The idea that "experience is the best teacher" is popular—but wrong. Experience alone doesn’t teach wisdom; it only reflects what’s already in the heart. An alcoholic doesn’t become wise by getting drunk, nor does someone become discerning by being hurt. Without faith and a godly heart, experience leads to bitterness, not insight. As Proverbs says, “Keep thy heart with all diligence,” because it’s the heart—not the experience—that shapes what we learn. True wisdom comes not from what we go through, but from how God’s Word and Spirit shape us in it. Experience isn’t the teacher—faith is.

Many people today indulge in fear for entertainment—horror movies, scary stories, and imaginary threats. But this craving for false fear often masks a deeper issue: a refusal to face real fear—the fear of the Lord. Scripture says, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge” (Prov. 1:7). Healthy fear keeps us grounded in reality and warns us of danger. But fearing monsters instead of God shows a rejection of wisdom. Fools avoid real accountability by choosing fake fears they can escape. But the fear of God confronts us with our sin—and calls us to repentance, truth, and life. What kind of fear shapes your life?

True education must focus on life’s basics—or it becomes miseducation. First, it must teach about God, the source of life; ignoring Him is to train for ignorance. Second, it must uphold the family, our first and most vital institution. To neglect it is to deny our foundation. Third, it must teach core skills—reading, writing, reasoning—the tools for daily life. Without these, we send children into the world unarmed. Scripture calls us to educate the whole person in truth. If we neglect this, we are not just failing our children—we are helping a generation stumble toward destruction.

If you want to be a curse in your church, be quick to criticize, slow to listen, and convinced you alone know the truth. From coast to coast, pastors encounter such people—those who grill visitors, drive others away, and speak of “love” while showing none. Scripture calls us instead to submit to godly authority and be “ready to every good work” (Titus 3:1). A spirit of constant judgment tears down the body of Christ, while humble obedience and readiness to serve build it up. So ask yourself honestly: are you a blessing—or a burden—to the church?

One grieving husband learned, too late, that his wife had quietly praised him to others—but never to him. Her constant complaints left him feeling unappreciated, despite her true feelings. Paul reminds us in Ephesians 5:4 that thankfulness—not bitterness or foolish talk—is fitting for believers. Yet gratitude is often the gift we give least, though it blesses both giver and receiver. A thankful heart reflects contentment with God and brings peace to others. If you want to be a blessing, start with thankfulness—because a truly thankful person is a blessing.

In 1 Timothy 1:9, Paul includes “murderers of mothers” (metraloais) among the worst offenders—a shocking reminder of how deeply sin can corrupt. This word implies not only literal murder but any violent or dishonorable assault on a mother’s God-given role. Scripture commands us to honor father and mother, not because they are perfect, but because the family is God’s foundational institution. To attack or dishonor that structure is to strike at the root of social order. Paul’s warning is clear: when we allow the authority of parents—especially mothers—to be undermined, we invite societal collapse. His words are urgent for our time.

In 1751, Americans protested Britain’s practice of sending criminals to the colonies, calling it a gift of contempt. They rightly asked: what good parent sends poison to their children? But the question cuts both ways. If we, as children of God, give Him only our leftovers—our spare time, energy, and money—aren’t we showing the same kind of contempt? Jesus said no good father gives a stone instead of bread. So what are we offering our heavenly Father? Our gifts reflect our hearts—and poor gifts may reveal a heart far from Him.

A wealthy Christian couple gives generously to ministries but shows deep personal inconsistency: they ignore their godly, struggling son while endlessly supporting their rebellious daughter. This kind of misplaced compassion reflects a broader problem—when even Christians excuse sin and enable folly, how can we expect the world to act differently? If the church is soft on unrepentant sinners, society will be too. True grace is never a license for sin, and real love holds people accountable. As Scripture says, judgment begins in the house of God. We must not try to sanctify what God calls folly.