Whether you ever share it with anyone or not, one of the most powerful things you can do when you’re processing something before the Lord is write it down.

Writing isn’t just recording your thoughts — it’s a way of making space for the Holy Spirit to speak. There are insights, reflections, and moments of wisdom that won’t fully emerge until you take the time to sit down with a pen and paper and begin.

In writing, what was once intangible becomes tangible; writing gives substance to thoughts, prayers, and ideas that otherwise would have floated past unnoticed.

Renewal often starts here — in the quiet, in the slow, in the honest work of reflection.

Before we go any further, let’s talk about what we mean when we say renewal. The tendency is to think of renewal as something that happens once — like when someone is born again and first realizes who Jesus is. And while the realization of who Jesus is should absolutely reorient your life, renewal isn’t a one-time event. It’s a continual, Spirit-led process of becoming who God intended you to be.

Over time, without even realizing it, we adapt different versions of ourselves to survive — defense mechanisms, coping strategies, ways of being that feel safe but ultimately aren’t our truest selves. Renewal is the beautiful, often slow, work of God stripping those away, layer by layer, to reveal the glory He placed inside you.

It’s not the kind of glory the world chases — not fame, influence, or self-importance. It’s an inverted, crucified kind of glory. One that comes through surrender.

Just as the glorification of Jesus didn’t come without the cross, the revelation of who God is in our lives doesn’t come without walking through surrender and suffering either.

You don’t experience resurrection without death. You don’t experience true glory without the cross.

As we give God more access to our hearts — not just the parts we want Him to see, but the deeply ingrained patterns and hidden fears — He transforms us.

He interrupts our autopilots, exposing areas where we’ve been living out of habit, fear, or even habitual sin responses we didn’t recognize.

That’s why we need to preach the gospel to ourselves daily.

Without the gospel — without the truth that Christ’s righteousness covers our sin — we are trapped in a cycle of guilt and shame. No matter how hard we try, apart from grace, we end up striving to perform for acceptance rather than living in the acceptance we’ve already been given.

The same gospel that saves us is the gospel that sanctifies us.

This process — what theologians call sanctification, or spiritual formation — is not about becoming “better” by human standards. It’s about becoming who God originally created you to be.

Beware of teachers who only tell you what you want to hear.

“You’re enough.”
“Just believe in yourself.”
“You’ve got this.”

There’s actually a sweet relief in admitting you’re deeply flawed and desperately in need of a Savior. That’s where freedom begins — in surrender, not in self-confidence.

Because if we’re not careful, we will slip back into an old, familiar lie:
I have to perform so that God will accept me.

But the cross stands forever as a reminder:
You are accepted because of Christ’s performance, not your own.

And here’s the thing — personal renewal always precedes corporate revival.

If we want to see revival in our homes, churches, and communities, it has to
start inside of us first.
In the hidden place.
In the surrendered heart.
In the pages of the journal no one else may ever read.

That’s where renewal begins.