Daily Reflections From God's Word

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  • Scripture Is Not About Me… But It Still Reveals Me

    Scripture Is Not About Me… But It Still Reveals Me

    Yesterday, we talked about James describing God’s Word as a mirror.

    That thought sparked some interesting discussion.

    One person commented that the Bible is written so we can see Christ and follow God—not so we can see ourselves.

    In one sense, I completely agree.

    The Bible is not primarily a self-help book. It is the revelation of God. From Genesis to Revelation, Scripture points us to God’s character, God’s promises, God’s mercy, God’s judgment, and ultimately God’s plan of redemption through Jesus Christ.

    Christ is the center of Scripture.

    But I think we can make a mistake if we stop there.

    If Scripture reveals Christ, and Christ exposes what is in my heart, then self-examination becomes unavoidable.

    Throughout the Bible, we find people who encountered God and immediately became aware of themselves.

    When Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up, his first response was not to analyze the sins of the nation around him. He cried, “Woe is me! for I am undone.”

    When Peter witnessed the miraculous catch of fish, he fell at Jesus’ feet and said, “Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.”

    At the Last Supper, when Jesus told the disciples that one of them would betray Him, they did not immediately begin pointing fingers. Instead, one by one, they asked, “Lord, is it I?”

    In every case, seeing God more clearly caused them to see themselves more clearly.

    That is why James compares God’s Word to a mirror.

    A mirror does not create flaws.

    A mirror reveals what is already there.

    The purpose of Scripture is not to make me the hero of the story. The purpose of Scripture is to reveal God. Yet when God is revealed, I begin to see myself honestly.

    We do not read David so we can pretend we are David.

    We do not read Esau so we can condemn Esau.

    We do not read Peter simply to admire Peter.

    These men often become mirrors.

    David reveals the heart of repentance.

    Esau reveals the danger of placing temporary desires above eternal blessings.

    Peter reveals how quickly passion can outrun wisdom.

    Judas reveals that it is possible to be near Jesus while withholding complete surrender.

    The goal is not identification.

    The goal is transformation.

    The question is not, “Which Bible character am I?”

    The better question is, “Lord, what are You showing me that needs to change?”

    That question requires humility.

    It is easy to read about the Pharisees and see someone else.

    It is easy to read about Judas and think of someone else’s betrayal.

    It is easy to read about Esau and think of someone else’s poor choices.

    It is much harder to ask whether traces of those same attitudes might exist in our own hearts.

    Yet that is often where real growth begins.

    The closer we draw to God, the less interested we become in evaluating everyone else and the more willing we become to examine ourselves.

    Perhaps that is why the disciples’ question still echoes through Scripture.

    Not, “Lord, is it him?”

    Not, “Lord, is it her?”

    Not, “Lord, is it them?”

    But, “Lord, is it I?”

    When we open God’s Word, may we see Christ more clearly than ever before.

    And in His light, may we have the courage to see ourselves honestly as well.

  • When the Mirror Turns Around

    Most of us read ourselves into the role we’d like to play.

    We’re David facing Goliath.

    Daniel standing in the lion’s den.

    Joseph resisting temptation.

    Esther risking everything for her people.

    And to be fair, there are seasons when we find ourselves in those stories. There are times when we must stand in faith, endure hardship, or trust God in difficult circumstances.

    But the longer I live, the more I realize that Scripture was not written merely to inspire me.

    It was written to expose me.

    When I open God’s Word, I instinctively look for the hero. Yet many times, God points me toward someone else entirely.

    What if I’m not David in this chapter?

    What if I’m Saul holding the spear?

    What if I’m Martha distracted and frustrated?

    What if I’m Peter warming himself by the fire while denying the Lord?

    What if I’m Jonah running from God’s call?

    Or perhaps most uncomfortable of all…

    What if I’m Esau?

    I’ve always found Esau’s story troubling.

    How could someone trade a birthright for a bowl of stew?

    An inheritance.

    A blessing.

    A future.

    Given away for one temporary appetite.

    The more I’ve reflected on it, however, the less I find myself judging Esau and the more I find myself understanding him.

    Because I’ve done the same thing.

    Not for a bowl of stew.

    But for things that seemed important in the moment.

    Comfort.

    Convenience.

    Pride.

    Temporary satisfaction.

    The desire to have what I wanted instead of what God wanted.

    Many of the regrets we carry in life aren’t the result of ignorance. They come from moments when we knew the right path and chose another one anyway.

    That’s what makes Esau’s story so personal.

    He didn’t lose his birthright because he lacked information.

    He lost it because he valued the immediate more than the eternal.

    And if we’re honest, we’ve all stood in that same place at one time or another.

    The difficult conversation we avoided.

    The conviction we ignored.

    The prayer life we neglected.

    The relationship we damaged.

    The compromise we justified.

    The thing we knew we shouldn’t do but convinced ourselves wouldn’t matter.

    Scripture becomes powerful when it stops being a collection of heroic stories and becomes a mirror.

    A mirror doesn’t exist to flatter us.

    It exists to show us what is actually there.

    James compared God’s Word to a mirror for exactly that reason. We look into it and see ourselves. The question is whether we walk away unchanged or allow God to transform what He reveals.

    I’ve discovered that spiritual growth rarely begins when I see myself as David.

    It usually begins when I recognize the Esau, Jonah, Peter, or Martha hiding beneath the surface.

    Transformation begins when we stop asking, “Who is the villain in this story?” and start asking, “Lord, is it I?”

    The good news is that God specializes in restoring broken people.

    Peter denied Him, yet was restored.

    David failed, yet found mercy.

    Jonah ran, yet God still used him.

    The purpose of the mirror is not condemnation.

    The purpose of the mirror is correction.

    God shows us where we are so He can lead us to where we should be.

    So the next time you open your Bible, don’t just look for the hero.

    Look for yourself.

    You may discover that the greatest work God wants to do isn’t defeating a giant in front of you.

    It’s changing something within you.

    Final Thought:
    The Bible becomes life-changing when we stop auditioning for the hero’s role and allow God’s Word to reveal who we really are. Only then can He begin the work of transforming us into who He wants us to become.

  • When Doing The Right Thing Still Costs You

    Most people remember Joseph for resisting temptation.

    We know the story. Potiphar’s wife repeatedly attempted to seduce him, but Joseph refused. When she finally grabbed his garment, he fled the house rather than compromise his integrity.

    It’s one of the clearest examples of resisting temptation found anywhere in Scripture.

    But that’s not where Joseph’s real trial began.

    That’s where it started.

    After doing exactly what was right, Joseph found himself falsely accused, publicly disgraced, and thrown into prison.

    No witnesses.

    No evidence.

    No opportunity to defend himself.

    One accusation changed everything.

    “The first to plead his case seems right, until another comes and examines him.” (Proverbs 18:17)

    Potiphar’s wife spoke first. Joseph never had the chance.

    For years, Joseph carried the consequences of a lie he didn’t tell and a crime he didn’t commit.

    That reality challenges something many of us secretly believe.

    We often assume that obedience should produce immediate blessing. We expect doing the right thing to result in quick vindication. We think that if we honor God, He will immediately clear our name, remove the hardship, and make everything right.

    Yet Joseph’s story shows otherwise.

    God did not instantly rescue Joseph from prison.

    God did not immediately expose Potiphar’s wife.

    God did not rush in to restore Joseph’s reputation.

    Instead, Joseph spent years waiting.

    Years serving faithfully in a place he never should have been.

    Years carrying a label he didn’t deserve.

    And somehow, through it all, Joseph refused to become bitter.

    That may be the most remarkable part of his story.

    Many people can endure hardship.

    Many people can survive disappointment.

    But when hardship comes because we did the right thing, bitterness often knocks at the door.

    “Lord, I obeyed You.”

    “Lord, I tried to do what was right.”

    “Lord, I told the truth.”

    “Lord, I stayed faithful.”

    Why am I the one paying the price?

    Joseph never seems to ask those questions.

    Instead, he continued serving wherever God placed him.

    In Potiphar’s house.

    In prison.

    Eventually in Pharaoh’s court.

    His circumstances changed, but his character did not.

    There is a lesson there for all of us.

    Sometimes people will misunderstand us.

    Sometimes they will believe a version of us that isn’t true.

    Sometimes they will hear one side of a story and never bother to hear the other.

    That hurts.

    Deeply.

    Especially when we know the truth.

    But there comes a point when we must recognize that we are responsible for our character, not for everyone’s opinion.

    We can live honestly.

    We can walk in integrity.

    We can apologize when we are wrong.

    We can make things right where we have failed.

    But we cannot force others to see us correctly.

    Joseph couldn’t.

    Neither could Jesus.

    Neither could Paul.

    The good news is that God’s purpose for our lives has never depended upon public opinion.

    Joseph’s story does not end with everyone apologizing to him.

    Scripture never records Potiphar’s wife admitting her lie.

    We never read of a public exoneration.

    Instead, we see God elevate Joseph anyway.

    God fulfilled His purpose without first securing Joseph’s reputation.

    That is a powerful reminder.

    If you are carrying the weight of being misunderstood, falsely accused, or judged unfairly, remember this:

    Your future is not determined by the opinions of others.

    Your responsibility is faithfulness.

    God will handle the rest.

    The greatest victory is not convincing everyone that you were right.

    The greatest victory is remaining faithful while you wait for God to work.

  • The Watchman on the Wall

    Isaiah 62:6 NKJV

    “I have set watchmen on your walls, O Jerusalem; They shall never hold their peace day or night. You who make mention of the Lord, do not keep silent.”

    Recently I found myself drawn to two passages in Isaiah.

    The first was Isaiah 52:7:

    “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who bringstt good news…”

    The second was Isaiah 62:6:

    “I have set watchmen on your walls, O Jerusalem…”

    At first glance they appear unrelated.

    One speaks of a messenger running across the mountains with good news.

    The other speaks of watchmen standing on the walls of Jerusalem.

    One is moving.

    The other is standing still.

    One delivers the message.

    The other guards it.

    Yet the more I reflected on these passages, the more I began to see how closely connected they really are.

    The messenger in Isaiah 52 arrives with a message of hope.

    The watchman in Isaiah 62 remains on the wall long after the messenger has disappeared from sight.

    And perhaps that’s the challenge many believers face today.

    Anybody can get excited about delivering good news once.

    The greater challenge is continuing to stand watch after the excitement fades.

    The watchman isn’t celebrated because he sees something spectacular every day.

    Most days he doesn’t.

    Most days are ordinary.

    Most days are quiet.

    Most days involve standing in the same place, looking toward the same horizon, wondering if anything is about to change.

    Yet Isaiah says they are not to remain silent.

    Day or night.

    Whether anyone is listening or not.

    Whether anyone appreciates it or not.

    Whether anyone responds or not.

    They are to remain faithful to their assignment.

    I understand that challenge more today than I did a year ago.

    For nearly a year I have written daily devotionals, recorded videos, posted Scripture, and shared thoughts across multiple platforms.

    Facebook.

    YouTube.

    Clapper.

    Reddit.

    My website.

    Some posts receive interaction.

    Some receive very little.

    Some disappear into the endless stream of online content without so much as a comment.

    And if I’m honest, there have been times when I’ve wondered if any of it matters.

    There have been moments when I’ve considered stepping back.

    Moments when I’ve thought about walking away.

    Moments when I’ve questioned whether anyone was actually being helped.

    Church ministry is different.

    When you teach a Sunday School class, preach a message, or lead a Bible study, there is often immediate feedback.

    Sometimes people tell you they were encouraged.

    Sometimes they tell you they were challenged.

    Sometimes they disagree with you.

    At least you know someone heard what was said.

    Online ministry often doesn’t provide that luxury.

    You release the message into the world and hear nothing in return.

    No applause.

    No criticism.

    No confirmation.

    Just silence.

    And silence can be discouraging.

    But every time I’ve tried to step away, I find myself identifying with Jeremiah.

    After enduring rejection, criticism, and opposition, Jeremiah reached a point where he declared he would speak no more in God’s name.

    Yet he immediately discovered he couldn’t.

    The Word of God became, in his own words, like a fire shut up in his bones.

    He was weary of holding it in.

    And he could not stop speaking.

    I understand that.

    Not because I compare myself to Jeremiah, but because I recognize the feeling.

    A verse catches my attention.

    A passage begins speaking to my heart.

    A connection appears between two Scriptures.

    A lesson emerges from a daily Bible reading.

    Before long, I’m writing again.

    Not because I need content.

    Not because an algorithm demands another post.

    Not because I’m searching for attention.

    Because the Word still burns.

    That’s the part of ministry many people never see.

    The public sees the message.

    They don’t always see the burden behind it.

    The public sees the post.

    They don’t always see the prayer.

    The public sees the devotion.

    They don’t always see the wrestling that produced it.

    Yet this is where Isaiah 52 and Isaiah 62 come together.

    The messenger carries the good news.

    The watchman keeps proclaiming it.

    The messenger arrives with hope.

    The watchman refuses to stop reminding people that hope still exists.

    The messenger announces, “Your God reigns.”

    The watchman continues declaring that truth long after the messenger has gone.

    Perhaps that’s why the watchman’s assignment is so important.

    His responsibility was never to measure results.

    His responsibility was faithfulness.

    He could not control who listened.

    He could not control who responded.

    He could not control what people did with the warning or the encouragement he offered.

    His task was simply to remain at his post.

    Maybe that’s a lesson all of us need to hear.

    We live in a culture obsessed with numbers.

    Followers.

    Views.

    Likes.

    Comments.

    Shares.

    Yet God has never measured ministry the same way people do.

    Jeremiah would have been considered unsuccessful by modern standards.

    No massive crowds.

    No viral influence.

    No measurable growth.

    Yet he was one of the greatest prophets in Scripture because he remained faithful to his assignment.

    The same is true for every watchman.

    Success is not determined by the response.

    Success is determined by obedience.

    And perhaps that’s why Isaiah’s words continue to resonate with me.

    The watchman remains on the wall.

    Day after day.

    Night after night.

    Not because the work is easy.

    Not because the results are always visible.

    But because God placed him there.

    And until God releases him from that assignment, he remains faithful.

    Maybe that’s the real beauty of the watchman.

    Not that he always sees results.

    But that he refuses to abandon his post when he doesn’t.

    Final Word

    The messenger brings the good news.
    The watchman keeps bringing it.

    One delivers the message.
    The other refuses to stop declaring it.

    In a world obsessed with visible results, God still honors faithfulness.

    Stay on the wall.
    Someone may be hearing the message even when you cannot see the response.

  • Divine Disruptions – Day 4

    Divine Disruptions – Day 4

    Pharaoh: When Pride Outlives the Plagues

    📖 “But Pharaoh hardened his heart at this time also…” — Exodus 8:32 (NKJV)

    Pharaoh didn’t miss what God was saying.
    He just didn’t like what it required.

    And that’s what makes his story so dangerous—it shows us that spiritual blindness isn’t always about ignorance. Sometimes it’s about arrogance.

    God didn’t start small with Pharaoh. He sent Moses with a simple but loaded message:

    “Let My people go.”
    Pharaoh’s response? “Who is the Lord, that I should obey His voice?” (Exodus 5:2)

    And right there, the line was drawn.
    Pharaoh didn’t just reject the message—he rejected the authority behind it.

    🔥 Then the disruption began.

    God sent plagues.
    Not just natural disasters, but direct attacks on the Egyptian gods—each plague a divine dismantling of Egypt’s pride, power, and control.

    • The Nile turned to blood—a death blow to Egypt’s economy and spirituality.
    • Frogs swarmed their homes.
    • Dust became lice.
    • Disease struck their livestock.
    • Boils covered their bodies.
    • Hail pounded their crops.
    • Locusts devoured what was left.
    • Darkness covered the land.
    • And finally, death entered every Egyptian home.

    Nine chances to bow.
    Nine divine warnings to surrender.
    And yet… Pharaoh hardened his heart. Again. And again. And again.

    “And the Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart…” (Exodus 9:12)

    That verse shakes me. Because it’s not just that Pharaoh resisted—God eventually confirmed it.

    God gave Pharaoh opportunity after opportunity to repent.
    But Pharaoh was more committed to being right than being righteous.
    He didn’t want to lose control.
    He didn’t want to look weak.
    He didn’t want to give up the throne.

    So God gave him over to the very pride he refused to let go.

    ⚠️ Here’s the warning that hits us today:

    You can be surrounded by miracles… and still choose rebellion.
    You can feel conviction… and still ignore it.
    You can see God working… and still harden your heart.

    Divine disruptions are supposed to wake us up.
    But if we resist long enough, they stop being invitations—and become judgments.

    Pharaoh’s stubbornness didn’t just cost him personally.
    It broke a nation.
    His army drowned. His people suffered. His name became synonymous with rebellion.

    And here’s the moment that seals it:

    Pharaoh’s story doesn’t end in repentance.
    It ends in a watery grave—at the bottom of the very sea those he pursued had just walked through.
    Because sometimes, what we chase in rebellion… becomes the very thing that destroys us.

    He watched the people of God walk through freedom—and followed them into judgment.

    🙏 Reflection:

    • Have I confused God’s patience with His approval?
    • What repeated disruptions have I been writing off as coincidence?
    • Is my pride blinding me to the cost of disobedience?

    When God doesn’t have your attention, He’ll disturb what does.
    Just ask Pharaoh.

  • Divine Disruptions – Day 2

    Divine Disruptions – Day 2

    Dagon Falls: When God Topples What You Worship

    📖 “And when they arose early the next morning, there was Dagon, fallen on its face to the earth before the ark of the Lord.” — 1 Samuel 5:4 (NKJV)

    When the Philistines captured the ark of God, they thought they had won.

    They carried the symbol of Israel’s God into their territory, placed it inside the temple of their god, Dagon, and essentially said:
    “We’ll just add Him to our collection.”

    They didn’t deny God’s power—they just tried to place it alongside their own preferences. Their own comfort. Their own familiar system of worship.

    But the next morning?

    Dagon was face-down on the ground.

    So what did they do?

    They stood him back up.

    The next morning?

    Dagon was face-down again—head and hands broken off.

    This is what happens when we try to mix holy and profane.
    This is what happens when we treat God like He’s one of many options.
    This is what happens when we think we can contain the presence of the Lord on our own terms.

    God does not share space with idols.

    He never has. He never will.

    💥 And today?

    Dagon still falls.

    When you invite God into your life for real—for more than comfort, more than Sunday service, more than lip-service—He will challenge what you’ve propped up in His place.

    He’ll disturb your routine.
    He’ll expose your idols.
    He’ll topple what you’ve been relying on instead of Him.

    Maybe it’s a toxic relationship.
    Maybe it’s a career that became your identity.
    Maybe it’s money. Or pride. Or control. Or convenience.

    And when it falls—don’t rush to prop it back up.

    Let it fall.
    Let the idol die.
    Let God show you that He alone is worthy of the throne.

    🙏 Questions to Consider:

    • What “Dagon” have I allowed to stand beside God in my life?
    • Am I angry that it fell—or relieved that God didn’t let me keep it?
    • What would happen if I finally let the idol stay broken?

    When God steps into a place, the false gods don’t get to keep standing.

    He’s not cruel. He’s holy.
    And holiness will always confront compromise.

    📌 Closing Line:

    “When God doesn’t have your attention, He’ll disturb what does.”
    Just ask Dagon.

  • Divine Disruptions – Day 1

    Jonah: When God Sends a Storm

    📖 “But the Lord sent out a great wind on the sea…” — Jonah 1:4 (NKJV)

    Jonah didn’t misunderstand God. He wasn’t unsure about his calling.
    He just didn’t like it.

    God said, “Arise, go to Nineveh…”
    Jonah said, “No thanks,” and ran the other way.

    This wasn’t fear—it was flat-out rebellion. Jonah didn’t want Nineveh spared. He didn’t want them forgiven. He hated them. He knew God would be merciful, and he didn’t want mercy for people he couldn’t stand.

    So he fled. Booked a ship. Headed to Tarshish like he could outrun the voice of God.

    But when Jonah ran, God didn’t chase him with silence.
    He chased him with a storm.

    “But the Lord sent out a great wind…”

    That one line says everything.

    The storm wasn’t from Satan. It wasn’t from sin.
    It was from God.

    A holy disruption. A divine intervention.
    A perfectly timed, unavoidable wake-up call.

    Jonah’s rebellion didn’t just affect him. His disobedience threatened the lives of everyone on that boat. That’s the thing about sin—it’s never private. It always has fallout. Always spills over onto the innocent. Always causes someone else to wonder, “Why is this happening?”

    But even as the boat rocked and the crew panicked, Jonah knew.
    He said, “I serve the God who made the sea.”
    He knew who was behind the wind.

    And here’s the grace in it all:
    God had already prepared a fish.

    The fish wasn’t judgment. It was protection.
    It was messy. It was uncomfortable. It stank. But it kept him alive and brought him back.

    That’s what God’s disruptions often feel like:
    Unpleasant. Inconvenient. Humbling.
    But merciful.

    He’ll interrupt your plans to protect your calling.
    He’ll break your boat before He lets you self-destruct.

    🙏 So here’s the question for today:

    • Are you running from something you’ve been clearly called to do?
    • Have others started to feel the weight of your decisions?
    • Could it be that the storm isn’t meant to crush you—but to bring you home?

    Jonah’s story reminds us that God doesn’t give up just because we do.
    He’ll shake the sea. He’ll send the storm. He’ll even prepare the fish.
    Because the call doesn’t get canceled just because you ran from it.

    He still wants you.
    Storm, scars, and all.

    📌 Closing Line:

    “When God doesn’t have your attention, He’ll disturb what does.”
    Just ask Jonah.

  • The Plastic Chair Was Never the Problem

    Key Scripture:
    “And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” — John 8:32 (NKJV)
    “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” — Romans 12:2b (NKJV)

    I came across an image recently that caught me off guard—and convicted me more than I’d like to admit.

    It was a horse. Big, strong, muscular. But it was standing still, tied by a rope to a flimsy plastic lawn chair. That horse could’ve broken free without even trying. But it didn’t. Not because it couldn’t—but because it believed it was bound.

    And right then, I saw myself.

    For the past month, I’ve allowed distractions to pull me away from the very disciplines that gave me life—prayer, time in the Word, pouring truth into others through every platform God gave me. One small excuse turned into a week. One neglected moment of prayer turned into silence. Then came the guilt. The disappointment. The rope.

    Not one of those things—distraction, laziness, or even failure—was stronger than my calling or the presence of God in my life. But somewhere in my head, I gave them that power. I started believing that I had to feel on fire to be faithful. I told myself I needed to wait until I was inspired, until life calmed down, until I “got it together.”

    But that was the rope talking. That was the plastic chair.

    Jesus didn’t die and rise again to set us halfway free. The bondage we face now isn’t always external. Sometimes, it’s just a lie we’ve believed for too long.

    And that’s where the real battle is won: not just by cutting the rope—but by renewing the mind that believed it held us.

    Romans 12:2 doesn’t say we’re transformed by doing better. It says we’re transformed by the renewing of our mind. That’s where it starts. That’s where the chair loses its grip.

    So here I am—coming back to the things I’ve neglected. Not because I feel worthy, but because I now see the truth. The enemy will try to convince us we’re too far gone. That God’s disappointed. That we’re disqualified.

    But listen to me: that chair has no power.

    The truth is that God is waiting—not with condemnation, but with open arms.
    The truth is that freedom isn’t earned, it’s claimed.
    The truth is that your calling doesn’t evaporate when you get distracted.
    It waits—right where you left it.

    Reflection Questions:

    1. What lies have I believed about myself that are keeping me tied down?
    2. Where have I allowed distractions to become spiritual chains?
    3. What truth do I need to replace those lies with today?

    Closing Prayer:
    Father, I confess that I’ve allowed myself to become entangled in lies and distractions. I’ve believed the rope was real, even when You’ve already given me freedom. Help me today to renew my mind—to replace the lies with truth. I want to walk in the freedom Jesus died to give me. Pull me back into the disciplines I’ve neglected, and meet me in that place. I’m coming home. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  • Nearer Than You’ve Ever Dreamed

    Fifteen years ago, I received a phone call from a friend in what I can only describe as a full-blown spiritual crisis. Through tears and strained silence, she confessed things she thought disqualified her from God’s presence: sexual sin, rebellion, alcohol abuse, and a string of regrets. Her voice cracked as she asked, “Does God even see me anymore? Can He still hear me?”

    Truth be told, I didn’t have the right words in that moment. So I did what I always do when I feel helpless—I prayed, then turned to Scripture. The story of the prodigal son in Luke 15:11-32 brought comfort. That image of a father running to his broken, returning son never fails to bring me to tears.

    Later, I picked up Max Lucado’s Come Thirsty, and this fictional yet spiritually potent scene caught my eye. Jesse, a Christ-figure, finds Meagan in a cafe. She’s exhausted, emotionally wrecked, and burdened by shame. She spills out her story—a series of poor choices that left her feeling used and discarded. Then she asks: “Where’s God in all this?”

    Jesse leans in and replies, “Nearer than you’ve ever dreamed.”

    This is the heart of the gospel.

    Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) declares,

    “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.”

    And Isaiah 55:6-7 (NKJV) urges,

    “Seek the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near. Let the wicked forsake his way… and He will have mercy… for He will abundantly pardon.”

    We serve a God who draws near to the broken.

    Not just the polished or the cleaned-up.

    Not just the Sunday best version.

    But the tear-streaked, regret-heavy, “I’m barely holding it together” version.

    Maybe this is you today. Maybe you’re wondering, like my friend once did, if God still sees you. If He’s still listening. Let me remind you: He is. He always has been.

    He is nearer than you’ve ever dreamed.

    When have you felt far from God? What reminded you of His nearness?

    Share your story below. Someone else might need your honesty today.

  • When Obedience Makes No Sense: Marching Through the Impossible

    Scripture focus: “You will not need to fight in this battle. Position yourselves, stand still and see the salvation of the Lord…” (2 Chronicles 20:17, NKJV)

    The Bible is packed with stories that, if we’re being honest, sound like they should’ve ended in disaster. People facing impossible odds, following battle plans that would never fly in a military strategy room—and somehow walking away victorious. Why? Because God was the one calling the shots.

    Let’s start at the Red Sea. The children of Israel—more than 600,000 men, plus women and children—had finally escaped Egypt. But they were trapped between the uncrossable Red Sea and Pharaoh’s pursuing army. No weapons. No escape route. No time. But instead of rallying the people to arms, Moses said something crazy: “Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord” (Exodus 14:13). Then God parted the waters. The people walked through on dry land. And when Pharaoh’s army followed, the sea closed in behind them.

    That’s not strategy. That’s sovereignty.

    And then there’s Jericho. A fortified city with high walls and strong defenses. Any human general would’ve planned a siege. But God gave Joshua a blueprint that sounded like a children’s game: walk around the city once a day for six days in total silence. Then on the seventh day, march around seven times. Blow the trumpets. Shout. That’s 13 total laps around the city.

    Now pause for a second. The number 13 has a bad reputation. The world calls it unlucky. Some elevators skip the 13th floor. People talk about Friday the 13th like it’s cursed. But let this sink in: God used 13 laps—that “unlucky” number—to bring down the walls of one of the strongest cities in the Promised Land.

    Let the world call it bad luck. We call it divine design.

    It doesn’t stop there. Gideon started with 32,000 men to fight the Midianites. But God trimmed it down to 10,000… then just 300 men—armed not with swords, but with trumpets, torches, and clay pitchers. Judges 7:12 says the enemy was “as numerous as locusts; and their camels… as the sand by the seashore.” That’s not just outnumbered. That’s outmatched, overwhelmed, and underqualified. Yet by God’s hand, victory came anyway.

    Over and over we see it:

    • Hezekiah and the Assyrian army (2 Kings 19)
    • Jehoshaphat against the armies of Moab and Ammon (2 Chronicles 20)
    • Daniel in the lion’s den (Daniel 6)
    • Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3)

    These aren’t just Bible stories—they’re testimonies. Reminders that when obedience seems foolish, God’s power is often just moments away.

    I don’t know what kind of battle you’re facing today. Maybe you’re on lap 11 or 12, and nothing’s changed. The walls are still there. The enemy still looms. The fear is still whispering in your ear. But let me say this:

    Don’t quit before lap 13.

    Don’t let the world define your “unlucky” situation. Let God redeem it for His glory. Maybe you feel like the underdog—like Gideon. Or maybe you’ve been marching silently like Joshua, wondering if your obedience even matters. It does. It always does.

    And when you’re tired? When quitting seems easier than continuing? Remember the words of Jehaziel in 2 Chronicles 20:17, “Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.” Or David’s bold declaration to Goliath in 1 Samuel 17:47, “The battle is the Lord’s.” Or the simple, powerful invitation from Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

    There’s a song from the Imperials—recorded back in 1979—that still speaks:

    Praise the Lord, for the chains that seem to bind you
    Serve only to remind you
    That they drop powerless behind you
    When you praise Him.

    Chains look real. Walls feel permanent. But God? He specializes in things that don’t make sense.

    Reflection Questions:

    1. Have you ever obeyed God when it didn’t make sense? What happened?
    2. Are you on a “lap” right now where quitting feels easier than trusting?
    3. What walls are you facing today that need a God-sized breakthrough?

    Final Encouragement:
    Obedience may not feel powerful—but it positions us to see God’s power clearly. Don’t stop short. Don’t buy the world’s definition of what’s “lucky” or “logical.” If He brought you to it, He’s more than able to bring you through it.

    Keep marching. Lap 13 is coming.