http://www.ReviveCoachingGroup.com/, https://kurtbubna.com/

Kurt Bubna, 9949 SW Geneva View Road, Bend, OR (2026)

09/10/2026

We Christians can be strangely good at keeping score.

We have our list of the “really bad” sins. The ones we preach about, post about, and sometimes use to define people.

Of course, our own sins rarely make the list.

Pride? We call that confidence.

Jealousy? Discernment.

Gossip? A prayer request.

Anger? Righteous indignation.

Here’s the problem: Grace doesn’t rank sins, and grace doesn’t rank sinners.

That doesn’t mean sin doesn’t matter. It does. Truth matters. Repentance matters. Transformation matters.

But every one of us comes to Jesus the same way: empty-handed, needing mercy, unable to save ourselves.

Jesus never watered down truth, but He had a remarkable habit of moving toward people religious folks preferred to avoid.

The broken. The immoral. The rejected. The people with bad reputations.

I can disagree with what someone believes without diminishing their dignity. And I don’t have to agree with someone to love them.

I don’t get to decide who deserves grace.

We don’t get to choose who we will love, accept, and forgive.

Jesus already settled that issue.

Everybody means everybody.

And grace is still grace, especially when it lands on someone we think doesn’t deserve it.

09/09/2026

I’ve lived long enough to know that God rarely explains Himself on my timetable.

Sometimes that’s annoying.

There have been seasons when I looked at my life and thought, “Well, that certainly didn’t go according to plan.”

Doors closed.
Dreams changed.
Relationships broke.
I failed.
Life took some turns I never saw coming.

And yet, somehow, God wasn’t standing in heaven wringing His hands, saying, “Well, Bubna really messed this one up.”

I’m learning that what feels like the end to me may simply be a chapter God is still redeeming.

We tend to measure our future by what we can see today. God sees what we can’t.

He sees beyond the failure.
Beyond the loss.
Beyond the limitations.
Beyond our age, regrets, weaknesses, and scars.

I don’t want to spend whatever years I have left playing it safe or assuming my most useful days are behind me.

I still want to dream big.
Love extravagantly.
Give grace recklessly.
Help wounded people find hope.
And say yes when God nudges me toward something that scares me a little (or a lot).

Maybe you need this reminder too:

Your worst day didn’t disqualify you.
Your biggest mistake didn’t surprise God.
And whatever has happened to you—or because of you—doesn’t mean He’s done with you.

Grace means God is incredibly good at making beautiful things out of broken messes.

Trust me. I’ve given Him plenty of material to work with.

So have you.

And maybe that’s the point.

We’re not called to be impressive. We’re called to be available.

So take the next step.
Love somebody well.
Forgive somebody again.
Dream a little bigger.
Risk looking foolish if that’s what obedience requires.

And for heaven’s sake, don’t spend the rest of your life staring in the rearview mirror.

God isn’t finished with you yet.

09/08/2026

What if your failure is not the final word over your life?

Upcoming New Book: Unshamed: From Failure and Shame to Fully Known, Forgiven, and Free

*Unshamed* is a deeply personal and biblically grounded exploration of shame, grace, and restoration. Drawing from my own journey through public failure, divorce, health crises, and spiritual reconstruction, I write for those who feel disqualified, disillusioned, or quietly overwhelmed by the weight of their own story.

At its core, this book confronts the painful difference between guilt and shame.

*Guilt says, “I did something wrong.”

*Shame says, “I am something wrong.”

That subtle but devastating shift affects how we see ourselves, how we see God, and whether we believe we can ever truly be forgiven, restored, or free.

*Unshamed* does not offer surface-level encouragement or another performance-based formula for getting your life together. Instead, it is an invitation into honest reckoning, healing grace, and the freedom of being fully known without being rejected.

Through raw stories, pastoral insight, and biblical reflection, I explore repentance not as a desperate attempt to earn back God’s approval, but as a return to a relationship that was never based on performance in the first place.

The gospel does not minimize sin, but it refuses to weaponize it against those who have been redeemed.

This book is for anyone who has wondered:

- Have I gone too far?
- Have I failed too publicly?
- Have I fallen too often to still be loved, used, or restored?

My answer is a clear and resounding: **No.**

*Unshamed* is now being professionally edited and is expected to be released in January. I’m excited to be moving closer to sharing this message with the people who need it most.

If you believe this is a message someone in your life needs to hear, I would love your involvement in sharing it.

Join the *Unshamed* Launch Team!

I am inviting a select group of people to become part of the *Unshamed* Launch Team. As a launch-team member, you will help introduce this message of grace, forgiveness, and freedom to your friends, family, and online community.

In return, you will have access to a discounted copy of *Unshamed*, behind-the-scenes updates, exclusive resources, and a few additional perks from me along the way.

Together, we can help reach people who are carrying shame in silence and remind them that their story is not over.

If you would like to join the *Unshamed* Launch Team, send me a direct message, or email me at [email protected], and I’ll send you the details. Thank you!

09/07/2026

Yesterday’s success doesn’t make us immune to today’s struggles.

Elijah knew something about that.

One day, he stood on Mount Carmel and watched God send fire from heaven. He faced down 450 prophets of Baal and witnessed an astonishing victory.

Not long afterward, a threat from Jezebel sent him running for his life.

Exhausted, afraid, and alone, Elijah collapsed under a tree and prayed, “I have had enough, LORD. Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” (1 Kings 19:4)

I understand that prayer.

I’ve had moments when I’ve literally prayed, “God, I’ve had enough. I’m done. Just take me home.”

But I love what happens next.

God didn’t shame Elijah.
He didn’t lecture him about his lack of faith.
He didn’t say, “Seriously, Elijah? Have you already forgotten Mount Carmel?”

God sent an angel.

Elijah slept. The angel touched him, gave him food and water, and told him to rest and eat some more.

What a beautiful picture of God's patience and goodness.

Corrie ten Boom wrote, “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.”

Sometimes faith looks like standing courageously on a mountain.

Sometimes faith looks like lying emotionally exhausted under a tree while God quietly takes care of you.

Yesterday’s success doesn’t make us immune to today’s struggles. And today’s struggle doesn’t mean God has abandoned us.

So if you’re under “that tree” today, exhausted, discouraged, or disappointed, don’t confuse your weariness with God’s absence.

Rest. Eat. Breathe. And please don’t make a permanent decision in a painfully temporary moment.

And maybe, for today, that’s enough. You don’t have to have tomorrow figured out. Just trust that the same God who met Elijah in his despair and struggles knows exactly where you are, too.

09/06/2026

Today, Sunday, September 6, I’m teaching at church for the first time in four years.

And I’m not gonna lie. It feels a little strange.

As some of you know, once upon a time I was a pastor for over 40 years. Teaching was as normal to me as breathing.

Then came my failure. My divorce. My remarriage. And a long season of sitting, healing, learning, listening, and being restored.

So today feels significant.

I’ve told a handful of people that I’m “getting back in the saddle.” Most have been incredibly encouraging. A few have been cautiously supportive. I understand.

I can’t know what’s in anyone’s heart, but I suspect sometimes we humans get nervous about grace.

We love redemption stories when somebody comes off the streets, gets sober, or crawls out of a horrible past. We put them on a stage and say, “Look what God has done!”

But when it’s a fallen pastor? Well…that’s often a different story.

Suddenly we pull out the stopwatch. Has it been long enough? Has he suffered enough? Has he proven himself enough? Is he really ready?

Those aren’t always bad questions. Leadership matters. Character matters. Accountability matters. Consequences matter.

But so does restoration.

And here’s something I’ve learned during the last four years: God doesn’t waste broken people.

In fact, Scripture is embarrassingly full of people with spectacular failures whom God redeemed, restored, and used again.

I’m not returning today because I’ve earned my way back. I’m not standing up because I’ve finally become impressive enough.

I’m teaching because grace is real.

Because Jesus still restores people. Because failure doesn’t have to have the final word.

Because sometimes the most powerful evidence of God’s goodness isn’t a perfect life. It’s a restored one. A surrendered one. A life that says, “Look what God can do with the pieces.”

So today, I get to teach again. And I don’t take that privilege lightly.

I’m a little older. A lot humbler. Grateful. Still learning. And perhaps more aware than ever of just how inadequate I am without Jesus.

But I’m also more convinced than ever that God’s specialty is making something beautiful out of broken things.

Including me.

09/05/2026

I’ve never met a person who isn’t broken in some way, at some level.

We all have pieces of our past we’d rather not put on display. Points of failure. Regrets. Wounds. Stuff we’re ashamed of. Things we’ve done and things done to us.

And if we’re really being honest, most of us have something tucked away inside that makes us wonder, “What would people think if they really knew?”

That doesn’t mean we’re all dysfunctional, horrific messes barely holding it together.

Most of us actually function pretty well.

We go to work. Love our families. Pay our bills. Laugh with friends. Help our neighbors. Go to church. Mow the lawn. Post pictures on social media where we look reasonably normal.

We learn how to live with the cracks.

I certainly have.

At 69, I’ve accumulated enough evidence to know that I am still very much a work in progress. There are parts of my story I’m grateful for and parts I wish I could rewrite. There are things I’ve done that still make me shake my head and think, “Seriously, Bubna? What were you thinking?”

But I don’t think the answer is to spend the rest of my life staring at my brokenness.

I’ve done enough of that.

Here’s what I’m trying to get better at instead:

Seeing myself through my Father’s eyes.

Because God knows me.

And I mean He REALLY knows me.

He knows the good stuff and the ugly stuff. He knows where I’ve failed. He knows what I regret. He knows what still hurts. He knows the thoughts I’ve never said out loud and the chapters I’d rather leave unpublished.

Nothing about me surprises Him.

Nothing.

And somehow, wonderfully, He loves me anyway.

Actually, I’m not sure I even like saying, “God loves me anyway.”

“Anyway” makes it sound like God is standing in heaven looking at me, sighing deeply and saying, “Well…he’s a mess, but I suppose I’m stuck with him.”

That’s not the Father I see in Jesus.

God doesn’t look at you or me and see a mess He’d rather avoid.

He sees His child.

Someone precious to Him. Someone worth loving. Someone worth redeeming. Someone of incredible value.

Priceless, in fact.

And maybe one of the hardest things some of us will ever do is believe that.

Because we know ourselves pretty well.

We know where the bodies are buried. Metaphorically speaking, of course. (Just thought I should clarify that.)

We remember our failures. We hear the voices of people who have judged us. We carry things said about us years ago as if they were handed down from God Himself.

They weren’t.

Your opinion of yourself matters. Your self-image affects how you live, love, relate, and respond to others.

But your opinion of yourself isn’t the most important.

Neither is mine.

Neither is the opinion of your ex, your parents, your kids, your critics, your church, your friends, your enemies, or the person on Facebook who apparently received the spiritual gift of correcting everybody.

God gets the final word.

So maybe instead of constantly asking, “What’s wrong with me?” we should occasionally ask something different:

“Father, what do You see when You look at me?”

I’m still learning to ask that question.

Because I know my failures. Some of them quite well.

But I’m learning that my worst moments don’t get to define the rest of my life.

Shame doesn’t get the final word.

Failure doesn’t get the final word.

People don’t get the final word.

My Father does.

“Through my Father’s eyes” is more than a nice Christian phrase or the title of a song.

I’m beginning to think learning to see ourselves the way God sees us might be one of the greatest challenges of our lives on this side of eternity.

Fully known.

Completely loved.

Still His.

And worth far more to Him than we ever dared to believe.

09/02/2026

What do you do when God seems silent?

I’ve heard people say, “Just follow the peace.”

That sounds wonderfully spiritual. But what if you don’t feel peaceful?

I doubt Peter felt particularly at peace climbing out of a perfectly good boat and stepping onto the water.

I doubt Israel felt warm and fuzzy standing at the edge of the Jordan River.

Sometimes faith feels less like peace and more like, “Okay, God…I sure hope I’m going to survive this.”

We’re also told, “When God hasn’t given you clear direction, use wisdom.”

Good advice.

But what about those seasons when you’re praying for wisdom, and begging for direction, and heaven still seems strangely quiet?

I’m learning that the silence of God does not mean the absence of God.

Sometimes there is no flashing neon sign from heaven. No angel with a memo. No unmistakable voice telling us exactly what to do next.

Sometimes we pray. We listen. We seek wise counsel. We search Scripture. And then, with trembling knees and an uncertain heart, we take the next best step we know to take.

Solomon wrote, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” Prov. 3:5-6

Notice it doesn’t say, “Understand everything and then trust.”

Trust comes first.

And here’s what gives me hope: God is bigger than my ability to make a perfect decision.

Even when I’m trying to do the right thing, I can miss or misread something and make a wrong turn. But I am still held by a Father who is kind, good, gracious, and ridiculously patient and good toward His kids.

His silence doesn’t mean He’s gone.

And an uncertain step taken while trusting Him is still a step of faith.

“Faith is not the absence of uncertainty. It is trusting God in the middle of it.”

So pray. Listen. Seek wisdom. And then take the next step.

You don’t have to see the whole road.

You just have to trust the One who does.

09/01/2026

Unshamed

My worst moment is my truest name
I refuse to believe
Grace can rewrite what shame has written
I am certain
I will always be the sum of my mistakes
I cannot believe
God still calls me beloved
I know
My scars are proof that I am ruined
I refuse to believe
There is beauty in what has been broken

—————————

There is beauty in what has been broken
I refuse to believe
My scars are proof that I am ruined
I know
God still calls me beloved
I cannot believe
I will always be the sum of my mistakes
I am certain
Grace can rewrite what shame has written
I refuse to believe
My worst moment is my truest name

08/31/2026

Why do I write?

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” Joan Didion

I’ve been thinking about that line.

Why do I keep putting my thoughts out there on social media? Why write columns, articles, and books?

Is it arrogance to assume my words matter? Is there some pride involved?

Probably. I’m human. I have an ego, and occasionally it gets out of its cage and runs amok.

Maybe some of it is legacy. At this stage of life, you start thinking a little more about what you’ll leave behind. But I don’t think that’s the main reason I write.

I write because stories help us make sense of this beautiful, painful, confusing thing called life.

I’ve had some amazing moments. I’ve also screwed up. Badly. I’ve hurt people and been hurt. I’ve known success, failure, faith, doubt, shame, loss, forgiveness, and more grace than I deserve.

And I’ve discovered something along the way.

When I’m willing to tell the truth about my story, somebody almost always says, “Me too.”

That’s why I write.

I don’t have all the answers. I haven’t figured life out. In truth, the older I get, the more I realize what I don’t know.

But maybe something I’ve learned the hard way can help somebody else.

Maybe my scars can give someone hope.

Maybe my story can remind somebody that failure doesn’t have to be final.

Didion was right. We tell ourselves stories in order to live.

I’d add this: We tell each other our stories so none of us has to live or feel alone.

That’s why I write.

If something I’ve lived through, learned the hard way, laughed about, cried over, screwed up, or found grace in helps even one person feel a little less alone, then the words were worth it.

I want my words to point toward hope. Toward healing. Toward grace.

And toward the stubborn reality that no matter how badly we’ve blown it, God is still writing our story.

08/30/2026

Starting over can feel overwhelming.

I know.

There have been seasons when I’ve looked around and thought, “This is not where I expected to be at this point in my life.”

Plans changed. Relationships changed. I changed.

Some of those changes were beyond my control. Some were the consequences of my own poor choices.

That’s why I love this quote from Mel Robbins: “Don’t be afraid to start over again. This time you’re not starting from scratch. You’re starting from experience.”

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve failed. I’ve hurt people I love. But I’ve also learned some things the hard way (which apparently is one of my spiritual gifts).

I’ve learned more about grace, humility, and forgiveness. And much more about my desperate need for Jesus.

God has a remarkable way of taking even the broken pieces of our stories and using them to shape us and help others.

Paul wrote: “Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal…” Phil. 3:13-14

“Forgetting” doesn’t mean pretending the past didn’t happen.

It means learning from it. Owning what needs to be owned. And grieving what needs to be grieved.

Then take the next steps covered by God’s mercy and grace.

Maybe you’re rebuilding after a broken relationship, a failure, a dumb mistake, or a life you never expected.

Starting over doesn’t mean starting from zero.

Yes, you’re bringing some scars with you. But you’re also bringing wisdom, experience, perspective, and hopefully a deeper dependence on Jesus.

And by the kindness of God, I’m still learning, growing, and not finished yet.

Neither are you.

Kurt Bubna

09/10/2026

09/09/2026

09/08/2026

09/07/2026

09/06/2026

09/05/2026

09/02/2026

09/01/2026

08/31/2026

08/30/2026

Address

Telephone

Website

Alerts

Contact The Business

Shortcuts

Share

Listing takedown request