maybe it’s that everything will keep working. We keep going, keep achieving, keep filling our calendars and reaching our destinations—and somewhere along the way, we become so busy living the life we have built that we hardly notice we are living it… without His Presence.

I think Moses and Billy Graham were onto something, and this should be our prayer:

Lord, whatever lies ahead, don’t let me go anywhere without You.
BACK TO JESUS Luke 17:11–19, Aug. 16, 2026

August 18, 2026

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A School Yard in Autumn