Thoughts for the Day

A devotional ministry of Watchman Ministries

Latest Devotionals

  • Tend The Flame

    Tend The Flame

    A spark may appear suddenly.

    A sustained flame requires faithful attention.

    I’ve been thinking about that as I consider what we’ve experienced in our church lately. There have been powerful moments of prayer, a growing sense of unity, and an expectancy that has made me want to remain attentive to what God is doing.

    But eventually, the service ends.

    We leave the altar. The sanctuary lights go out. We drive home, prepare for work, and return to the responsibilities that were waiting before we arrived.

    What happens then?

    A powerful service can awaken hunger. But it can’t substitute for prayer on an ordinary Tuesday, forgiveness after another disagreement, or obedience when nobody’s watching.

    The moment matters.

    So does what we do afterward.

    In Leviticus, God gave Israel’s priests instructions concerning the sacrifices and the care of the altar. Among those responsibilities was tending its fire. The priest was to add wood every morning.

    “And the fire on the altar shall be kept burning on it; it shall not be put out.”
    — Leviticus 6:12 NKJV

    Verse 13 repeats the command that the fire must remain burning.

    These were instructions for Israel’s sacrificial worship—not a formula for producing revival or a command that Christians maintain a literal altar fire.

    But there’s an application worth considering:

    The priests had a responsibility that required attention beyond a single moment.

    Paul brings spiritual diligence into the everyday life of the believer:

    “not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord;”
    — Romans 12:11 NKJV

    The surrounding verses connect that life with love, patience, persistent prayer, generosity, and hospitality.

    That helps me understand what tending the flame can look like.

    Sometimes it’s opening Scripture when I’d rather keep scrolling.

    Sometimes it’s returning to prayer without having a new feeling or a new answer.

    Sometimes it’s making the phone call, admitting I was wrong, or offering forgiveness when rehearsing the injury would come more naturally.

    Sometimes it’s noticing the person who needs encouragement when I’m preoccupied with my own responsibilities.

    None of those things may look particularly dramatic.

    But they give expression to what I said I wanted when I stood in the altar.

    If I asked God to make me more loving, I shouldn’t be surprised when the next opportunity involves someone difficult to love. If I surrendered my plans, that surrender will eventually meet an interruption. If I prayed to become useful, the answer may involve serving when it’s inconvenient.

    This isn’t about working hard enough to keep God present.

    His faithfulness doesn’t rise and fall with my emotional intensity. Exhaustion isn’t proof that the fire has gone out, and rest isn’t a failure to respond.

    I don’t need to recreate the atmosphere of a powerful service every morning.

    I do need to remain willing to follow the God I encountered there.

    Earlier this week, I wrote about an old response that got me out of a chair—and the judgment that brought me back to it.

    That lesson belongs here, too.

    Sustained faith is formed through repeated responses. The next choice may seem small, but it’s another opportunity to practice what God is teaching me.

    I won’t always get it right.

    When I don’t, I can repent, receive His grace, and respond again.

    My prayer is that the hunger awakened in worship will find expression in how I speak, how I serve, what I surrender, and whom I make room for when the service is over.

    Lord, help me tend what You’ve awakened within me. Teach me to remain faithful when the moment becomes a memory and obedience becomes ordinary.

    The spark may come in a moment. Faithfulness tends what God has begun.

  • One Spark Away: Ready To Respond

    One Spark Away: Ready To Respond

    A friend recently posted a sentence that stayed with me:

    “We’re just one spark from a flame…”

    My mind went immediately to revival.

    In our church lately, we have experienced some powerful movements of the Spirit. One recent Sunday, our pastor never got to preach because people were praying in the altar. Guests from outside an Apostolic background have chosen to stay because they are drawn to what they feel.

    I also sense a growing unity. People are praying together, growing closer, and becoming more intentional about how they live their faith.

    Those things have left me with a sense of preparation, expectancy, and urgency.

    Something is stirring, and I want to be responsive to it.

    Acts describes the gathering at Pentecost this way:

    “When the Day of Pentecost had fully come, they were all with one accord in one place.”
    —Acts 2:1 NKJV

    The Spirit came upon those gathered believers. They were filled with the Holy Spirit and spoke in other tongues as He enabled them. God supplied the power, and their lives were changed. (biblegateway.com)

    As the chapter continues, we see how that new life took shape. They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, shared meals, and prayer. They cared for people’s needs and gathered regularly to worship. Their response to God influenced the way they lived together (Acts 2:42–47).

    That helps me put words to what I have been sensing:

    A people becoming available to God and attentive to one another.

    There is intentionality in that. I can make time to pray. I can give Scripture my attention. I can listen when someone shares a burden and pray alongside them. I can welcome the person who is still learning everyone’s name. I can take responsibility for an attitude God has brought to my attention.

    These ordinary decisions give expression to my willingness to follow Him.

    And there is urgency.

    Hebrews brings our response into the present:

    “Today, if you will hear His voice, Do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.”
    —Hebrews 3:15 NKJV

    That warning calls me to receive what God says with a willing heart. Today matters. The conviction I recognize deserves a response. The clear step of obedience before me deserves my attention.

    If I have been sensing a need to return to consistent prayer, I can begin today. If I know I need to seek forgiveness, I can take that first humble step. If God is dealing with something I have resisted surrendering, I need to bring it honestly before Him.

    I can pray for revival while offering God my present willingness to obey.

    One person’s response can encourage another. Someone begins praying, and another person joins them. Someone asks for help, and others gather around. Someone takes a difficult step of obedience, and another finds courage to take their own.

    The spark may come in a moment we could never have planned. There may already be beginnings around us: renewed hunger, deeper prayer, restored relationships, hearts becoming tender toward God.

    I want to tend those beginnings faithfully. I want the expectancy I feel in a service to influence how I live when I leave it. I want to remain available when obedience interrupts my plans and attentive when someone needs my time.

    We’re just one spark from a flame. Lord, prepare my heart to respond.

    Teach us to seek You with expectancy, to respond with urgency, and to love one another with intention. As You move among us, help each of us take the next step You have made clear.

  • Your Next Response Still Matters

    In 2011, a few weeks after leaving Oklahoma State Penitentiary, I began working for Greene County Pretrial Services.

    One day, I was sitting with a defendant in the visiting area of the county jail when a call came over the radio.

    There was a fight on one of the housing units.

    Almost immediately, I heard boots pounding as available officers began running toward the disturbance.

    I jumped out of my chair and started moving.

    About a dozen steps later, I stopped.

    Then I turned around, walked back, and sat down.

    The defendant looked at me in complete bewilderment.

    “What was that about?”

    For years, responding to that kind of call had been part of my responsibility. When something happened, you moved. Other officers might need help. Someone could be injured. Hesitation could matter.

    But my role had changed.

    I was no longer working in that capacity. Responding to the disturbance wasn’t my assignment.

    My body had reacted before I stopped to consider that.

    Training got me out of the chair. Judgment brought me back to it.

    I’ve thought about that distinction in a different way lately.

    When someone first comes to God—or returns after wandering away—they don’t arrive without a history.

    They bring years of learned responses.

    Some learned to become defensive because every disagreement eventually became an accusation.

    Some learned to withdraw because speaking honestly never felt safe.

    Some learned to strike first, shut down, expect rejection, or keep everyone at a distance.

    And sometimes those responses followed them into the very place where they came looking for healing.

    I understand that.

    Returning to God didn’t mean I suddenly stopped reacting out of fear, shame, or the expectation that someone would hurt me again.

    My direction had changed.

    But not every instinct had caught up.

    Paul wrote:

    “And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…”
    —Romans 12:2 NKJV

    Notice where that transformation reaches.

    The mind.

    The way we understand what’s happening. The conclusions we draw. The familiar patterns through which we interpret another person’s words.

    God doesn’t merely ask us to look different while leaving every old pattern unexamined. He works within us, teaching us to recognize what we’ve been living by—and whether it agrees with His Word.

    That work can be uncomfortable.

    An old response may feel justified simply because it feels familiar.

    But familiar doesn’t always mean faithful.

    And understanding why I react a certain way doesn’t automatically make that reaction right.

    An explanation helps me recognize where the response came from.

    It doesn’t give me permission to keep hurting people with it.

    For years, in corrections work and in teaching young people, I returned to the importance of decisions.

    With incarcerated adults, the conversation often involved confronting an established cycle. There were real circumstances behind their stories. But moving forward required recognizing the decisions that belonged to them rather than assigning every responsibility to someone else.

    With young people, the purpose was often preparation: helping them recognize how choices could begin building a life—or lead them into patterns that would become increasingly difficult to escape.

    The goal wasn’t simply to say, “Look what you’ve done.”

    It was to help them see, “You can begin choosing differently.”

    I’ve needed that same truth myself.

    Not everything that brought pain into my life was my decision.

    Some of it was.

    I can’t honestly address either part by pretending the other doesn’t exist.

    Paul also wrote:

    “Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.”
    —Galatians 6:7 NKJV

    That passage isn’t merely a warning about punishment. Paul goes on to contrast sowing to the flesh with sowing to the Spirit, then encourages us not to grow weary in doing good.

    What we keep planting matters.

    Repeated anger feeds something.

    So does repeated honesty.

    Avoiding responsibility strengthens a pattern.

    So does admitting, “I was wrong.”

    One apology won’t repair every relationship. One restrained response won’t erase years of defensiveness. One faithful decision may not immediately change the circumstances around us.

    But it can be a beginning.

    And when change comes slowly, Paul’s encouragement still belongs here:

    “And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”
    —Galatians 6:9 NKJV

    Renewal doesn’t mean we’ll never feel the old impulse.

    Sometimes the first movement will still be fear. Anger. Withdrawal. The urge to defend ourselves before we’ve even understood what was said.

    We don’t always choose that first surge.

    But with God’s help, we can learn to recognize it, pause, and choose what follows. Sometimes that learning also requires wise counsel, practical support, and time.

    We can listen before answering.

    We can ask a question instead of assuming a motive.

    We can acknowledge an injury without using it to justify another one.

    And when we fail, we can repent, make what amends we can, and keep learning.

    My old training got me out of that chair.

    Recognizing that my responsibility had changed brought me back.

    That day, the faithful response wasn’t to keep running.

    It was to stop.

    There are still moments when I need God to teach me that distinction.

    I may not be responsible for everything that brought me here. But my next response still matters.

  • Still Called to Be Faithful — Part II

    Still Called to Be Faithful — Part II

    1 Peter 1:6–7; Job 23:10

    Yesterday, we considered a truth that remains after the votes are counted: We are still called to be faithful.

    We still have responsibilities to fulfill, neighbors to love, and a Savior to follow.

    But knowing our calling hasn’t changed doesn’t mean answering that call will always be easy.

    We may still feel disappointed, concerned, relieved, or hopeful. But whatever we feel about an election, the rest of life hasn’t stopped.

    There are still bills to pay. Relationships still need attention. Medical questions remain unanswered. Some burdens were waiting for us long before we knew the results. In many cases, long before the election cycle even began.

    The question now is, how do we remain faithful when our feelings are unsettled and the way ahead is uncertain?

    Peter wrote to believers who knew something about difficult circumstances:

    “In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials”
    —1 Peter 1:6 NKJV

    Peter made room for rejoicing and grief in the same sentence.

    Their hope was real. So was their pain.

    He went on to describe the genuineness of their faith as “much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire” (1 Peter 1:7 NKJV).

    That passage reaches far beyond our response to an election. Peter was addressing believers facing trials because of their allegiance to Christ. His words help us consider what we depend on when remaining faithful becomes difficult.

    It’s one thing to speak about trusting God when circumstances reassure us.

    Continuing to trust Him when we have questions asks something more of us.

    Sometimes it asks us to keep obeying while we’re afraid.

    Sometimes it asks us to speak graciously when anger would come more easily.

    And sometimes it asks us to examine something we’ve felt certain about for years.

    Over the past few years, I’ve had to do a lot of that.

    As I’ve grown in my walk with God, I’ve had to examine convictions I’d held for a long time. New evidence and a closer examination of Scripture have challenged some things I once felt certain about.

    Sometimes, I’ve had to return to the very passages I’d used to defend those beliefs and ask whether I had understood them correctly.

    That hasn’t always been comfortable.

    There’s history attached to a conviction. Things we’ve taught. Decisions we’ve made. Ways we’ve understood other people and their circumstances.

    Examining those beliefs can require us to acknowledge that our certainty exceeded our understanding.

    But faithfulness to God includes being willing to receive His correction.

    I’m learning to ask: Am I allowing Scripture to shape what I believe, or am I asking it to defend what I’ve already decided?

    That question requires honesty.

    Can I acknowledge a legitimate concern even when it challenges a conviction I hold deeply?

    Acknowledging that concern doesn’t automatically require abandoning the conviction, but it does require listening honestly and being willing to examine whether my understanding, application, or conduct needs correction.

    We can be convinced of a biblical principle and still mishandle the person standing in front of us.

    We can also hold an interpretation so tightly that we become unwilling to examine it in light of Scripture.

    Remaining faithful includes remaining teachable.

    We bring our conclusions before God with the same surrender we bring our unanswered questions.

    “Lord, help me understand.”

    “Show me where I need correction.”

    “Help me obey what You’ve shown me.”

    Then we carry that willingness into ordinary life.

    We tell the truth when exaggeration would strengthen our argument.

    We check a claim before passing it along, even when it supports our position.

    We listen without preparing a cutting response.

    We apologize when we’ve spoken carelessly.

    We keep our promises, do our work honestly, and care for people whose concerns differ from our own.

    These choices may attract very little attention, but they still matter.

    They are places where our trust in Jesus becomes visible. How we respond can either strengthen or weaken our testimony.

    Trusting God’s sovereignty also leaves room for discernment. We can recognize wrongdoing, question decisions, and work toward change. We remain responsible for the spirit and conduct we bring to those efforts.

    Our concern about what someone else may do doesn’t release us from what Jesus has already asked of us.

    Earlier this week, we considered the foundation beneath a storm-damaged house. Then we brought our overwhelmed hearts to God and asked Him to lead us.

    Now we have another question to consider:

    Can I remain faithful to what God has already shown me while I’m uncertain about what comes next?

    Job didn’t understand everything happening around him. Yet even within the struggle, he expressed confidence in God:

    “But He knows the way that I take;
    When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.”
    —Job 23:10 NKJV

    Job’s confidence rested in God’s knowledge of his way, even while his own understanding remained limited.

    We may end this week with circumstances that are still unresolved.

    We may still have questions. We may have something to reconsider, someone to ask forgiveness from, or a responsibility that feels heavier than we’d like.

    We can entrust those things to God and take the next faithful step.

    What is one thing Jesus has already shown you that you need to put into practice today?

    This is my prayer…

    Lord, keep my heart teachable and my life anchored in You. Correct my understanding where it needs correction. Help me speak truthfully, listen humbly, and treat people with care. When I cannot see what comes next, give me the courage to obey what You have already shown me.

    I am still called to be faithful.

    Help me answer that call today.

  • Still Called To Be Faithful – Part I

    Still Called To Be Faithful – Part I

    Daniel 2:21; Romans 8:28; Psalm 46:10

    Yesterday morning, Lisa and I were talking on the phone about the election as I drove to work.

    I told her that regardless of the outcome, I would still get up in the morning, go to work, do my job, take care of my responsibilities, love my family, love my wife, and serve God.

    When it all shakes out, those are the things that really matter.

    Elections have real consequences for our lives. Decisions made by those in office affect our families, our communities, and our future, so it’s understandable that we care deeply about the results.

    But when the votes have been counted, we still have a life to live before God.

    Earlier this week, we considered what we’ve built our lives on. Yesterday, we brought our overwhelmed hearts to Him and prayed, “Lead me.”

    Today, we have an opportunity to practice that trust.

    Daniel acknowledged God’s authority over the affairs of nations:

    “He removes kings and raises up kings.”
    —Daniel 2:21 NKJV

    Those words call us to remember that God’s authority reaches higher than any elected office.

    People make choices.

    Leaders bear responsibility for their decisions.

    And while we may have serious concerns about the direction of our country, we can bring every one of those concerns to God. He remains able to guide His people, answer prayer, and accomplish His purposes through circumstances we struggle to understand.

    Paul gave us this assurance:

    “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”
    —Romans 8:28 NKJV

    That promise gives us somewhere to rest when we cannot see what lies ahead.

    We aren’t promised that every circumstance will be good or that every decision will go our way. We’re assured that God continues working for the good of those who love Him. The next verse points us toward His purpose: becoming more like Jesus.

    That work continues today.

    There are people who need our love. There are responsibilities that need our attention. There are opportunities to show patience, speak truth graciously, and serve someone who may see things differently than we do.

    Our families still need us to be present.

    Our workplaces still need our integrity.

    Our neighbors still need our kindness.

    And those who have been elected need our prayers.

    We can care about our country and remain steady in our faith. We can acknowledge uncertainty and still take the next step God has placed before us.

    For me, that meant continuing down the road to work, doing my job, and coming home to love the people God has entrusted to me.

    Faithfulness often looks that ordinary.

    And above all, we need to remember God’s words in Psalm 46:10:

    “Be still, and know that I am God.”
    —Psalm 46:10 NKJV

    God is still God. His faithfulness gives us reason to face today with hope and attend to what He has placed in our hands.

    What responsibility or relationship needs my faithful attention today?

    Tomorrow, we’ll consider what happens when continuing to live faithfully becomes part of the testing—and refining—of our faith.

  • When My Heart Is Overwhelmed

    When My Heart Is Overwhelmed

    Psalm 61:1–4

    Sometimes the hardest part of a difficult season is waking up already tired.

    Nothing new has happened, but the weight of what’s already happening is enough.

    The questions we had yesterday remain unanswered. Life’s responsibilities still need our attention. So we get up and do what needs to be done, but inside, we’re struggling just to steady ourselves.

    Yesterday, we considered what we’ve built our lives on. But even when we know where our foundation rests, we can become exhausted.

    David gave words to that kind of prayer:

    “Hear my cry, O God;
    Attend to my prayer.
    From the end of the earth I will cry to You,
    When my heart is overwhelmed;
    Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
    —Psalm 61:1–2 NKJV

    “Lead me.”

    Those two words ask something of us.

    We must be willing to be led.

    That can be difficult when we’re accustomed to figuring things out, carrying responsibility, and being the person others depend on. We may keep searching for an answer long after we’ve exhausted ourselves, convinced we should somehow be able to handle it.

    David’s prayer acknowledges a limit. His heart is overwhelmed, and he needs God to lead him to a place beyond his own ability to find security.

    He remembers where he has found shelter before:

    “For You have been a shelter for me,
    A strong tower from the enemy.”
    —Psalm 61:3 NKJV

    His present distress hasn’t erased God’s past faithfulness. He brings both into his prayer: the trouble he’s experiencing and the shelter he knows God has been.

    Elsewhere, David described that dependence through the picture of a shepherd caring for his sheep:

    “He leads me beside the still waters.
    He restores my soul.”
    —Psalm 23:2–3 NKJV

    There’s something deeply comforting about having a Shepherd who knows where to lead us.

    But following Him requires surrender.

    We may need to loosen our grip on the route we’ve chosen, the timetable we’ve imagined, or the belief that we must understand everything before we can take another step.

    We can pray for direction while remaining determined that the answer must come through a particular door. We can ask God to lead us while resisting any step that takes us away from the outcome we’ve pictured.

    There have been times I’ve had to ask myself: Am I willing to be led when I cannot see where the path is going?

    A sheep doesn’t have the shepherd’s view. It depends on his care and follows his direction.

    We need that care when our own view has narrowed to the problem immediately in front of us. An overwhelmed heart can struggle to imagine anything beyond the next bill, the next appointment, the next difficult conversation, or another night of unanswered questions.

    We can bring that heart to God plainly.

    “Lord, I’m tired.”

    “I don’t know what to do.”

    “I need You to help me take the next step.”

    We don’t have to dress those prayers in language that makes us sound stronger than we are.

    David cried out from an overwhelmed heart.

    We can, too.

    And dependence on God can include accepting help from the people around us.

    Let someone pray beside you. Tell a trusted person that you’re struggling. Receive help with an immediate burden. A meal, a ride, a listening ear, or someone sharing a responsibility can give a weary person room to breathe.

    We can receive those kindnesses with gratitude. We don’t have to carry every burden alone to prove that we trust God.

    Being overwhelmed doesn’t automatically mean we’ve failed to surrender. Even faithful people become weary. Sometimes surrender happens through tears, as we admit our limits and entrust the next step to Him.

    The next step may be small…the one after that may be even smaller. And we may still have questions when we take it.

    But we have a Shepherd to follow.

    David’s prayer gives us a place to begin when we don’t know how to move forward:

    “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”

    Lord, lead me when I don’t have the strength or clarity to find my own way. Help me surrender my need to control every turn. Make me willing to follow You and receive the help You provide.

    When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me.

  • What Have I Built My Life On?

    What Have I Built My Life On?

    Matthew 7:24–27

    Yesterday I wrote about photographs of the storm damage from the April 30, 2019 tornado that struck Haileyville, Oklahoma.

    Last night, as I looked back through those pictures, one photograph in particular held my attention.

    It showed a residence, much like an old shotgun house. Part of the roof framing had been pulled outward and was hanging beyond the back of the house. Roofing was torn open, insulation hung from the damaged corner, and the structure had been compromised.

    Yet the house remained standing.

    That picture brings a question close to home:

    What have I built my life on?

    In April 2004, I lost a job making nearly $36,000 a year through a series of events over which I had no control. After two months of searching, I accepted a minimum-wage job at Staples.

    During that same period, my Mums—the woman who had helped raise me—was hospitalized. We weren’t sure she would survive.

    Then, about two weeks after I started the new job, my wife stood in the doorway one Sunday evening and told me she wanted a divorce.

    When I asked why, she said, “I don’t want to be married to you anymore.”

    I asked her to clarify. Did she no longer want to be married, or did she no longer want to be married to me?

    Her answer was the same.

    It knocked the wind out of me. I felt as though I’d been hit in the stomach.

    Within a few weeks, I moved into a small duplex. Money was tight. My marriage was uncertain. Someone I loved dearly was fighting for her life.

    Most days, the routine was simple: get up, go to the hospital to check on Mums, go to work, go home.

    My relationship with God was tenuous. I won’t pretend otherwise. But I began journaling, and Bible study became my friend.

    The financial uncertainty remained. The questions about my marriage remained. Most days were a struggle.

    But during that season, I remained faithful to my vows and faithful to God.

    Jesus’ teaching about the two builders speaks into seasons like that:

    “Therefore whoever hears these sayings of Mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man who built his house on the rock.”
    —Matthew 7:24 NKJV

    Jesus described two builders. One built his house on rock; the other built on sand. Both houses faced rain, rising water, and beating winds. One stood. The other fell.

    The difference was in what they had been built on.

    Jesus used that picture to explain our response to His teaching. Hearing His words and putting them into practice is like building on rock. Hearing them without doing them is like building on sand.

    A dependable income matters. Our health matters. Our relationships matter deeply. And when those things become uncertain, the pain is real. Trusting God doesn’t mean we won’t feel the blow.

    But a paycheck, another person’s decisions, and our own ability to manage circumstances cannot provide an unshakable foundation.

    Looking back at that small duplex, I remember how little I could control. I couldn’t make my wife choose our marriage. I couldn’t guarantee Mums’ recovery. I couldn’t make an employer offer me the income I needed.

    But I still had choices about how I would live.

    That’s where Jesus’ teaching becomes practical for all of us.

    Will I tell the truth when honesty costs me something?

    Will I forgive when I’d rather keep rehearsing the offense?

    Will I accept correction when I want to defend myself?

    Will I obey what He has shown me while I’m still afraid?

    These are ordinary decisions through which we put His words into practice. We make them at work, at home, in difficult conversations, and in quiet moments when no one else sees.

    Looking at that photograph again, I see something that connects with my own experience. The displaced roof framing, torn roofing, and exposed corner show how much damage the house had sustained.

    Yet the house remained standing.

    I know something about feeling as though the supports have been pulled out of your life. A dependable income disappears. A loved one may not survive. A marriage you wanted to preserve becomes uncertain.

    You feel the damage. You struggle to find your footing. Some days, you wonder how much more you can take.

    That house brings me back to what Jesus taught: the foundation matters. What we build our lives on matters.

    The house built on rock still endured the storm. Following Jesus doesn’t mean we won’t experience grief, fear, or days when getting up takes everything we have.

    But His words give us something dependable to build on. As we put them into practice, we learn to remain faithful even when circumstances are beyond our control.

    That brings the question back to me. Knowing the right Scriptures matters. So does what I do with them.

    What is one thing Jesus has already shown me that I need to put into practice?

    That’s a place to begin building today.

  • Shaken, but Still Standing

    Shaken, but Still Standing

    Job 23:8–10; Matthew 7:24–27

    On the night of April 30, 2019, tornado sirens sounded in the small town of Haileyville, Oklahoma. An EF2 tornado swept through the area, damaging homes, vehicles, and businesses. The far northwestern corner of neighboring Hartshorne was also affected, but to a lesser degree.

    At the time, I was managing TH Rogers Lumber in Hartshorne. I’d heard reports as I was getting ready to leave the house the next morning, Wednesday, May 1, but what I heard hadn’t prepared me for what I saw as I approached Haileyville on my way to work.

    I drove slowly through town without stopping while emergency workers and first responders worked to ensure everyone was accounted for. Later that morning, I went out to survey the damage, assess what people needed, and determine what our store could provide.

    The devastation was mind-boggling.

    The roof had been torn off the back two-thirds of a secondhand resale store, leaving the front relatively undamaged. At another small shop, the front half was gone while the back portion appeared unscathed.

    A highway directional sign had been twisted nearly 270 degrees. The sign directing travelers toward Highway 270 East now pointed south-southwest.

    The post office roof was shredded. The roof and kitchen exhaust equipment from my favorite café were lying about a hundred yards away in someone’s backyard.

    At an auto body shop, the tornado had torn through the middle of the building, leaving damage that looked as though a semi had been driven straight through it.

    Dozens of homes were damaged, several beyond repair.

    One home was still under construction. It had been framed with metal studs, the metal siding was just going on, and the windows had been installed the Friday before the tornado. Now the framing lay bent and collapsed across the concrete slab, with window units scattered among the wreckage. Work completed only days earlier had been undone in a matter of moments.

    An antique store operating out of a repurposed home had been lifted from its foundation. The anchor bolts had ripped through the wooden sill plate as the structure was picked up nearly intact and deposited about fifteen feet behind its original location.

    For the people who lived and worked in Haileyville, those buildings held years of effort, memories, and plans. In a matter of moments, so much of what had seemed secure had been torn apart.

    I took photographs during that visit, with permission from the business owners and homeowners. At the time, I was focused on the work in front of me. People had immediate needs, and I was trying to figure out how we could help. I didn’t stop to draw a spiritual lesson from what I was seeing.

    That connection came more than seven years later.

    I’d discovered Adobe Premiere on my iPhone and started going through photographs to see what I could create. I added a picture, then some words, then looked for other photographs that fit the thought as it developed.

    As the images and words took shape, I began connecting the destruction I’d witnessed with the ways life can leave us shaken, disoriented, and wondering where God is.

    Some storms give us enough warning to hear the sirens and find shelter. Others arrive through a phone call, a difficult conversation, or news we never expected. They shake our confidence, disrupt our plans, and leave us struggling to understand what comes next.

    And sometimes, in the middle of it all, we struggle to find God.

    That thought brought me to Job 23.

    In the verses leading up to Job 23:10, Job describes searching for God and being unable to perceive Him. Yet even there, with his questions still unanswered in the wake of utter devastation, he says:

    “But He knows the way that I take;
    When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.”
    —Job 23:10, NKJV

    Job couldn’t see what God was doing, but he trusted that God knew where he was.

    We can find ourselves unable to perceive God in the middle of our circumstances and still trust that He knows the way we take.

    As I continued looking through the photographs, another image caught my attention differently.

    At least three rafters had been pulled from beneath the roof of a house. The wall was damaged, and the structure had been destabilized. Yet the house remained standing.

    Looking at that picture now, I think about what it means to endure the storms of life.

    We can suffer real damage. We can grieve, struggle, and find ourselves uncertain about how to move forward. Our lives may look very different from what we’d planned.

    And still, we can stand.

    In Matthew 7:24–27, Jesus describes a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds beat against it. The house stood because of its foundation.

    Jesus also describes a house built on sand. The rain, floods, and wind came against that house, and it fell.

    Both houses faced the storm. The foundation they were built on mattered.

    Jesus connects building on the rock to hearing His words and putting them into practice. That brings the question close to home:

    What have I chosen to build my life on?

    It’s a question worth considering before the wind begins to blow—and one we may find ourselves answering again while standing among the pieces of what has been damaged.

    Building on Christ means learning to depend on Him and live by His words. That trust takes shape in the choices we make, the prayers we bring, and the steps of obedience we take while our questions remain unanswered.

    Sometimes that prayer comes through tears. Sometimes the next step feels small. Sometimes we need someone beside us to help us take it.

    Standing may look like praying again, accepting help, or taking one faithful step through a day we’re struggling to face.

    We may come through a storm carrying wounds. We may need time, help, and healing. We may have a great deal of rebuilding ahead of us.

    Through all of it, Christ remains worthy of our trust.

    That’s where these photographs bring me now: to Job’s assurance that God knows the way we take, and to Jesus’ invitation to build our lives on His words.

    You may be looking at circumstances you don’t understand. You may be grieving something you spent years building. You may be praying and wondering why the answers haven’t come.

    You can bring those questions to God. You can tell Him how much it hurts. And you can trust Him with the next step, even while the way ahead is unclear.

    When you can’t seem to find Him, He still knows exactly where you are.

    And when your life has been shaken, you can keep placing your trust in Christ—the foundation on whom you can stand.

  • Grace For What Remains

    2 Corinthians 12:7–10 NKJV

    It is possible to reach the end of the week with the same burden you carried into it.

    You have prayed. You have tried to trust God with what you cannot understand. You have brought Him your questions and taken the next faithful step as best you knew how.

    And you still need help.

    The pain has not eased. The circumstances remain uncertain. Something you hoped would be resolved by now is still waiting when you wake up.

    What does faith look like there?

    Paul knew what it was to ask God for relief from something that remained. In 2 Corinthians 12, he described a thorn in the flesh and wrote:

    “Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me.”
    — 2 Corinthians 12:8 NKJV

    He pleaded.

    Paul’s understanding of God did not keep him from wanting the affliction to end. His calling did not make him indifferent to pain. He brought the need to the Lord and asked Him to remove it.

    We can ask, too.

    We can pray for healing, restoration, provision, and deliverance. We can tell God that we are tired and want relief. Bringing Him that request does not mean we have failed to surrender.

    But Paul received an answer that directed his attention to the help Christ would provide while the weakness continued:

    “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”
    — 2 Corinthians 12:9 NKJV

    The thorn had not departed. Christ’s grace was sufficient for Paul within it.

    That is a truth we need when the prayer has been earnest and the difficulty remains.

    His grace is sufficient even in our pain, fear, and disappointment. Its sufficiency does not depend on our ability to understand what is happening or gather enough strength to face it alone.

    We may feel overwhelmed. We may have no explanation. We may come to Him with nothing more articulate than, “Lord, I need You.”

    His answer to Paul gives us reason to depend on Him there.

    “My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

    Our weakness does not make Christ more powerful than He was before. It becomes the place where His power is brought to its full expression in us—where what sustains us reaches beyond what we can supply for ourselves.

    That can be difficult to accept. I would often prefer enough strength to feel in control. I want to know that I can handle what is coming.

    Yet there are circumstances in which I cannot manufacture the strength I need. My resolve has limits. My understanding falls short. My best efforts cannot carry everything.

    There, I must learn to depend on the sufficiency of His grace.

    Paul came to understand this so deeply that he continued:

    “Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
    — 2 Corinthians 12:9 NKJV

    His confidence rested in the power of Christ. The weakness he wanted removed had become a place where he experienced the Lord’s sustaining strength.

    We do not have to pretend that suffering feels good to receive that truth. But we do need to understand, as Paul did, that continuing weakness does not place us beyond Christ’s faithful help.

    We can hurt and still be upheld by Him. We can feel afraid and still depend on His strength. We can be disappointed by what has not changed and still trust that His grace is sufficient for what we face today.

    Sometimes that dependence finds expression in another prayer. Sometimes it means accepting practical help, seeking treatment, resting, or admitting to someone we trust that we are struggling.

    Receiving help is consistent with acknowledging our weakness. We were never asked to prove the sufficiency of God’s grace by refusing the care available to us.

    Nor does continued distress prove that our faith is deficient. Grace does not require us to reach a point where we no longer feel the weight of what we are carrying.

    And personal growth is not a payment God requires before He will grant relief. We cannot turn Paul’s experience into an explanation for every person’s suffering or tell someone that their difficulty will end once they have learned enough.

    Paul received a particular answer concerning his thorn. We may not know why our own circumstances continue. But we can bring our need to the same faithful Lord.

    We can keep asking Him to intervene while depending on His grace within what remains.

    Paul concluded:

    “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
    — 2 Corinthians 12:10 NKJV

    He had learned where his strength came from.

    At the end of this week, we may still have unanswered questions. We may still need healing, provision, reconciliation, or relief.

    We can acknowledge that need without surrendering our confidence in Christ.

    The difficulty may exceed our strength. His grace remains sufficient.

    The need may remain. So does His grace.

    Lord, I am still asking for relief. While this difficulty remains, sustain me by Your grace. When I feel weak, afraid, or disappointed, help me depend on Your strength and receive the care I need for today.

  • How Long, O Lord

    How Long, O Lord

    Psalm 13:1–6; Luke 18:1 NKJV

    Some prayers remain tender long after we first prayed them. Even after we’ve been faithful, prayed earnestly, waited expectantly, and continued believing that God could intervene, we may still wake up to yet another morning with the need unresolved.

    We bring it to God again because it is still there.

    The relationship has not been restored. The diagnosis has not changed. The opportunity has not come. The grief still catches us off guard. The person we love is still struggling. The question remains unanswered.

    We have prayed about it before—perhaps more times than we can count—and we may no longer know what else to say.

    David knew the weariness of waiting. He began Psalm 13 with a question he repeated four times:

    “How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?
    How long will You hide Your face from me?
    How long shall I take counsel in my soul,
    Having sorrow in my heart daily?”
    — Psalm 13:1–2 NKJV

    David did not hide his distress behind carefully chosen religious language. He felt forgotten. He carried sorrow every day. He wanted to know how much longer he would have to live with what was hurting him.

    And Scripture does not condemn him for asking.

    “How long?” is not necessarily the question of someone who has stopped believing. It can be the cry of someone who still believes God hears, still believes He can intervene, and still cannot understand why He has not intervened.

    Lament is not the absence of faith. It is faith refusing to suffer in silence.

    Sometimes we think trusting God means we should no longer feel the ache of waiting. We may pressure ourselves to sound more confident than we feel or hurry toward words of celebration before we have had room to grieve.

    But David let the lament breathe. He told God that the waiting hurt.

    We can do the same.

    We can tell God that we are tired of carrying the same need into another day. We can admit that silence feels like absence. We can ask why help has not come and how much longer we must wait.

    Faith does not require us to pretend the question no longer hurts.

    Some answers never come in the way we hoped. Some questions remain even after life moves forward. We may receive something beautiful and still grieve what was lost. We may continue trusting God without ever receiving an explanation that makes the suffering understandable.

    Psalm 13 does not tell us that David’s circumstances changed while he was praying. Yet before the psalm ends, David turns toward what he knows about God:

    “But I have trusted in Your mercy;
    My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.”
    — Psalm 13:5 NKJV

    That word “but” does not erase everything David said before it. His sorrow was still real. His questions were still unanswered. He had not suddenly discovered that the waiting did not matter.

    He remembered God’s mercy while he was still hurting.

    Sorrow and trust can exist in the same prayer. We can believe that God is faithful while admitting that we do not understand His ways. We can remember what He has done before while asking why He has not acted now.

    Jesus understood how easily prolonged waiting can discourage us. Luke tells us that He spoke a parable teaching that we “always ought to pray and not lose heart.”

    Persistent prayer does not force God’s hand, and it does not earn an answer through repetition. It keeps bringing our weary hearts into His presence when discouragement tells us to stop coming.

    Sometimes we pray again because the need is still real—and because, beneath all our questions, we still believe God is listening.

    We may come with fewer words than we once had. We may come with tears, disappointment, or questions we are afraid to say aloud. We may only be able to whisper, “How long, O Lord?”

    That is still prayer.

    God can be trusted with the question as well as the request. He can receive our weariness without turning us away. And when we do not have an answer, we can ask Him for enough strength to carry today’s portion of the waiting.

    Lord, I have brought this to You before, and I am bringing it again. You know how long I have waited and how deeply this still hurts. Hear me, sustain me, and help me not to lose heart.