Grace in the Missed Day

Sometimes, you rise, and before you know it, the whole day is gone — and not because you were running, not because you were distracted, but because you were living. You were caught up in the life that Christ gives.

Two days ago, I missed a day of writing. Not because I was lazy. Not because I was avoiding it. Not because I was stuck in fear. I just... forgot. My day was so full — full of faces, full of prayer, full of laughter, full of real fellowship — that when I finally lay down to rest, the sun already beyond my view, I realized: I hadn’t even thought about writing.

And I smiled.

If you know anything about how I used to be, you know — that’s not normal for me. I was the guy who would whip myself over missing a checkbox. I was the guy who would hear the voice whisper, “You’re slipping. You’re failing. You’re not serious enough.” I was the guy who believed that if I didn’t do everything perfectly, I was a failure and a disappointment.

But not this time.
Because I don't write to earn something anymore.
I write because I love Him.
And that Sunday, I didn’t need to put it into words.
I was already living it.

The Bible says:
“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”
John 13:35

It’s not the work. It’s not the polished journals and perfect schedules. It’s the love — the messy, beautiful, real love that we share when we live in Him. That’s how the world knows we belong to Christ.

That day, I was surrounded. I can still see it — walking into our friend's home, the smell of potluck food in the air, kids tearing past my legs, one of the guys slapping me on the back and saying, “Good to see you, brother!” Adding leafs to the old wood tables, every inch of the counter crowded with crockpots and paper plates and brownies that looked like somebody’s grandmother had been working all week just to bless us.

I sat there holding a small bowl of soup my wife had made. Thinking about the prayer that had just been said about coming together and seeking joy in fellowship. There was this familiar sound of laughter and conversation and plates clinking and babies fussing. And in the middle of it, I caught myself just stopping. Just breathing. Feeling the hum of life all around me.

I thought, “This is it. This is what it feels like to walk with Christ among His people.”

I wasn’t performing.
I wasn’t analyzing.
I wasn’t trying to prove anything.
I was just there — held in the arms of His Body.

The Bible says:
“And they continued stedfastly in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of bread, and in prayers.”
Acts 2:42

They didn’t scatter after hearing the Word.
They stayed.
They ate together.
They prayed together.
They breathed together.

It’s easy to miss how radical that is. Especially for somebody like me — someone who spent most of his life feeling like an outsider even in a crowded room. Someone who thought that life was about keeping up appearances instead of being knit together in love.

And it hit me — sitting at that table, the wooden legs creaking every time somebody leaned in for a better story — how far the Lord has brought me.

Because years ago... it looked very different.

I remember it clear as day. I was sitting in a 5th wheel I was living in with my wife. We were broke, doing a work exchange for room and board. I had the blinds pulled halfway down, this cheap table set up against a peeling wall. I had launched this tiny YouTube channel — just me, trying to "help people" through personal development. No Christ. No cross. Just me, trying to build something.

I had promised myself: one video a day. No exceptions. For a few weeks, I hit it. Every day, dragging myself in front of that camera. Clicking "upload" even when it felt hollow. I thought, "If I just grind hard enough, something good will come."

And then one day... I didn’t feel like it.

I sat there staring at the camera. Then I opened a tab and started scrolling youtube. Told myself I’d do it tomorrow. But when tomorrow came... I didn’t. Instead, I heard that old, cruel voice in my head: “You blew it. You’ll never stick with anything. You’re a failure.” And I believed it. I believed it so much that I never posted another video again.

I gave up — not because I was too weak to press record — but because I thought one missed day meant I was finished. I thought the mistake was the final verdict on my life.

The Bible says:
“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast.”
Ephesians 2:8–9

I didn’t know that back then. I thought life was a project. I thought worth was something you earned with hustle. I thought failure was a death sentence.

But now — sitting at that noisy, joyful table, stories still bouncing off the walls — I know the truth.
Grace means you don’t fall out of the Father’s hands because you stumbled.
Grace means He’s the one holding you — not the other way around.

Missing a day of writing didn’t make me less His.
It didn’t tear me away from His presence.
It didn’t even put a dent in the joy He has in me.

Because the work was never the point.
The relationship is.

The Bible says:
“Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”
Philippians 1:6

It’s His work in us that matters. It’s His Spirit that carries us across the finish line. Not our perfect streaks. Not our unbroken records. Not our unblemished pages.

That day I missed writing — I didn’t fall behind.
I walked deeper in.

Because Christ isn’t calling us to become machines for Him.
He’s calling us to become sons and daughters with Him.

And walking among His people, laughing, eating, praying, sharing life side-by-side... that was closer to Him than a thousand perfect journal entries.

So today, if you feel like you’ve slipped, if you’re sitting there replaying your missed moments, your broken streaks, your half-done dreams — hear this loud and clear:
You are not the sum of your perfect days.
You are not the sum of your failures either.
You are His.

And He’s not going to stop working in you.

Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.

Have you ever believed that missing a day meant you were finished — instead of seeing it as a chance to walk deeper with Christ?