Month: June 2026

Spiritual Drought

/ Mark Brady / Leave a comment
Man praying on prayer mat on cracked dry desert ground
Image generated via AI.

A spiritual drought can feel eerily similar to a land drought — dry, cracked, silent, and painfully slow. It’s the season when prayer feels like dust in your mouth, scripture feels distant, and God feels quiet. But just as physical droughts have causes, signs, and eventual rain, so do the dry seasons of the soul.

In a land drought, the signs are obvious:

  • Rivers shrink
  • Soil cracks
  • Crops wither
  • Life slows down

The prophet Jeremiah described this vividly:

“The ground is cracked because there is no rain in the land.”
(Jeremiah 14:4)

Drought doesn’t happen overnight. It’s the slow accumulation of small deficits — one missed rainstorm at a time. Spiritual drought works the same way. It’s rarely one dramatic event. More often, it’s the gradual thinning of connection:

  • Prayer becomes routine
  • Worship feels hollow
  • Scripture seems silent
  • God feels far away

David knew this feeling well:

“My soul thirsts for You… in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”
(Psalm 63:1)

A spiritual drought is not a sign of God’s absence. It’s a sign of our deep need.

What Causes Spiritual Drought

Just as land drought can come from changing weather patterns, spiritual drought can come from shifting life patterns. Some common causes include:

  • Neglect of spiritual rhythms — skipping prayer, worship, or scripture until the well runs dry
  • Overwhelm and busyness — pouring out more than you take in
  • Unconfessed sin — which can clog the flow of intimacy
  • Disappointment or grief — which can make the heart retreat
  • Testing seasons — where God allows dryness to deepen our roots

Israel experienced this often. God told them:

“For the land… drinks water from the rain of heaven.”
(Deuteronomy 11:11)

Their survival depended on receiving what only God could give — and so does ours.

The Hidden Gift of Drought

Drought exposes what’s beneath the surface.
It reveals:

  • What we rely on
  • Where our roots actually go
  • Whether we’ve been living on yesterday’s rain

Strangely, drought is diagnostic. It shows us our need for God in a way abundance never does. And God uses drought to call His people back:

“Return to Me… and I will return to you.”
(Malachi 3:7)

The Promise of Rain

The good news is that spiritual drought is never permanent. God specializes in sending rain to barren places. Isaiah gives this promise:

“I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground.”
(Isaiah 44:3)

Notice the order: thirst first, then water. God doesn’t despise your dryness — He responds to it.

How to Invite Rain Again

Just as farmers prepare the soil before the rain comes, we can prepare our hearts:

  • Return to simple prayers — honest, unpolished, real
  • Open Scripture slowly — not for information, but for presence
  • Confess what’s been clogging the flow
  • Rest — spiritual drought often comes from exhaustion
  • Worship even when you don’t feel it — worship tills the soil
  • Ask boldly for renewal

Hosea gives a beautiful invitation:

“Let us press on to know the Lord. He will come to us like the rain.”
(Hosea 6:3)

When God sends rain, everything changes:

  • Hard soil softens
  • Seeds long buried begin to sprout
  • Rivers return
  • Life awakens

Your soul is no different. The drought won’t last forever. The rain is already gathering. And when it comes, you’ll see that the dry season wasn’t wasted — it was preparing you for deeper roots and greater fruit.

Copyright © 2026 Mark Brady. All rights reserved.

A Royal Flush

/ Mark Brady / Leave a comment
Image generated via AI.

Shannon’s house was packed. Friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, and even a few people who weren’t entirely sure how they knew her but came anyway because they knew Shannon’s husband Evan.

The spread was impressive: mini quiches, BBQ bacon‑wrapped water chestnuts, tiny sandwiches cut into shapes that suggested Shannon had spent too much time on Pinterest, amongst other items. Everyone mingled, laughed, and tried to guess what the occasion was. But then Shannon clapped her hands and said, “Alright, everyone, follow me.”

And like obedient, slightly confused ducklings, they followed her down the hallway… into the master bedroom… and then into the master bathroom. A bathroom was large enough to host a small conference. A bathroom with a soaking tub, a double vanity, and most importantly, a toilet that suddenly felt like the main character.

People exchanged looks. Someone whispered, “Why are we in here?” Another whispered back, “Maybe it’s a home renovation reveal?” A third muttered, “If she asks us to help install tile, I’m leaving.” Finally, someone asked Shannon directly, “What’s going on?”

Shannon smiled with the serene confidence of a woman who had planned something deeply unhinged and was proud of it. She turned to the minister she had invited.

He cleared his throat, opened his little black book, and began solemnly, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Shannon’s husband, Evan.” It was then that some realized they hadn’t seen him.

A collective gasp rippled through the bathroom. One guest raised a hand like they were in a classroom. “Um… why are we doing this in the bathroom?” Shannon clasped her hands, beaming with the enthusiasm of someone about to reveal a surprise she’d been dying to share. “Because,” she said, “after the minister is finished saying a few words, we will be flushing Evan’s ashes down the toilet.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

One quest choked on a mini quiche. Someone else whispered, “I knew Shannon was cheap, but this is extreme.” A third person asked, “Are we being punked?” And another said, “Oh, this is going on Facebook!” as they pulled out their phone.

The minister, consummate professional, continued his eulogy as if this were the most normal venue imaginable. Shannon nodded along, misty‑eyed, holding a decorative urn that looked suspiciously like it came from HomeGoods. When he finished, she lifted the lid, walked to the toilet with ceremonial reverence, and said, “Goodbye, Evan. You always said this was your throne, and when you sat here, you felt like royalty, and besides, you wanted a simple send‑off.” And with that, she poured.

A swirl.
A flush.
A gurgle of plumbing doing its best.

The guests stood frozen, unsure whether to clap, cry, or call a plumber. Shannon turned back to them, smiling brightly. “Finger foods are still available in the kitchen.”

Kingdom Investing

/ Mark Brady / Leave a comment
Young student and older woman talking with notebooks and coffee at a wooden table in a coffee shop
Image generated via AI.

April and I had the privilege of having a conversation with a five-year-old, or as he would say, “five and a half,” the other day at church. His mother had posted on Facebook pics and videos of him playing baseball. He’s good!

We were complimenting him on how well he could play. He said, “I know.” That is when he invited us to his next game. “I’m playing Monday night. In Bixby!” he said with excitement in his voice. I was surprised one of his age would be able to communicate that information so well.

Later that day, April and I were trying to see how we could arrange our time in order to make the game. I texted his mother and got the address, the time, and the field number in the sports megaplex. I told April, “We have to go. It will mean a lot to him and be a small investment in his future that could last a lifetime.” We did go, and sure enough, he played well, and his team won, like 14 to 4 over the other team.

You don’t get inventions in the mail with investment opportunities into people’s lives; you have to look for them.

Earthly investing grows what you can keep for a lifetime. Kingdom investing grows what you can keep for eternity. Scripture consistently contrasts these two paths—not to condemn wise financial stewardship, but to show that only one investment has a guaranteed, everlasting return.

Earthly investing is wise and often encouraged in Scripture, but it is limited. Build resources for this life. Proverbs praises diligence, planning, and wise stewardship.

  • Proverbs 21:5 — “The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance…”
  • Proverbs 13:11 — “Whoever gathers money little by little makes it grow.”

These verses affirm that earthly investing can be good, responsible, and God‑honoring. Earthly wealth is fragile.

  • Proverbs 23:5 — “Cast but a glance at riches, and they are gone…”
  • Ecclesiastes 5:10 — Wealth never fully satisfies.

No matter how successful, earthly investments end at death.

  • 1 Timothy 6:7 — “We brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.”

Earthly investing is useful, but it cannot outlast mortality.

Kingdom investing is about aligning your resources with God’s eternal purposes. Advance God’s mission and transform lives. Jesus frames this as storing treasure in heaven.

  • Matthew 6:19–20 — “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth… but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.”

Kingdom investment is about people, justice, mercy, discipleship, and love.

  • Mark 10:29–30 — Jesus promises that sacrifices made for the Kingdom will be repaid “a hundredfold.”
  • 1 Corinthians 15:58 — “Your labor in the Lord is not in vain.”

Kingdom investments never lose value. Kingdom fruit continues beyond your lifetime.

  • 2 Corinthians 4:18 — “What is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
  • Galatians 6:8 — “Whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.”

Kingdom investing is measured in transformed hearts, not financial charts.

Earthly investing is about accumulating what you cannot keep. Kingdom investing is about sowing what you cannot lose. Jesus never condemns wise financial planning—but He insists that the greatest investment is the one that outlasts the world itself.

Which part of your life, time, talent, or treasure—do you feel God nudging you to invest more intentionally in His Kingdom?

Copyright © 2026 Mark Brady. All rights reserved.

“The Woman in the Walls”

/ Mark Brady / 2 Comments
Woman with dark hair holding a large knife walking through a dim, damaged hallway
Image generated via AI.

Evan had the house to himself for the night — or so he thought. His wife, Claire, was “working late,” which usually meant spreadsheets, coffee, and her headphones on until midnight. Perfect conditions for a horror marathon. He dimmed the lights, queued up a low‑budget slasher called The Woman in the Walls, and settled in.

The movie opened with a grainy shot of a masked woman stalking a man through his own home. Evan smirked. “Classic,” he muttered. But then the killer spoke. Just one line. A whisper. A tone he knew. A tone he’d heard a thousand times when she teased him, when she scolded him, when she leaned in close to say goodnight.

Claire’s voice.

He sat up straighter. “No way,” he said, laughing nervously. Maybe the actress just sounded like her. Lots of people had similar voices. Right? Then the killer tilted her head, that same little tilt Claire did when she was pretending not to be annoyed.

Evan’s smile faded.

He grabbed the remote and rewound the scene. The killer stepped into the light, mask half‑shadowed, but the jawline… the posture… the way she tucked her hair behind her ear… His stomach dropped. It was Claire. Not “looked like Claire.” Not “reminded him of Claire.”

It was Claire.

He paused the movie. The screen froze on her silhouette, knife glinting. His phone buzzed. A text from Claire. “Hey, babe. You watching something scary tonight?” Evan swallowed hard. His thumbs hovered over the screen. Another text came through before he could reply: “I hope you’re enjoying the movie.” His blood ran cold. He hadn’t told her what he was watching. He hadn’t told anyone.

The paused image on the TV flickered — just for a second — as if the actress had moved. Evan blinked. The figure on the screen was no longer in the same pose. She was closer. Facing him. Head tilted. Smiling.

His phone buzzed again. “Don’t turn around.” Evan froze. The room felt suddenly smaller. The air behind him shifted, the faintest whisper of movement, like someone stepping out from the shadows. Slowly, trembling, he turned. Claire stood there.

Evan stared at Claire — real Claire — standing behind him in full killer costume, mask dangling from her fingers as she’d just come home from a PTA meeting with a very questionable dress code.

“Surprise!” she chirped.

He blinked. “You… you’re the killer?” She sighed dramatically. “Ugh. ‘Killer’ is such a harsh label. I prefer ‘independent contractor specializing in population reduction.’” Evan’s jaw dropped. “That’s… worse.” Claire shrugged. “Look, everyone needs a hobby. You collect Funko Pops. I collect… souls.” “That is NOT the same thing.” “Tell that to the credit card bill.”

The TV unpaused again on its own, showing on‑screen Claire raising her knife. Real Claire raised hers too — but instead of slashing, she pointed it at the TV like a disgruntled director. “Honestly, they edited out my best scene,” she muttered. “I improvised this whole monologue about the socioeconomic pressures of modern villainy. Very artsy. Very Sundance.”

Evan swallowed. “So… are you going to kill me?” Claire looked offended. “What? No! You think I’d murder my own husband? Who would reset the Wi‑Fi? Who would explain taxes? Who would open jars?” Evan exhaled in relief. He opened his mouth to respond, but the TV flickered again — this time showing a teaser for The Woman in the Walls 2: The Husband Strikes Back.

Evan frowned. “Wait… I’m in the sequel?” Claire grinned. “Yep! I pitched you as the comic relief. You scream funny.” “I do NOT scream funny.” She pulled out her phone, tapped a button, and a recording played: Evan shrieking like a malfunctioning tea kettle. He covered his face. “Delete that.” “Absolutely not. It’s going in the trailer.”

The lights flickered ominously. The house groaned. A shadow moved across the wall. Evan tensed. “Uh… Claire? Was that you?” She shook her head. “Nope. That’s the other killer.” “The WHAT?” “Oh, relax,” she said, patting his shoulder. “It’s Hollywood. There’s always a twist.” The shadow grew larger. Closer. Claire whispered, “If we survive this, you’re making popcorn.”

Dunkin Disciples

/ Mark Brady / 2 Comments
Dunkin' Donuts store with people holding coffee and donuts, parking lot, and drive-thru lane
Image generated via AI.

Water baptism is like dunking a donut — you go in one way and come out completely changed. The old you is gone. The new you is freshly made in Christ. At the church we attend, we recently had eleven people get baptized.

First up was a little girl. She was smiling as the minister started having a conversation with her, confirming she understood what she was doing. The young girl must have been excited about her decision to go public with her faith because before the minister could say, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” she went underwater. She dunked herself. When those in attendance realized what had just happened, they laughed. The surprised minister said, “Well, okay then!”

Water baptism is a public declaration of an inward transformation. It’s the moment you step into the water and say, “My old life is gone. I belong to Jesus now.” It’s simple, humble, and powerful — a physical picture of a spiritual reality.

Different donuts. One Dunkin’.
Different stories. One Savior.
Baptism unites us in the same message: Jesus makes us new.

“For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.”
(Galatians 3:27)

No matter your background, personality, or story, baptism unites every believer under the same truth.

The last person to be baptized was an older gentleman. I met him afterwards, and he shared with me that he felt bad that it took him 51 years to accept Jesus into his life and then to get baptized. I congratulated him on making the most important decision of his life, and then said, “Wow! 51 years of sin. No wonder the water was dirty when you got out.” We laughed and celebrated that he is now a new creation.

This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!
2 Cor. 5:17  (NLT)

Water baptism is one of the most beautiful, symbolic moments in a believer’s life — and surprisingly, it has more in common with a trip to Dunkin’ Donuts than you might expect.

Next time you see someone dunking a donut into coffee — or you do it yourself — let it remind you of your baptism:

“Buried with Christ. Raised to new life.”

Copyright © 2026 Mark Brady. All rights reserved.

The Day the Penny Got Fired

/ Mark Brady / Leave a comment
Man resembling former president at desk with animated walking penny figure
Image generated via AI.

The trouble began at exactly 9:02 a.m., when Penny Lincoln Copperworth III, a 2014‑minted, slightly scuffed but proud one‑cent coin, was summoned to the Oval Office.

Penny clinked nervously across the Resolute Desk as President Trump leaned forward, hands steepled, expression serious. “Penny,” he said, “we need to talk about your performance.” Penny gasped. “Performance? Sir, I’ve been in circulation for twelve years. I’ve survived washing machines, couch cushions, and a toddler who tried to eat me.” Trump nodded. “Tremendous résumé. Really tremendous. But the economy’s changing. People aren’t using you anymore. You’re… well… underperforming.” Penny’s rim quivered. “Underperforming? I literally am the economy. I’m money!” “Technically,” Trump said, “you’re one cent. And between us, people keep leaving you in parking lots. That’s not a good sign.” Penny tried to protest, but Trump slid a tiny pink slip across the desk.

“You’re fired!”

The penny let out a metallic squeak. “But don’t worry,” Trump added. “I’m promoting the nickel. Big things happening for the nickel. Big, big things.”

Penny rolled dramatically off the desk, muttering about inflation, disrespect, and how quarters always got special treatment. By noon, Penny had already updated its résumé, applied for a position in a wishing fountain, and started a podcast titled “Making Cents of It All.” And honestly? It was a hit.

The Hammer That Builds — Words That Give Life

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Middle-aged man with beard holding a hammer handle in his mouth in a woodworking workshop
Image generated via AI.

A hammer drives nails with purpose. Each strike fastens pieces together, creating strength, unity, and structure. In the same way, our words can secure what is good in the lives of others.

Proverbs 16:24 says,
“Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body.”

When we speak encouragement, truth, and blessing, we are driving nails of stability into someone’s spirit. We are building:

  • Confidence
  • Hope
  • Peace
  • Connection
  • Faith

Just as a carpenter builds with intention, we are called to speak with intention. Every word becomes a beam, a brace, or a nail that strengthens the people around us.

The Claw That Tears Down — Words That Wound

Flip the hammer over, and the claw can pull apart what was once secure. It can remove nails, dismantle boards, and undo hours of careful work. The tool isn’t evil—it’s simply powerful.

So is the tongue.

James 3:5 warns,
“The tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things. How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire!”

A single careless comment can pry loose trust.
A harsh word can split open an old wound.
Gossip can dismantle a reputation nail by nail.
Sarcasm can weaken the beams of a relationship.

The claw has its purpose—sometimes things must be removed or corrected—but when used recklessly, it destroys what God meant to stand.

The Spiritual Blueprint: Choose Your Swing

A skilled builder never swings a hammer without aim. Likewise, a wise believer doesn’t speak without awareness.

Proverbs 18:21 reminds us,
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue.”

That means:

  • Every conversation is a construction site.
  • Every word is a tool.
  • Every moment is a choice.

Will I build, or will I break?
Will I drive in truth, or pry apart peace?
Will I strengthen someone’s faith, or weaken it?

The hammer doesn’t choose its purpose—the builder does.
The tongue doesn’t choose its impact—the heart does.

Final Thoughts

Imagine carrying a hammer everywhere you go. You’d be mindful of where you swing it. You’d be careful around fragile things. You’d be intentional about what you build.

Your tongue deserves the same reverence.

Because long after the sound of the hammer fades, the structure remains. And long after your words are spoken, their impact stands—either as a shelter or as a ruin.

Copyright © 2026 Mark Brady. All rights reserved.

Cheaper Than Therapy

/ Mark Brady / 2 Comments
Man aiming and firing handgun at a cracked computer screen in a home office
Image generated via AI.

There once was an author named Clive McGrimm,
Who smiled very politely… but harbored things within.
He’d nod when you spoke, he’d say, “Oh, how nice!”
Then go home and edit your fate in a trice.

Oh, Clive had a hobby, no, scratch that, a need.
To write little stories at lightning speed.
And in them were people, quite real, more or less,
But thinner on patience and thicker on mess.

You see, if you crossed him, cut in line at the store,
Or talked through a movie, or knocked on his door.
At 6 in the morning with leaf-blower cheer
Well… you’d find yourself fictionally vanishing, dear.

“Oh look,” Clive would murmur, adjusting his pen,
“Here’s Nigel, who double-parked twice last week when
I circled for ages. Now Nigel, my friend
You’ll trip on page three and meet quite a quick end.”

And type-ity clack went the keys in delight,
As Nigel fell from some suspiciously tall height.
Not graphic, not gory, Clive wasn’t a brute.
Just sudden and final, with dark comic loot.

There was Amber, who blasted her music at night,
Boom-booming the walls till his tea shook with fright.
Clive sighed as he wrote, “Amber, rave queen of doom.
You’ll anger a ghost in a haunted spare room.”

And poof in the tale, she was gone in a blink,
A cautionary note with a sarcastic wink.

“Oh, I feel much better,” he’d say with a grin,
As fictional justice restored calm within.
His anger dissolved into paragraphs neat,
With karmic conclusions, both tidy and sweet.

His editor asked, “Why so many abrupt ends?”
Clive chuckled, “Oh, purely symbolic, my friend.”
He never explained (thinking this is how it should be):
His stories were definitely cheaper than therapy.

So, if you meet Clive, be considerate and kind,
Use turn signals, chew softly, and wait your turn in line.
For though he seems gentle, well-mannered, and fulfilled…
You really don’t want to be written in and then killed.

How Many Times do I Have to Say It?

/ Mark Brady / 1 Comment
Fiery glowing heart shape floating in a warmly lit rustic cabin
Image generated via AI..

I did a favor for someone recently. The recipient acted as if they didn’t even notice. They never said, “Thank you.” That bothered me–a lot. So, after a few days, I asked them about the situation. I asked them, “Why didn’t you say thank you?” Their reply shocked me. They responded by asking, “How many times do I have to say it?”

I wanted to say, “How about 70 times 7?” That was Jesus’ response, though to a question about how many times to forgive someone. I couldn’t let it go. I wondered, does this person treat everyone like this? What about “Love thy neighbor?” Would you treat your neighbor that way? They do you a favor, and you don’t even acknowledge it?

The second part of the command to love thy neighbor is to love them as you love yourself. Well, what if a person doesn’t really love themselves? Does that hinder them in saying, “Thank you?” Because they don’t have a heart of gratitude? That would be a problem.

  • Perhaps they aren’t grateful for what Jesus did for them on the cross.
  • Maybe the issue is that they have done something they can’t forgive themselves for.
  • It could be something that happened to them by someone else, but they blame themselves.
  • Maybe they don’t feel they are worthy of forgiveness.

Whatever it is, it hinders them from having a heart of gratitude and, therefore, being grateful when others do something for them. I pray for them. I pray that whatever is hurting them, hindering them from having a heart of God, a heart of love, would be healed. That they would be able to say, “Thank you” whenever someone does something for them.

The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.”
Mat. 12:31 (NIV)

Copyright © 2026 Mark Brady. All rights reserved.

The Hardest Decision

/ Mark Brady / Leave a comment
Person standing on city sidewalk holding illuminated Pizza Planet box
Image generated via AI.

Travis froze in the hallway, caught between two equally powerful gravitational forces: the smell of his favorite sausage, onion, and green pepper pizza drifting from inside the elevator, and the presence of the woman who had just stepped up beside him, radiant, calm, and, if he wasn’t imagining it, smiling at him. She had just stepped off the other elevator.

The elevator chimed. The doors began to slide shut.

Inside, on a small table someone had inexplicably left behind, sat the pizza box. His pizza box. One half of his order that he had waited forty minutes for and fantasized about during the entire elevator ride back down to the lobby, to ask the concierge where his wings were. When he accepted the order from the delivery guy, he was so hungry that he hadn’t noticed the wings were missing. The cheese still bubbled. The crust glistened. It was the kind of pizza that made grown men rethink their priorities.

But then there was her.

She stood just outside the elevator, dark hair put up for an evening out on the town, eyes warm and curious. She wasn’t just beautiful; she had that presence that made the world feel a little quieter, a little more intentional. She looked at him like she was about to say something. Maybe ask something. Maybe invite something.

The elevator doors narrowed to a slit.

Pizza.

Woman.

Pizza.

Woman.

His soul split cleanly in half.

In the final second, Travis made his choice.

He stepped forward, not into the elevator, but toward her.

The doors sealed shut behind him with a soft ding, carrying his beloved pizza away forever.

He exhaled, half‑heartbroken, half‑hopeful.

She tilted her head. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I think I just made the hardest decision of my life.”

She laughed, bright and musical. “Well… by the end of the night, I hope you will think it was worth it.”

Travis smiled, stomach growling in protest. “I really hope so, too.”

And as they walked through the lobby together, he realized something surprising. For the first time in his life, he didn’t miss pizza.