The most decisive battles for the soul are rarely loud. They are fought quietly—through attention, direction, and daily choice. There are few words more dangerous to the life of faith than the word later . It sounds reasonable. Later feels patient. Thoughtful. Mature. It feels like wisdom waiting for the right moment. And because it doesn’t sound like refusal, it rarely triggers resistance. This is where the long strategy exposed by C. S. Lewis  in The Screwtape Letters  come

The most decisive battles for the soul are rarely loud. They are fought quietly—through attention, direction, and daily choice. We talk about community a lot. It’s one of the most celebrated words in the modern church. We encourage people to find it, join it, plug into it, build it. And for good reason because Christian faith was never meant to be lived in isolation. But there’s a question we rarely stop to ask, even as we champion togetherness. What if community, by itself,

The most decisive battles for the soul are rarely loud. They are fought quietly—through attention, direction, and daily choice. There’s a sentence that shows up again and again in conversations about faith. “I just don’t feel it anymore.” It usually isn’t said with anger, or bitterness, or rebellion. It’s said almost gently, like an observation. As if faith were something you wake up one morning and discover has quietly slipped out of your hands. Always remember and heed the

The most decisive battles for the soul are rarely loud. They are fought quietly—through attention, direction, and daily choice. There’s a version of spiritual warfare most of us expect. It ’s loud. It’s obvious. It announces itself. We imagine temptation showing up like a breaking news alert. We expect rebellion to feel dramatic, unmistakable, even thrilling in its danger. When we picture someone losing their faith, we imagine a decisive moment, a crisis, a betrayal, a bold