“When the mountain looks too big, start with faith”

Have you ever looked at a project—one that means so much to you—that it almost takes your breath away? The kind that carries your memories, your hopes, and the love you’ve poured into every dream you’ve ever had. It’s not just an idea—it’s a piece of your heart.

And yet, as you stand at the edge of it, staring into the magnitude of what it could become, a wave of doubt hits you. You think, This is too big. How can I possibly do this? The weight of it all—time, effort, emotion—feels like more than you can carry.

I’ve been there. That moment when excitement and fear collide. When the heart wants to leap forward, but the mind whispers, slow down… this is too much.

But then—there’s that quiet, steady voice deep inside. A whisper that cuts through the noise and says, Just take the first step… and watch Me work on your behalf.

That’s the beauty of faith—it doesn’t demand that we see the whole path. It only asks that we trust enough to move one step at a time. Because often, the first step is the key that unlocks what’s waiting beyond our sight.

I’ve learned that the projects that scare us most are usually the ones most worth doing. The ones that stretch us, humble us, and remind us that we were never meant to do it alone.

So, whatever your “big thing” is—start small. Start now. Take that first step in faith, and trust that the One who placed the dream in your heart will guide your hands the rest of the way.

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” — Exodus 14:14

Notes from Alex – A Light in the Chaos

As I sit and reflect on my spiritual journey, I see a thread running through my life that started long before I chose to follow Christ. Even as a kid, I felt this pull inside me—a desire to be a positive light in a world that often seemed swallowed up in darkness.

I remember looking around at my community, at my people, and noticing the chaos that swirled like a storm. It was heavy and unsettling, even then. And yet, deep in my heart, I knew I wanted to do something different. To be an encouragement. To bring a spark of light, however small, into the lives of those around me.

Sometimes that looked like the simplest of things—saying hello, asking how are you doing?, or just stopping long enough to really listen. I didn’t always know what I was doing, but I knew it mattered.

When I chose to follow Christ, that quiet nudge inside me didn’t disappear—it became stronger, clearer, and more purposeful. I began to understand that God had given me tools for this journey: prayer, His Word, the ability to speak encouragement, and the call to walk alongside others as they faced their own struggles.

These tools aren’t just for me; they’re meant to be shared. They’re meant to point people toward hope, toward light, toward the One who is greater than all of us.

Looking back, I see how God was already preparing my heart before I even realized it. That desire I felt as a kid—to be a light in the midst of chaos—wasn’t just me. It was Him. It always was.

And this is where I’ve landed: life isn’t about having it all figured out, but about using what God has placed in your hands to encourage, uplift, and shine a light for others on their journey.

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And as I continue walking with my Creator, I hold onto this thought: my life is simply beautiful chaos, dancing in the wind of the Spirit.

As Jesus said in John 3:8, “The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”

That’s how my journey feels—mysterious, sometimes unpredictable, but always alive in the movement of God.

Emerging from the Valley into a New Season

There are seasons in life that feel like endless night—where pain, confusion, and suffering seem to swallow every ounce of hope. For me, that season began in the first week of December 2023.

I don’t remember much from that day, only fragments of what happened. One moment I was at home, and the next, I was being medevaced by helicopter to the University of Tennessee Medical Center. My body was shutting down from a parasite that had been inside me for years, slowly weakening me until it finally brought me to my knees.

In the ICU, I suffered multiple mini-strokes, and at one point, I even passed on the table—only to be brought back. My body was being kept alive by multiple IVs, machines, and the relentless work of doctors and nurses I had never met. For seven days, I was unconscious. When I finally opened my eyes, I was disoriented, everything looked black and white, and though I could see people’s lips moving, I couldn’t hear a sound. Hours later, when I opened my eyes again, color had returned, sound had returned, and a nurse gently greeted me back into the world.

The pain was overwhelming. The shock was real. I remember silently weeping, asking myself, What in the world just happened to me?

And then, in that fragile moment, a scripture rose up inside me:

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13

I whispered, “Father, You will have to be my strength, because right now, I have none.”

That was the beginning of my healing journey. I had to learn how to walk again. I had to endure months of recovery, with moments that felt unbearable. I was uprooted and unsettled, facing the reality of moving back to Alaska while still fighting through weakness and pain. For over a year, it felt as if I was walking through a valley I didn’t know how to escape—a very real dark night of the soul.

It was hard. It was hurtful. It was sad. And yet… it was not without purpose.

Because in that dark place, I learned surrender. I learned that when all strength is gone, God Himself becomes our strength. I learned to pray not from a place of control, but from utter dependence. I learned that even when my world turned black and white, God was still painting in color.

Now, as I stand here today, I sense a shift. That long night is ending. A new season is dawning.

The valley doesn’t last forever. The storm eventually passes. And while the scars remain, they serve as reminders of God’s mercy, His power to restore, and His promise to carry us through the shadows.

Today, I feel the sun rising again. The dark night of the soul is over, and I am stepping into the light of a new season with renewed faith, deeper trust, and a heart that knows—truly knows—that God is faithful.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” — Psalm 30:5

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A Closing Prayer

Heavenly Father,
Thank You for being our strength when we have none. For those walking through their own dark night, remind them that You are near—that even in the valley, You are the light that never fades. Teach us to surrender, to trust, and to lean fully on You. Lord, bring healing where there is pain, peace where there is fear, and joy where there has been sorrow. We declare in faith that the night will not last forever, and that Your morning light will rise over our lives. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Blog Post for “Notes by Alex”
By Alex Atkinson

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A Stirring I Cannot Shake: The Weight of a Dangerous Anointing

Lately, I have sensed a stirring in my heart — one I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s persistent. Gentle, yet weighty. I can’t shake it, and truthfully, I don’t want to. This stirring is not born from emotion or circumstance; it’s deeper. It’s a holy unrest. A spiritual nudge from the One who sees all, knows all, and calls us forward.

Our Creator is on the move.

I found myself recently listening to the voice of a general of the faith — Kathryn Kuhlman. Her words didn’t just inspire me; they broke me. Her voice, her heart, her deep reverence for the Holy Spirit struck a place in me that I didn’t realize had grown quiet.

And then it hit me: everything she was declaring — about the cost, the calling, and the surrender — felt like it was aimed right at my heart. That’s when I heard this phrase, echoing in my spirit:

“You are dangerously anointed by God.”

At first, it sounded bold, maybe even dramatic. But the more I sat with it, the more I realized how weighty and true that phrase is for anyone chosen, called, and set apart by God.

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What Does It Mean to Be Dangerously Anointed?

It’s not about platform, power, or prestige. Being dangerously anointed means your life has become a threat to the enemy’s plans. It means you carry something holy — not for your glory, but for God’s. And that comes with a cost.

Here’s what I’ve come to understand:

1. Chosen and Set Apart

The anointing begins with a divine choosing. You didn’t ask for it — it finds you. You’re pulled into something greater than yourself, something eternal.

2. Empowered by the Spirit

The Holy Spirit empowers the anointed to fulfill their assignment. Not through talent or charisma, but through surrender and obedience.

3. Spiritual Warfare

That anointing draws fire. It attracts spiritual resistance. The enemy sees the threat and tries to neutralize it — through discouragement, distraction, and destruction.

4. Cost and Sacrifice

This journey is not glamorous. It’s lonely at times. You may be misunderstood, rejected, even attacked. But every step costs something — pride, comfort, reputation — and it’s all laid down for the sake of the call.

5. Atmosphere Shifter

Dangerously anointed people carry the presence of God in such a way that it shifts rooms, breaks chains, and awakens hearts. They carry light into darkness.

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Signs You Might Be Dangerously Anointed

• Unexplainable Attacks – Trouble seems to find you, even when you aren’t looking for it.
• Spiritual Battles – You wrestle with fear, doubt, and pressure.
• Opposition from Others – Even those close to you may not understand the weight you carry.
• Deep Compassion – You feel burdened for others, interceding for them with intensity.
• Holy Dissatisfaction – You crave more of God and less of this world.
• Breaking and Refining – God brings you to the end of yourself so He can fill you fully.

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This Anointing Is Not a Badge of Honor

Let’s be clear: this is not about elevating oneself. The anointing is a responsibility, not a reward. It demands humility, dependence, and discernment.

Sometimes the most anointed people are the quietest ones — praying behind the scenes, obeying God in obscurity, carrying burdens only He sees.

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My Takeaway in This Stirring Season

I don’t fully understand everything God is doing. But I sense the shift. I feel the breaking and the reordering. The Spirit is moving again in my life in a way I can’t deny. And I believe He’s doing it in others too — maybe in you.

If you feel the pressure, the hunger, the burden — don’t run from it. Let it drive you to the One who is calling. Let it humble you. Let it refine you.

This stirring is holy.

And our Creator is not finished with you yet.

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Pull Quotes for Sharing

• “The stirring in your spirit may be the signal that God is calling you deeper.”
• “Being dangerously anointed means your life is a threat to darkness — not a trophy for men.”
• “God doesn’t anoint the comfortable. He anoints the surrendered.”
• “There’s a cost to the anointing — but the presence of God is worth it all.”

From Faults to Faith: My Journey to Understanding Grace in Leadership

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Hey everyone, and welcome back to Notes by Alex!

For as long as I can remember, leadership has been a topic that utterly fascinates me. I’ve spent years observing, reflecting, and trying to understand what truly makes a good leader, and just as importantly, what contributes to a bad one. It’s a journey of discernment that has, over time, led me to a deeper understanding, particularly when viewed through a Christian lens.

The Reality of Leadership, Christian or Not

One of the most profound realizations I’ve had is this: Christians are not exempt from faults and failures. This might sound obvious, but sometimes we, myself included, can fall into the trap of expecting perfection from those in Christian leadership roles. The truth is, we’re all human. We all make mistakes, we all stumble, and yes, even leaders in the Christian world have their shortcomings.

It’s precisely in these moments of human frailty that the incredible power of grace truly comes into focus. We hear about grace, we talk about grace, but experiencing it – both as the one who extends it and the one who desperately needs it – is an entirely different matter.

My Own Journey with Failure and Grace

I can personally attest to this. There have been times in my own life, in various capacities of leadership, where I have failed. And let me tell you, those moments are humbling. They’re raw. But they’re also incredibly formative. It was through one such period of personal failure that the lyrics of the hymn “Amazing Grace” stopped being just words and became a profound, personal reality. “I once was lost, but now am found; Was blind, but now I see.” It was in that brokenness that I truly began to grasp the boundless love and forgiveness that grace offers.

Learning and Growing from Our Flaws

This brings me to a crucial point about leadership: when a leader fails and has faults, it’s not necessarily the end. In fact, it’s often a profound opportunity to learn and to grow.

Think about it:

• Humility: Failure often breeds humility, which is an essential characteristic of a good leader. It reminds us that we are not infallible and that we need God’s guidance and the support of others.
• Empathy: Having experienced failure or shortcomings can cultivate a deeper empathy for those we lead who are struggling. It helps us to approach situations with compassion rather than judgment.
• Resilience: Overcoming setbacks builds resilience. A leader who has navigated difficult personal waters is often better equipped to lead others through challenges.
• Authenticity: When a leader is transparent about their struggles and how they’ve learned from them, it builds trust and allows others to see them as a real, relatable person, not just a figurehead.

Of course, there’s a distinction to be made between a leader who makes a mistake and genuinely learns from it, and one who repeatedly acts out of character or demonstrates a consistent pattern of harmful behavior without accountability. But for those who are truly committed to growth, failure can be a powerful teacher.

What are your thoughts on leadership, both good and bad, particularly from a perspective that embraces human imperfection and the transformative power of grace? I’d love to hear your insights in the comments below!

What the Gospel Means to Me
By Alexander Atkinson Jr.

I’ve been sitting with this thought for quite some time: What does the Gospel mean to you?

For me, the Gospel isn’t just a message—it’s a journey. A love story, really. One that started way back when I was just a child attending Sunday school at the William Duncan Memorial Church, back when it was still a Methodist church. That’s where I first heard the name Jesus. There were good lessons—stories about kindness, miracles, and this man who loved people deeply. But as a kid, I didn’t fully grasp it. I heard the stories, but I didn’t feel them yet.

Years passed, and when I was 18, my family—Mom, Dad, and my sister—started attending the same church again. Only now, it had become an Assembly of God church. And wow… it was different. The place felt alive. I mean really alive. The music, the energy, the joy—it was contagious. I remember seeing the youth group around town, and something inside me stirred. I couldn’t explain it then, but it was like my heart whispered, They’ve got something I need.

I felt the same thing watching my parents. A kind of peace. A light. A quiet strength. I wanted that.

Then one cold October evening, everything changed.

My cousin, best friend, and I were walking near the Duncan Church when we heard music spilling out the front doors. Guitars, singing, voices full of life. The church was packed. I felt this strong pull, like something—or Someone—was calling me in. I said, “Hey, let’s go inside. It might be warm in there.” (That was the excuse I gave, anyway.)

So we walked in and found a seat near the back. I felt a little awkward but strangely at home. The singing was electric. The preacher was full of fire and joy. I don’t remember the message or what he preached that night—but I do remember the moment that came next.

He gave what’s called an altar call, an invitation for anyone who wanted prayer or to make a decision to follow Jesus. And in that moment, I knew: This is it. This is what I’ve been searching for.
My hand went up. I thought I’d just get prayed for from afar.

But then came the challenge: “If you raised your hand, come forward.”

My heart was racing. My palms were sweaty. But I went.

I knelt down at the front pew, completely unsure of what to do. I didn’t know how to pray. I didn’t even have the words. And then—tap on my shoulder. A man with a big smile knelt next to me. He was the youth pastor. “Can I pray with you?” he asked. I nodded, a bit nervous. “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.

He just smiled and said, “That’s okay. I’ll help.” And he led me through a simple, honest prayer.

That night, something changed in me. It wasn’t about religion. It wasn’t about tradition. It was about love. Real, overwhelming, unconditional love. A kind of love I didn’t earn—but was offered freely.

That’s what the Gospel means to me.

It’s the kindness of a youth pastor.
The warmth of a crowded church on a cold night.
The way music can stir something deep in your soul.
It’s hope when you feel lost.
It’s grace when you feel unsure.
It’s a fresh start when you didn’t know you needed one.

The Gospel isn’t just something I believe—it’s something I experienced. A love that found me, called me in, and changed everything.

And I’m still on that journey.

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“The Gospel is not just good news—it’s the greatest invitation ever given, whispered straight to the heart.”