Author: Christine Wyrtzen

No one has ever seen God. But the unique One, who is himself God, is near to the Father’s heart. He has revealed God to us.  John 1:18. NLT

The expression John paints of Jesus being near to the Father’s heart is not new to us.  Today, we use the same expression to describe a feeling for our children.  ‘Near and dear to our heart’ implies that the relationship is not like most others.  Enco unters with them ~ we carry with us.  Words they speak to us ~ we hold dear.  Pain they express ~ we embrace and lift to the Father constantly in prayer.   

To be near to the Father’s heart literally means that Jesus was ‘in the bosom of the Father.’  A bosom is defined as three things. Yesterday, we highlighted the first.

1. The bosom is part of the upper body between both arms.  The heart, specifically.  I don’t know what you face today.  If you face scary unknowns, God has you near to His heart.

2. Secondly, the bosom is also the upper part of a loose garment where things are tucked away, carried with the traveler.  

God has also chosen to tuck you into His bosom for safe keeping.  No matter where He’s actively at work today, you are right there.  Just before my friend, Maryann, left for the Holy Land a few years ago, I lamented to her, “I wish you could tuck me in your suitcase.”  The sentiment is understood ~ If only I could see what you are going to see, experience what you will experience. God wants me to know that I stay with Him always, no matter where His Spirit goes.  When He has a heart for a remote region of the world, He will show me His passion for the people if I just ask.  When He is grieved by sin, I will feel His grief.  I am tucked into His cloak and it is wrapped around me securely. 

He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart. Isaiah 40: 11

Father, draw me into the stillness of You.  Amen

He came into the very world he created, but the world didn’t recognize him.  John 1:10

The Treasure that Israel had been waiting for was born in the middle of the night.   He was the Savior of the mother who delivered Him, the Teacher of the man God chose to be the father in their household.  He was the Rabbi in a manger who would know more than every other Rabbi he would meet.  He was the stone that the builders would reject, the Bread of Life for which His people would have no appetite. 

 From prophecy, Jewish people in Nazareth knew their Messiah would be born in Bethlehem. They knew He would be born of a virgin, and they knew Mary’s story.  Certainly, they had heard the stories of the shepherds who witnessed a glorious display in the heavens and the wise men who followed the brightest star for 400 miles with expensive gifts in tow.  They also knew from their people’s history that many of God’s chosen leaders came from obscurity.  God had anointed a shepherd fresh from the pastures to be their greatest king from thousands of years before.  Why, then, did the Messiah from Nazareth make them stumble? 

For the same reasons I stumble today.  More than any other generation, I know the history of Jesus.  I have more Bible teaching at my fingertips than any previous people group who has lived before me.  Despite all these resources, I struggle to believe the promises in front of my face.  I’m not hearing them secondhand.  I’m reading them for myself with full spiritual understanding.  

I need peace, but I often look elsewhere outside the Peace-giver.  I need composure, a moment to take a spiritual breath, but I often remain so worked up that anxiety overtakes me.  I need hope,but instead of raising my eyes to look into the face of the One who has planned my eternity, I’m spun up about the hopelessness of the times.  Oh, it need not be.  

Rabbi, teach me.  Put your hand on my head and bless me.  I am at Your feet.  Feed me from Your hand. Comfort me, hush me, like the Mother and Father I need.  You are exactly what I need, the One right here, right now.  Amen

“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money. “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear.”  Matthew 6:24-25

​Ever been in the middle?  It’s an awful place to be.  There are some whose role it is to be peacemaker. The anxiety of trying to serve opposites is tormenting because pleasing them both is impossible.  They are never fully satisfied because neither is winning.

​What does this have to do with the parable about worrying?  What I’ll eat?  What I’ll wear?  What others think of me?  Anxiety serves Master Satan.  Plain and simple.  To worry is to wonder if God is faithful.  Worry can lead to autonomy.  I take matters into my own hands to take care of myself because I believe God won’t do it. 

​Remember the daisy game?  ‘He loves me – He loves me not.’  Though it was childish, I do remember the bit of suspense as I neared the end of the petals.  Which way would it be?  Love me – or loves me not?  This is the stuff of serving two masters.  

​When the stakes are high, so is the battle.  ‘God loves me – He loves me not.’ Faith is put on the sidelines as I wage the options of trusting God versus taking care of myself.  God is unhappy because I fail to know the joy of childlike trust.  Satan is unhappy because I entertain the promises of my Father’s words.  How is this tug of war won?  How do I extricate myself from living between two masters?  Remove the power of the evil one.  

​Satan does not deserve an ounce of attention because he lies about the other Master.  John reminded me that he is a liar.  His very nature is to lie.  His default language is based on deceit.  So, I step out from the middle today and give him no attention.  When the first thought of worry emerges, I snatch it and kill it with the whispered assurances of a faithful Father.  

No middle, Father.  No torment.  Only a simple, childlike trust built on every single promise You have made.  I love how You take care of me.  In Jesus’ name, Amen

I proclaim your saving acts in the great assembly; I do not seal my lips, Lord, as you know. I do not hide your righteousness in my heart; I speak of your faithfulness and your saving help. I do not conceal your love and your faithfulness from the great assembly.  Psalm 40:9-10

What do you do when the person you’re counting on the most repeatedly lets you down?  You cry out in protest.  “Where were you?  I thought you loved me?”  But when these words do not move them to draw close, to apologize, you might stop talking altogether and turn the other way.

Such can be the case when I’ve perceived that God is failing me.  I’ve prayed for things I believed I needed immediately.  I believed that anyone who loved me wouldn’t withhold them.  When answers were delayed, I prayed harder. Now, when I spoke with friends, I made excuses for God, but the first signs of disillusionment had already been manifested in the core of my soul.  My inner testimony sounded hollow.  Armed with the lies of the devil, I stopped talking to God. 

Did you see today’s scripture?  David is speaking in glowing terms about God’s faithfulness.  If I had to guess, I’d say that God just came through for him in some huge way.  David is having a mountaintop experience.  But David is, in fact, in a place ofturmoil and is waiting on God.  His soul is ragged and desperate.  Although his eyes have not yet seen the saving help he needs from God, he is still talking to Him, still praying.  

This is the essence of faith.  In my disappointment, in my wilderness, I can still brag to others about God’s love and faithfulness.  I can encourage them to put their lives in His hands too.  All because the foundation of my life rests on the pillars of God’s promises!  God has not abandoned nor forgotten me. Even while I pour out my complaint in prayer,I speak of His glory in the sanctuary. 

My praise is not conditional, Lord. Amen

And by him we cry, “ Abba, Father.” The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.  Romans 8:15

Over the many years I’ve been in ministry, people have shared their adoption stories with me.  Some were glorious, and others were not.  If there were biological children in the home, there was often discrimination against the ones who were adopted.  Biological children felt they were the ‘real’ offspring, meant to enjoy greater rights and privileges.  In matters of family inheritance, the distorted values really manifested. 

Jesus, our brother, made a way for us to be adopted into His Father’s family.  Through Him, we cry out, “Abba, Father.”  Think of it.  We call His Father the same intimate and endearing name that He used while on earth. 

Not only that, but God expresses to us the same kind of love and favor that He expressed toward Jesus.  We receive the same grace, the same tenderness, the same access in prayer, and we enjoy the same level of intimacy.  To further astound us, Jesus then shares His inheritance with us.  No discrimination.  

On this day, we are invited to express our gratitude.  I’ve never had an earthly brother, but I always wondered what it would be like to have one.  Ah, but then Jesus stepped in.  He gave His life to share His Father with me (and everything else in the kingdom.)  I was undeserving, even an enemy, and yet He paid the expensive ransom for my adoption.  

God is good.  The Son is good.  The Spirit given to us is good.  And through the blood of our brother Jesus, we are justified and declared ‘good’.  Let’s celebrate!

Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.  Matthew 10:29

Sacrifices are made every day for the sake of the people we love.  For the sake of a mother, we give up our schedule for a year to care for her after heart surgery.  For the sake of our children, we go back to work to put them in private schools.  For the sake of our husband’s happiness, we move to another state.  Love constrains us to lay down what we treasure.  Now, if we were asked by someone we didn’t know to clear our calendar, go back to work, or move out of state, we would shrug off the outrageous request. The relationship is missing.

I just thought of something, and it’s bizarre.  We invoke the name of Pete in a stray conversation. “For Pete’s sake, why did you do that?”   Whatever the person did or didn’t do, Pete wasn’t even considered.  Cliches are interesting. 

When Jesus calls us to uncompromising discipleship, He makes it clear that sacrifices will have to be made ‘for His sake.’  For what other reason would we be willing to lose our life?  Only for Jesus.  

It causes me to look at my obedience today.  What am I doing out of moral habit?  What am I doing out of peer pressure?  What am I doing out of sheer grit because ‘scripture commands it.’  All of these reasons are hollow.  If the sacrifice is large enough, I will get angry.  If it isn’t love that constrains me, I will become an embittered older woman.  

For each difficult act of obedience, I sense the question.  “For my sake, Christine, will you do it?” Everything gets simple after that.   

Drudgery dissipates.  Resentment melts.  Joyful willingness wells up in my heart.  Yes, Jesus. Yes!  Amen