revival in the desert

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revival in the desert

I’ve seen God move in some remarkable ways. I was once a youth pastor at one of the fastest-growing churches in America, where thousands of people would line up in the blistering heat and biting cold just to get a seat inside. I’ve watched people travel from Brazil, Ireland, Taiwan, South Korea, and everywhere in between because they heard God was moving. I’ve seen the glory of God drop in such weight that people couldn’t stand under it. I’ve seen tears fall, tongues spoken, bodies healed, and hard hearts softened by the beauty of Jesus.

But it’s been dry the last five years.

I’ve sat in some beautiful services, heard wildly talented singers, listened to quality teaching. But something was missing. Power. Life. Movement. Maybe it was the season I was in. Maybe it was my own heart. I’ve had powerful moments with Jesus in solitude, but corporate gatherings felt hollow. Over eight churches in five years and still I couldn’t shake the feeling—where’s the power?

Then came August 1, 2025.

One of my closest friends and former interns, Tyshone Roland, launched a three-night gospel crusade in Phoenix called Project Salvation. It wasn’t just a conference or a revival night—it was a full-blown, Billy Graham–style crusade meant to call the lost home. When he first told me, I was lit up. I believed in the vision deeply. The Western church has needed a fresh evangelistic voice for a long time. And crusades like this could help local churches reach their cities without burning out their staff chasing gimmicks and growth formulas.

But like all God-sized visions, this one came with pressure.

Tyshone faced resistance at every turn. The financial weight nearly crushed him. The original venue—the Veterans Memorial Coliseum—fell through just days before the event. He was scrambling. Lawsuits, production chaos, unanswered calls. As his friend, I was on the phone with him nearly every day. Praying. Problem-solving. Holding space. The pressure he carried was unreal. Honestly, I was worried. But Tyshone was determined to obey God no matter what it cost.

And God met him.

I flew into Phoenix the morning of Night 1. The Airbnb was full of tension and last-minute logistics. Insurance, production, cue sheets, guest lists—it was a war room. But something about it felt holy. We prayed. Got dressed. Drove to the venue.

And then it happened.

The room filled. Over 1,100 people waited outside in the 115-degree heat just to get inside. You could feel it. The faith. The expectation. Jesus was already there. The moment I stepped on stage to welcome the crowd, the place erupted. I couldn’t even finish my sentence. People were hungry. Desperate. Alive. It was the first time in five years I felt the kind of electric presence that makes you tremble. I hosted, prayed, served, supported—but more than anything, I stood in awe.

Over the three nights of Project Salvation, I watched over 2,000 people gather to lift up the name of Jesus. I saw more than 100 people raise their hands to give their lives to Christ. I saw people fall to their knees, weeping at the altar. Chains fell. Joy broke out. Faith ignited. It felt like heaven had cracked open over Phoenix.

Tyshone trusted me to carry key moments throughout the weekend—welcoming the crowd, leading prayer, receiving the offering. I got to use my voice to support someone else's assignment and it filled my soul in ways I didn’t know I needed. I left Phoenix changed. I saw what obedience in adversity looks like. I watched God do what only God can do. And I know deep in my spirit—it’s just the beginning.

I believe Project Salvation will fill stadiums. I believe the harvest is ripe. And I believe the Lord used that moment in the desert to wake something up in me. I’ve been quiet this summer, holding the weight of our church plant, wondering when and how things would break open. But now I’m stirred. Revived. Focused.

I’m an aspiring traveling communicator. I’m a man full of faith. And I’m not waiting for everything to be perfect before I make room for God to move. The truth is, adversity will come. The question is—where will I go when it does? That answer will shape the man I become.

God will build His church. I’m just honored to be a part of it.