Prepare The Way Movement

The Purpose of Life and The Way to Heaven

MARK 1 1-3
1 The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God;
2 As it is written in the prophets, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee.
3 The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.

Prepare the Way Movement is created in the same spirit of Mark 1: 1-3. We intend to use this avenue to reach people who share a similar philosophy of striving to live a life of preparing the way of the Lord.

We intend to proclaim the Good News of the Gospel.

We hope to show and share how we attempt to prepare the way of the Lord, and all the work, blessings and testimonies that are produced through the fruit that come with preparing the way for the Lord in all aspects of our lives.

We are not the example. We are broken people, made spiritually whole through the work on the Cross, laboring not for salvation, but for the proclamation of the work that was done on the cross.
PTW post

Shane Mielke is a devoted follower of Jesus Christ who writes to help others discover the purpose of life and the path to Heaven through faith, truth, and love. Drawing from scripture, personal insight, and real-life examples, Shane seeks to illuminate how belief becomes experience in a living relationship with God. His passion is to encourage others to walk in the Way of Christ and truly know God.
Connect with Shane on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@preparethewaymovement/featured

  • I Shall Not Want: The Freedom Found in the Care of the Shepherd


    “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” — Psalm 23:1 (KJV)

    What does it mean to say, “I shall not want”? It’s one of the most quoted lines in all of Scripture, yet few pause long enough to consider the depth and freedom hidden in that simple phrase. The Lord is my Shepherd. Therefore—I shall not want. It is a declaration. A reality. Not a goal to strive for, but a truth to rest in.

    But we ask—Want what?

    Our minds immediately start cataloging. We think about our daily needs, our goals, our ambitions, our secret desires. We reason with ourselves: Is it wrong to want to be successful? To want to provide for my family? To want to enjoy good things? To desire love, stability, or healing? These wants seem valid. Reasonable. Even noble.

    But the error we fall into isn’t always in what we want—but in wanting itself.

    We tend to focus on the object of desire—judging whether it is good or bad, selfish or generous. A promotion at work? That sounds good. It could bring more income, and with that, the ability to provide and perhaps even give more generously. A wager on a sporting event? That might be a gamble rooted in greed or risk. One desire looks noble; the other appears reckless.

    Yet this kind of moral filtering of desire misses the deeper issue. The psalmist doesn’t say, “I shall not want bad things.” He says simply, “I shall not want.”

    The heart of the message is not about measuring the worthiness of our desires, but about surrendering the posture of needing anything other than God Himself. When we live in the reality that the Lord is our Shepherd, need is extinguished. Because the Shepherd is not only watching over us—He is the source of every good and perfect gift. He gives what is necessary, withholds nothing that is truly good, and leads us exactly where we’re meant to be.

    “Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap… yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?” — Matthew 6:26 (KJV)

    God provides for the birds—and yet we are of more value to Him than many sparrows. Why, then, do we carry the burden of anxious desire? Why do we scheme, stress, and strain to secure the things we think we lack?

    Want, in its raw form, signifies lack. But the Kingdom of God operates differently than the world. In God’s Kingdom, lack is an illusion for the one who walks with the Shepherd. “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” — Matthew 6:33 (KJV)

    If we are with the Shepherd, what could we truly lack? If we are following the One who makes us lie down in green pastures, then surely He knows what we need—and more importantly, when we need it.

    Often, the Lord places desires in our hearts not to incite striving, but to invite trust. He provides the vision, and in time, He provides the provision. But our flesh confuses this. We grow impatient. We try to force the outcome. We believe that we must hustle to get what we need. And in doing so, we begin to want again—grasping for what has not yet been given, rather than resting in what has already been promised.

    We cannot forget: the Shepherd leads. He does not drive. He does not shout from behind. He walks ahead of us and invites us to follow in peace. If He has given us a desire that is in line with His heart, He will fulfill it. If not, we can trust that what we didn’t receive was not truly for our good.

    “For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.” — Psalm 84:11 (KJV)

    He withholds no good thing. Not one.

    So when we hear “I shall not want,” it is not a scolding. It is an invitation. A release. A call to stop grasping and start trusting. To lay down the fear of missing out, the worry of falling behind, and the illusion that we are in control of our own provision. The Shepherd is the caretaker. We are the sheep. The Shepherd feeds, protects, directs, and tends. The sheep follow.

    That’s it.

    The question then becomes: Is He enough for us? Is He enough even if the promotion never comes, if the healing is delayed, if the relationship doesn’t restore, if the dream doesn’t unfold the way we imagined? Can we still say, “I shall not want”?

    We can. Because the Shepherd is not just the giver of gifts. He is the Gift. He is not just the way to life—He is the Life. Not just the truth-teller—He is the Truth.

    When we recognize that the only One worthy of desire is the Lord Himself, and that He has already given Himself fully to us, then the striving ends. Peace enters. The soul rests. We no longer try to determine whether our desires are “good enough” to chase. We let go of the chase entirely, and instead cling to the Shepherd who leads us beside still waters and restores our soul.

    Want dies in the presence of the Shepherd. And in its place, joy lives.

    “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
    Say it again. And this time—believe it

  • How We Start Our Day Is How We Live Our Life

    I wake up.

    First thing, I head to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and see a red bump under my eye—a scratch left over from yesterday, when I was picking at a piece of skin beneath it.

    Then the dogs are calling. Charlie woke me up, and with him, that usually means it’s urgent. He doesn’t give multiple warnings before taking matters into his own paws, so I rush him and Blue outside into the yard.

    I feed the dogs, come back upstairs, and collapse onto the bed. I reach for my phone, scrolling, letting my mind drift wherever it wants. I’d planned to try to catch a little more sleep—I went to bed late last night, and I’m tired—but then Blue starts barking. It’s too early for barking. So I go back outside, corral the dogs into the shed, and settle them into their crates. They usually stay quiet once they’re in there.

    My alarm goes off for the nap I never took. Just another reminder of how much I manage to cram into the spaces where rest was supposed to be.

    I know rest is vital. Yet I live in extremes. Sometimes I fear that I rest too much. Other times, I’m convinced I’m working too hard. I’m constantly trying to find balance, but it seems to slip through my fingers no matter how tightly I try to hold on.

    When I lose my balance, I try to return to what I know brings order. The disciplines of faith. The wisdom God has given us to set things right.

    But I keep asking myself: Do I truly believe Him?

    Most mornings, before I even acknowledge the Living God, I’m already prioritizing the cares of this world. I go on autopilot: planning, reacting, responding to whatever comes my way. I don’t pause to acknowledge the Lord.

    I don’t want to live that way.

    Yet that’s how I’ve spent most of my life living—following the pattern I’ve seen in everyone around me. That’s my default mode, unless I intentionally practice something different.

    But the Bible tells me plainly:

    “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10, KJV)

    It tells me:

    “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matthew 6:33, KJV)

    So what should I be doing?

    Being still.

    By being still, we come into knowledge. By experiencing God first, we gain true understanding. We should be seeking—seeking Him first. And all those other cares that feel so urgent when I first open my eyes in the morning? Those things will be taken care of.

    “Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.” (Psalm 55:22, KJV)

    I know we have responsibilities. I know there are things that must get done. But when I begin my day without first acknowledging the Lord as the sovereign caretaker of my steps, my life is out of order before my feet even hit the ground.

    Instead, I’m staring at my phone, worrying about the bump under my eye, thinking about the dogs, thinking about everything except Him.

    That is not how I want to start my day.

    But even as I say I want something different, a question keeps nagging at me: Where do I seek the Kingdom of Heaven?

    I think I’m seeking it already. Living my life the way I am, trying to figure out what I want, what I like, chasing glimpses of heaven in comfort, pleasure, or achievement.

    But the truth is—I’m not seeking it at all.

    I’ve been believing a lie.

    The things I’m doing are not going to add the things I’m looking to add to my life. I’m entangled too deeply in the cares of this world before I even acknowledge the Living God. I’m seeking the promises of this world—the things it tells me will satisfy me, bring me peace, give me identity. But they don’t offer what I’m truly searching for.

    “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36, KJV)

    From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to bed, my mind is broken.

    And I have to ask myself: How do I fix that?

    My mind is obsessed with the cares of this world, so much so that it pushes out God. That’s the real brokenness.

    “Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.” (Colossians 3:2, KJV)

    The sick need a physician. A mental patient cannot prescribe his own medication or write his own prescription. Unwell people do not know the diagnosis that will make them well. Wellness changes unwellness. Good fruit comes from a good tree. You cannot get good fruit from a bad tree.

    “Either make the tree good, and his fruit good; or else make the tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by his fruit.” (Matthew 12:33, KJV)

    My diagnosis requires a prescription if I’m ever going to achieve wellness.

    So where could I go to get better? Who could help me diagnose and heal the brokenness in how I start my day—and how I live my life?

    This isn’t just my problem. It’s the problem of humanity. It’s what we do as a society. We chase the world’s answers for peace, purpose, fulfillment, and identity, believing the next thing we achieve or acquire will finally fix us.

    But who can prescribe the cure for this kind of sickness?

    The help I’d need would have to come from someone who is well. Someone who isn’t broken the way I am. Someone able to diagnose me accurately and prescribe the way back to life.

    Finding somebody worthy—someone or something worthy and able to spare me from my unwellness, from my broken mind that keeps leading me to search for joy outside of where joy truly exists—that’s the real search.

    Because here’s the truth: the person who can help me must be both able and willing.

    They would have to care. They would have to love me enough to desire to save me from my condition. That’s not optional. That’s a requirement. An unwell person cannot make himself well. I need a diagnosis. I need a script.

    And not only does this person need to care and love me enough to want to save me—they must also possess the knowledge and power to actually do it.

    This is why Jesus stands alone.

    Jesus said, Here I am. And He gave us the reason why He is the source of what we’re looking for. He said:

    “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16, KJV)

    That’s the reason. And that’s the requirement I need.

    I need somebody who cares about me enough to pull me out of my condition. And Jesus said that God is that source. That God loved the world so much that He gave His only begotten Son—that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but shall be saved.

    “For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.” (Luke 19:10, KJV)

    He made a way. He loved us. He cared for us enough to send His Son to perform what was necessary to save us.

    Jesus is the only one who offers what we truly need.

    Because He alone walked through the sickness without ever becoming unwell. Even to the point of death, there is nothing we can bring to Him that He cannot understand.

    “For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” (Hebrews 4:15, KJV)

    He overcame every single pain and challenge that He experienced.

    “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33, KJV)

    He knows the way.

    Because He is the Way.

    “Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” (John 14:6, KJV)

    So this is where it all circles back to the beginning.

    How I start my day is how I live my life.

    If I start my day without acknowledging Him, I’m running the same old program, searching for life in places where it doesn’t exist. I’m looking to the world to give me peace it cannot provide.

    But if I start my day with Him—if I pause to be still, to acknowledge the Living God, to seek first His kingdom—then everything changes.

    Because the One who is well—the One who is Life itself—has offered me His prescription. He has offered me Himself.

    He is able. He is willing. He loves me enough to save me. And He has the power to actually do it.

    And if I follow Him, even in the smallest choices of how I begin each day, I’m no longer living the same broken story.

    “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6, KJV)

    That is how I want to start my day.

    And that is how I want to live my life.

  • Come Reason with me

    Why would the Earth, a planet defined by intricate complexity and delicate interdependence among all its forms of life, harbor a species capable of imposing its own independent will upon every other organism? This question becomes even more striking when considering that such independent authority has the potential to disrupt the harmonious, intelligent systems that sustain life.

    If this observation holds true—that the Earth indeed hosts a species capable of disrupting the vital balance of ecosystems—it prompts us to ponder another profound question: How and from where could the Earth possibly derive the capability to produce a creature with power exceeding its own intrinsic systems?

    No other species in Earth’s vast biological history has ever wielded such extraordinary power as humans do today. Every creature that has ever inhabited our planet has functioned according to instinctive instructions encoded within their nature. These creatures—whether plants, animals, or microorganisms—have always inherently cooperated with the environments that sustain them, fulfilling their roles instinctively and maintaining ecological balance. They have been participants in a perfect symphony orchestrated by nature itself, ensuring the continuity and flourishing of life.

    Yet humans stand uniquely apart. Unlike any other organism, humans have the extraordinary ability not only to choose their own paths but also to disrupt the very systems on which their survival depends. Humans possess an unprecedented power: the power of choice, coupled with the capability to impose their will independently upon the natural world. This sets humans distinctively apart from all other creatures, whose existence and survival have always been seamlessly aligned with the environmental conditions required for life’s perpetuation.

    This capacity to choose—this freedom to align or diverge from nature’s perfect system—grants humans an unmatched responsibility. Unlike animals driven purely by instinct, humans can consciously decide to cooperate or conflict with the intricate systems that maintain life. This dual capacity presents humanity with a profound ethical and practical dilemma: to choose cooperation and harmony with nature, thereby supporting the continued flourishing of life, or to choose independence and dominance, thereby risking disruption and imbalance.

    Humans, thus, embody an extraordinary paradox. On one hand, they are integral parts of the natural world, reliant upon its provisions and delicate balance for survival. On the other hand, they wield the extraordinary and sometimes dangerous freedom to step outside the bounds of instinctive cooperation, potentially disrupting the equilibrium that sustains all life.

    Reflecting deeply on this paradox leads us to further question: Why would a planet whose existence hinges upon interdependence and perfect balance give rise to a creature with the ability to jeopardize its very survival? Could it be that humans are meant to understand, respect, and wisely manage this extraordinary gift of choice?

    Ultimately, humans have been entrusted—or perhaps burdened—with a unique role. The power of choice humanity holds is immense, capable of profound creation or significant destruction. It is within this profound responsibility that the future of our shared home, Earth, rests. The planet itself provides humanity with examples of perfect cooperation and sustainability. It remains up to us, as stewards with the ability to choose consciously, to decide whether we will harmonize with nature’s perfect systems or disrupt the delicate balance that sustains life.

  • What Lack?

    The Silent Intelligence That Sustains Life on Earth

    We live on a remarkable planet—a place teeming with vibrant life and intricate systems that, often without our notice, work together to make Earth habitable. From lush rainforests to sprawling grasslands, from coral reefs to frozen tundras, the Earth consists of dynamic ecosystems. Each is a vast network of interactions between plants, animals, microorganisms, and their physical surroundings, all woven into an extraordinary tapestry that creates and sustains the conditions necessary for life.

    Consider, for instance, a forest. Trees stretch toward the sky, capturing sunlight and transforming it into energy through photosynthesis. The fallen leaves they shed enrich the soil with nutrients, which, in turn, nourish new seedlings. Birds nest in the branches, insects pollinate the flowers, and fungi beneath the forest floor form networks connecting roots, helping trees share resources and warnings of disease or drought. Even in a single forest, countless species rely on one another in ways that keep the entire system healthy and balanced.

    Across the entire planet, similar interdependence is at play. Every ecosystem—from the tiny drop of water in a pond, bustling with microscopic life, to the endless waves of the open ocean—depends on millions of organisms working together. And it’s not merely cooperation by choice. Life on Earth has persisted for billions of years because each participant—be it animal, plant, or microbe—fulfills a specific role in the grand design.

    These organisms don’t “choose” to play their parts in the way humans might decide to take on a job or a hobby. Instead, every creature, from the smallest bacterium to the mighty elephant, is driven by instinct—an inner intelligence that guides behavior without conscious deliberation.

    Take honeybees, for example. No one instructs a bee on how to build a hexagonal honeycomb, communicate through dances, or pollinate flowers while gathering nectar. These behaviors are not learned in a classroom but are written into their very being. Their instinctive actions sustain not only their own colony but also much of the plant life humans and countless other animals depend on for food.

    Or think of salmon, which hatch in freshwater streams, migrate to the ocean, and then, years later, return unerringly to the exact stream of their birth to spawn. No human GPS system guides them; they follow a deep, internal compass—a biological wisdom that has allowed their species to survive for millennia.

    These examples echo a fundamental truth: organisms are equipped with the precise instincts and abilities needed to fulfill their unique roles. They don’t question their place in the system; they simply obey the instructions woven into them by nature. In doing so, they help maintain the delicate balance upon which life depends.

    Even on a microscopic scale, this principle holds true. Consider the bacteria in your own body. Trillions of these tiny organisms live in your gut, helping digest food, produce vitamins, and keep harmful invaders at bay. They “know” their job without needing to be taught. Disrupt this microscopic community—say, through illness or antibiotics—and your health can quickly decline.

    The interconnectedness of life is so profound that if even one piece were removed or chose not to perform its role, the effects could ripple through the system, potentially collapsing entire ecosystems. Imagine if earthworms decided to stop burrowing. The soil would become compacted, water wouldn’t drain properly, plants would struggle to grow, and animals relying on those plants would suffer. In time, entire food webs could unravel.

    Despite the complexity, the world functions with an astonishing balance, providing enough substance and resources to sustain all life. In the oceans, phytoplankton—microscopic plants—produce much of the world’s oxygen while forming the base of marine food chains. On land, plants harvest sunlight and turn it into food for herbivores, which in turn nourish carnivores. Even when natural disasters or sudden changes strike, life often finds a way to rebound, guided by that same silent intelligence within each organism.

    Our planet is a living masterpiece of cooperation and balance, maintained not by deliberate choice but by countless organisms simply being what they were made to be. They fulfill their roles, guided by instinct, supporting the vast system that makes Earth a place where life can thrive. It’s a humbling reminder that, while humans often think of ourselves as separate or above nature, we too are part of this intricate, interconnected whole—and that our choices, unlike those driven purely by instinct, carry a unique responsibility to protect the delicate balance of life that sustains us all.

    The Power to Choose

    Coming soon…

  • Day 5

    I am trying to figure out how to be able to sit down and bang out a post without struggling to figure out exactly how to do it. Im listening to the help video about setting up the blog. I am hoping it helps. I just stumbled upon this link and came up with the idea to just practice starting to write about where I am at right away. Seeing what these posts look like and how to do it.