Not Every Ghost Is Worth Hearing

Misty footpath winding through a wildflower meadow with distant trees

Maybe you are not certain that there is a spiritual world, a realm outside of our normal senses. Or maybe you have already been convinced by an odd encounter, a coincidence just too against the odds, or a full-on sighting of something not of flesh. Wherever you are in your life, at some moment you will consider if ghosts exist.

They do. But not the ghosts you see in the movies or on the Travel Channel—not haunting ghouls or poltergeists rattling chains for ratings. “Ghost” is another name for spirit, and spirits exist in the spiritual, or supernatural realm.

The Judeo-Christian Scriptures have plenty of references to spirits. Angels are called ministering spirits (Hebrews 1:14). Demons are unclean spirits. Human beings have a spirit that returns to God who gave it (Ecclesiastes 12:7). After the resurrection, the disciples thought they were seeing a spirit until Jesus invited them to touch His hands and feet: “A spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have” (Luke 24:39). The Bible does not deny the unseen world. It assumes it.

What Scripture does not do is treat the dead as available for conversation. “It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment” (Hebrews 9:27). The rich man in Jesus’ parable could not cross back to warn his brothers (Luke 16:19–31). God forbids seeking the dead on behalf of the living: “Should not a people inquire of their God?” (Isaiah 8:19–20; see also Deuteronomy 18:10–12; Leviticus 19:31). When King Saul, already abandoned by the Lord, consulted the medium at Endor, the episode ended in judgment, not comfort (1 Samuel 28; 1 Chronicles 10:13–14). And John writes, “Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God” (1 John 4:1).

Cultures all around the world, and at all times, have stories and warnings of spirits. Many still keep in contact with their ancestors. Is that only a hopeful wish to speak to those who have passed before us? Sometimes it is grief wearing a religious costume. Sometimes it is a genuine hunger for guidance that should be taken elsewhere. Honoring memory is not the same as asking the dead to mediate, protect, or advise. There is one Mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus (1 Timothy 2:5). Love the ones who have gone ahead. Tell their stories. Do not try to pull them back through the veil.

I have personally had my own encounters with the spirit world. Once there was a dark-cloaked figure at the end of the bed. It was real enough to leave a mark, and it was not holy.

These spirits are a small part of a much larger realm. There are angels who serve. There are powers of darkness who deceive, masquerading even as light (2 Corinthians 11:14; Ephesians 6:12). And above and through all of it, there is only One Spirit we should listen to: the Holy Spirit of the living God.

I have heard God audibly. I was worrying and praying about my upcoming marriage. Is this right? Is he the right guy? Is it too soon? I heard a voice, as clear as someone standing next to me: “This is the man I have for you.” We have been happily married for 37 years.

The Spirit of God does not mutter from the ground. He does not require a medium, a box, or a séance. Jesus promised Him as the Spirit of truth, who would guide us into all truth (John 16:13). He speaks, convicts, comforts, and conforms us to Christ. He is the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead. Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world (1 John 4:4).

So, if you have wondered whether ghosts exist—yes, spirits exist. Do not chase them. Do not fear them as if they were the last word. Don’t be deceived. Test them. Then turn your ear toward the only Spirit who is safe to obey.

Practical way to test spirits:

When something “speaks”—a dream, a figure, a coincidence, an inner word, a medium’s line:

Does it confess Jesus Christ come in the flesh, crucified and risen?
Does it line up with Scripture, or require you to set Scripture aside?
Does it drive you to inquire of God, or of the dead / a technique / a personality?
Does it produce freedom in Christ, or dependence on the experience?
Does it glorify Jesus, or the encounter?

If it fails any of those, you do not owe it a second hearing. “Test everything; hold fast what is good” (1 Thessalonians 5:21).

September 5, 2026 0

Spring’s Whisper: Why Our Souls Ache for Renewal Each Winter

Ah, friends, can you feel it? That subtle shift in the air, the way the wind carries a hint of warmth instead of a bite? Here in the Outer Banks, where the ocean meets the dunes in eternal conversation, spring is tiptoeing in like a long-lost friend. The crocuses are poking their heads through the sandy soil, and the birds are tuning up their symphony as if they’ve been practicing all winter. It’s finally here—Spring!—and oh, how I’ve ached for it through those gray, relentless months.

Winter has its own quiet beauty, doesn’t it? The stark branches against a steel sky, the hush of snow (or in our case, the rare frost on the beach grass), forcing us inward to reflect and rest. But let’s be honest: by February, that ache sets in. It’s not just the cold seeping into our bones; it’s a deeper longing, a soul-stirring yearning for something fresh, something alive. Why do we pine for spring every year? I think it’s because we’re wired for renewal. Winter strips us bare—exposes our vulnerabilities, our weariness—and in that barrenness, we crave the promise of growth. It’s like our hearts are echoing the earth’s cycle, reminding us that endings aren’t forever; they’re just preludes to beginnings.

This brings me to one of my favorite verses, tucked away in Lamentations 3:22-23: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” New every morning. Isn’t that a balm for the winter-weary soul? Just as the sun rises without fail, painting the horizon in pinks and golds, God’s grace resets with each dawn. No grudges from yesterday’s stumbles, no exhaustion from the long night—pure, unearned freshness. And spring? It’s like God amplifying that truth across the landscape. The seasons themselves are His gentle touch, a rhythmic reminder that life isn’t static. Winter teaches us endurance, autumn whispers of letting go, summer invites abundance, but spring—spring shouts resurrection.

Think about it: those first green shoots pushing through frozen ground, the blossoms unfurling like prayers answered. It’s God’s way of saying, “See? I make all things new.” In the grind of daily life, we might forget His presence, but the seasons won’t let us. They’re His fingerprints on creation, touching us with hope when we need it most. That ache in winter isn’t despair; it’s anticipation, a holy hunger for the divine renewal that’s always coming.

So, as we step into this season, let’s lean into it. Walk barefoot on the warming sand, plant a seed or two, and let the newness soak in. What mercy are you claiming today? What winter weight are you shedding? Ponder with me, dear readers—spring is here, and with it, God’s faithful touch. Great is His faithfulness, indeed.

March 15, 2026 0

Again

It’s happening again.

The old hatred—dressed in new clothes—marches forward like it never left.

I keep hearing the same hollow justifications, the same twisting of truth, the same whispers turned to shouts.
And this time, it’s not whispered in back rooms.
It’s livestreamed. Painted on walls. Shouted in the streets of major cities.
And worse—justified by people who claim to care about justice.

But you can always tell when something is older than we are.
This isn’t just politics.
It’s spiritual.

It’s the same serpent from Eden. The same spirit behind Pharaoh, Haman, Hitler.
It slithers through time, striking again at the people God chose to bear His name.

Yes—chose.

Not for dominance. Not for perfection.
But for covenant.

The children of Abraham weren’t selected to be untouchable—they were chosen to be a thread. A promise. A light.
And light, by its nature, reveals what darkness tries to hide.

I think of what Adonai said to Abraham:

“I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you… and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.” (Genesis 12:2–3)

That promise wasn’t revoked.
Not with exile.
Not with crucifixion.
Not with conquest.
Not even with genocide.

It still holds.

And I feel the weight of it again—watching history bend toward the same old pattern.
As if we haven’t learned a thing.

We forget the Holocaust while survivors still breathe.
We twist history to fit our hashtags.
We speak of justice, while ignoring the literal blood spilled on synagogue floors.

So what do we do?

We bless.

We stand in that ancient flow and speak what was always meant to be spoken:

May the Lord bless the children of Abraham.
May He guard their hearts and minds.
May He surround them with fire by night and cloud by day.
May He call to the descendants of Isaac, and the scattered ones of Jacob, and those grafted in by grace—
and remind them they are not forgotten.
Not forsaken.
Not alone.

And may we, those watching, never close our eyes.
Not this time.

June 2, 2025 0