Men, let’s talk about growth. What is one place in your life where you sense God calling you to rise, to step forward, to take responsibility. It is written Be strong and courageous, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. What step is God asking you to take next.

Tell me something that’s feeling heavy today?

Divorve, custody battles etc? Pleae ler me know??

D.A Woodfield There is a spirit at work in the world today — seductive, patient, and deadly. It does not arrive with horns, nor does it announce itself with rage. It comes cloaked in beauty. In charm. In the promise of comfort. It knows your weakness and whispers exactly what you want to hear. This essay is not for the casual reader. It is not for those who want their sins rebranded as struggles or their demons excused as desires. This is a cry of war against the spirit of Jezebel — a spirit that has brought down kings, silenced prophets, and made cowards of once-godly men. If you’ve ever found yourself wrestling with lust, emotional soul ties, or spiritual fog after an encounter that looked beautiful but left you broken — you may already know her. And if you don’t flee now, you may die there. “For the lips of a forbidden woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil, but in the end she is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two‑edged sword. Her feet go down to death.” — Proverbs 5:3–5 I. The Bed of Seduction There is a bed. A beautiful one. Silk sheets. Perfumed pillows. Laughter in the shadows. It promises warmth, ecstasy, validation — even love. But when the veil lifts, it’s soaked in blood. And at its foot are skulls. This is the bed of Jezebel. And it is real. It is not symbolic. It is not metaphorical. It is not romantic. It is death incarnate. II. A Personal Confession: What It Cost Me I know, because I’ve stood at its edge. For years, I walked in deep spiritual clarity — no lying, no lust, no compromise. I trained my eyes, fasted often, and kept my heart clean. Even when temptation came wrapped in beauty, flattery, or Scripture itself — I said no. Not out of pride. Not out of waiting for something better. Just… no. Because I knew what it cost. I knew the peace I carried was more valuable than the fleeting pleasure. But then one day, I gave in. Slowly, subtly. This wasn’t just a woman — this was something ancient. She quoted Scripture when I stood firm. She invoked crystals when I didn’t budge. And eventually, I fell. And I fell hard. All the ground I’d taken back over three years vanished in days. Depression. Restlessness. Madness in the mind. I had tasted hell again — and all from a kiss that looked like love.

(Jude 1 Devotional) ________________________________________________________________________________ There are some days I wake up and I can feel the weight of the fight before my feet even touch the floor. The battle isn’t always visible, sometimes it’s in the mind, sometimes in the quiet heaviness of the heart, but I know what it is. It’s the war for my faith. The enemy doesn’t need to destroy me; he only needs to distract me, to make me loosen my grip on what I already know is true. “Beloved, contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints.” That word “contend” hits deep. It isn’t passive. It’s not polite or convenient. It means to struggle, to wrestle, to fight for what heaven has already handed me, even when life tries to pry it from my hands. There were seasons when I didn’t even know I was in that fight. When I was drowning in addiction, shame, and loss, I thought I had forfeited the right to faith. But the truth is, grace was fighting for me long before I learned to fight for it myself. Faith has never been easy for me. It has been the slow rebuilding of a heart that had been torn apart too many times. It has been trusting God when the bills were unpaid and my son was asleep in the next room, and all I could do was pray over him and whisper that somehow, we’d make it. It has been the choice to stay pure when the world tempted me to fill the void with something counterfeit. It has been the decision to forgive when I had every reason not to. Hebrews 10:38 says, “The just shall live by faith.” That verse doesn’t promise a smooth life. It promises a faithful one. And faith, at its core, is not about comfort, it’s about conviction. I’ve come to understand that contending for the faith is not about proving anything to anyone else. It’s about protecting the sacred trust that was given to me. The faith that lifted me from addiction. The faith that restored me as a father. The faith that met me on the floor of my own despair and whispered, “Get up. You’re still mine.”