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““For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God?  If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”  Galatians 1:10

Encounters with God change a person forever.  We’re never the same again after being near Him, being loved, and hearing His voice.  He speaks, and it goes right through us to the deepest possible place.  And as wonderful as all of this is, it’s costly.  Because after deep inner work with God, I won’t want to return to my old ways of relating to people.

In sanctification, God speaks to what is broken.  In His presence, everything is turned upside down.  If I learned to survive by blending in, by becoming acceptable, when God heals me, He may ask me to lay down that old survival strategy. Sometimes it’s the part of us that was ridiculed, silenced, or misunderstood that becomes the place where God’s voice begs to speak with power.  We discover all the places we’ve been hiding because others didn’t like that ‘side’ of us.  We were called to be authentic.  And authenticity is not self-expression for its own sake.  It is obedience to who God says I am.

This feels costly, especially with people who have known me for years. Will I remain loyal to my old image or obedient to God’s design?  Will I let other people’s memory of me become my identity?  The Spirit of God wants to fan into flame what fear taught me to mute.  

Lord, give me the courage to be who You created. Not a lesser version.  Whatever you made is ‘good’.   Amen

Elijah replied, ‘I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.'”  I Kings 19:10

When I am physically suffering or emotionally threadbare, I am often tempted to reach for self-pity as if it were comfort. It feels familiar and promises to soothe the ache somehow.

But self-pity is a false comforter. The moment it takes hold, the lies begin to multiply. No one sees me. I am on my own. No one has ever borne what I am carrying. My world grows very small. My posture bends inward. I become closed to the people around me and, tragically, closed to the nearness of God. 

Elijah fell into it after a great spiritual battle, collapsing under the weight of exhaustion and insisting that he was the only one left. Jonah sank into it outside Nineveh, angry enough to die because God had been merciful in a way that offended him. Even the elder brother in the prodigal story stood outside the feast and nursed his resentment. In each case, God came near. He questioned. He fed. He reasoned. He invited them to step out of the cramped space of their own perspective and into the spacious, cleansing air of His.  That is what God always does. He does not indulge distorted thinking, but neither does He despise weakness. 

He wants to make sure we know there is an alternative to self-pity. It’s compassion.

Compassion turns me outward when self-pity curves me inward. Compassion humbles me enough to admit that I need help. It moves me to reach instead of retreat. I am called to let trusted people into my pain, to tell my story, to name my feelings without dramatizing them. I can, and should, confess my sin without hiding behind it.

I need a few safe people who know how to listen without flinching. They will help me re-enter the larger story where my pain is real but not center stage.  Compassion teaches me to come out of hiding and be held. Am I courageous enough?

Lord, when suffering tempts me to turn inward and make a home in self-pity, give me the humility to receive compassion. Amen

For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.  1 Corinthians 13:12

It is instinctive to overcorrect. If I was raised in an overly strict home and wounded by an iron hand, I may create a home with few boundaries. If I was raised in permissiveness and watched rebellion take its toll, I may parent with a heavy hand. Unprocessed pain has a way of swinging the pendulum to the opposite extreme.

The same principle holds true when God was misrepresented to me in my formative years. If I was taught that He was angry and unreasonable, I may grow up dismissing Him as Judge and Ruler in favor of a God who is only loving, only accepting, never confrontational. But overcorrection still distorts His face. As a child in His kingdom, I cannot afford to worship a God edited by my wounds.

Defining my past as God defines it is essential. When I allow Him to diagnose what happened, He drops a plumbline of truth through all my conclusions. I am the child of a Father who is perfectly whole. I do not need to flinch as He re-fathers me. I will discover Him to be loving and just, disciplinary and gentle, strong without being cruel, intimate without being unsafe. And as I know Him more truly, the distortions in my own parenting will begin to surface.

An imperfect upbringing isn’t the only catalyst that weaves distortions.  Satan devises schemes that build deception upon deception.  If he can get me to believe a lie about God, he knows that trust will erode.  I’ll accuse God of being too ‘one-way.’  This will wreak havoc on my parenting and in my relationship with my Heavenly Father. 

An imperfect upbringing is not the only thing that bends our view of God. Satan builds deception upon deception because he knows that one lie about God can slowly dismantle trust. Suspicion begins to shape both my relationship with Him and the way I relate to others. Every day, the Truth-teller comes after these lies. Why? Because lies wound the children He loves. And when those distortions spill into our own parenting, they wound the children we love.

Show me where I don’t yet know You.  Amen

If someone asked me to name three shepherds in my circle of acquaintances, I couldn’t.  They aren’t prevalent in our western culture.  That wasn’t the case in biblical times.  The Patriarchs were all shepherds, as was Abel, Moses, David, and even Rachel. 

Although I’ve romanticized ancient shepherds who tended sheep, shepherds weren’t highly regarded.  They were rough characters, even dangerous. They often had to fight for rights to water sources and pastures for their sheep.  They had to contend with wild animals who would prey on their flock.  If you encountered a shepherd while walking in the countryside, it could be a perilous encounter.  

Yet, there is an irony.  King Hammurabi of Babylon called himself a shepherd.  And in Homer’s writing, Greek chiefs were called ‘shepherds of the people.’ The royal scepter was a shepherd’s rod that symbolized protection, power, and authority. And in Egypt, the shepherd’s crook was a divine symbol of kingship.

God asked this question through the mouth of Jeremiah. Who is like me and who can challenge me? And what shepherd can stand against me?”  Jeremiah 49:19  

In this passage, God had announced impending judgment on Edom, an evil people known for their hostility toward Israel. He warned that He was a lion who would attack their sheepfold.  His blow would be ferocious in the coming invasion.  Edom’s leaders would be helpless shepherds, too weak to protect their people.  

So, my perception of a shepherd has broadened.  There are definitely two sides to them.  They are tender, willing to lay down their lives for their sheep.  But they are formidable, willing to kill to protect them.  

El Rohi is our gentle shepherd who provides for all our needs.  That brings comfort.  

El Rohi is also our protector.  That brings security as we understand that divine justice will always prevail against our adversaries.   

Oh Shepherd, You saved me from wolves to make me yours. Now, with Your staff, care for me and protect me until I’m safely home.  Amen

If you listen carefully to the Lord your God and do what is right in his eyes, if you pay attention to his commands and keep all his decrees, I will not bring on you any of the diseases I brought on the Egyptians, for I am the Lord, who heals you.  Exodus 15:26

God has made many promises about healing, but this is still one of the places where faith is tested most deeply. Sometimes Jehovah Rapha heals when we cry out. Other times, after long seasons of prayer and fasting, He does not. That silence can create a private disappointment we barely know how to name. We may even feel the need to defend God after publicly declaring that He would heal us, while our own hearts are still carrying unanswered questions.

Jesus varied His methods of healing. Once He used spit, another time a touch, and in John 9, He made mud and sent a blind man to wash in the pool of Siloam. Perhaps the variety had a purpose. Jesus would not allow a method to become the source. If every blind man had been sent to Siloam, people might have chased the pool instead of the Christ. The power was never in the mud or the water. The power was in Him.

Perhaps you are striving for your miracle. You pray more, read more, fast more, searching for the hidden key that will finally make God move. But if healing depended upon finding the right formula, then eventually our testimony would become, “When I did this, God responded.” The glory would quietly shift from His mercy to our method.

Even now, some are being healed and will walk out of ICU. Others are being sustained while they wait. Their confidence rests in something larger than their pain. They know that God will make all things new. Every disease will end. And, Paradise will be restored.

Sometimes we taste heaven now in a miracle. Other times, healing is deferred, and we are given grace to live in the ‘not yet’. We ask Abba hard questions. We grieve. We wrestle. But we can tell Him the truth without raising a fist.

Jehovah Rapha, keep me from mistaking delay for absence or mystery for indifference. Amen

My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.  Job 42:5

The Egyptians wrote a medical book in 1552 B.C. called “Papyrus Ebers.”  Inside were prescriptions and incantations for all kinds of illnesses. Their remedy for hair loss was to apply the fat of a horse, a hippopotamus, a crocodile, a cat, a snake, and an ibex.  The drugs they mentioned might turn your stomach: lizard blood, swine teeth, putrid meat, and moisture from pig’s ears.  Aren’t you glad you live in this century?

Moses was alive in Egypt when this book was written. He probably saw some of these applications in the palace. Years later, he would live to experience God revealing Himself as Jehovah Rapha, the Lord who heals.

The Book of Job is 400 years older than Genesis, so I’m sure many of these primitive methods existed during Job’s suffering. We don’t know if Job’s wife encouraged him to try any of them.  

Job had always been a righteous man. He would arise early in the morning to offer sacrifices to God for himself and each of his children.  They were offered to prevent harm, not because harm existed.  It was Job’s way of ensuring his children’s well-being.  Job did all the right things, yet God permitted Satan to afflict him.  Suffering isn’t always due to sin. 

Job also suffered from the spiritual interpretations of his three closest friends. Though they claimed to speak for God, they did not, eventually driving Job to take his case directly to God. At this point, his relationship with God became personal and intimate. Before this, sacrificing animals to interact with the Almighty had been largely impersonal by comparison.  I know that because of what he said in today’s scripture.  My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you.  Job 42:5

To know God as Jehovah-Rapha, I had to meet Him in places I would never have chosen. There were seasons of bitterness, long enough to strip me of easy answers. I was desperate for something deeper than relief. Suffering drove me into the heart of God. Scripture stopped being beautiful words on a page and became oxygen. Promises I had known for years suddenly carried my full weight. Somewhere in the pain, knowing God became more precious than getting my life back the way it was.

I have known Your healing in my body, and I have known the deeper mercy of Your healing in my soul. You have touched what could not be seen and what no one else could ever reach. What a Healer You are! Amen

El Elyon means God Most High. His power exceeds every political figure who dominates the headlines and every unseen force that works in darkness. Kings govern only within the boundaries He permits, nations rise and fall under His sovereignty, and the spiritual realm is not outside His jurisdiction. No authority rivals Him. No darkness surprises Him. No threat intimidates Him. He watches history unfold with certainty because He is Lord over it.

This is why the names of God matter so deeply. We are doing more than collecting truths about His character. We are discovering places where our hearts can attach to someone tender enough to hold us and powerful enough to rule over what we cannot control. 

El Elyon becomes more than a title when His sovereignty enters the places where our fear has been making predictions about our future. What feels chaotic to me has never once become chaotic to Him. What I cannot untangle is already held inside His wisdom. What frightens me has never frightened Him.

Today, I don’t just want to affirm that God is Most High. I want that truth to move downward into the frightened places of my heart until I actually live differently. I want to quiet my rehearsals of worst-case scenarios, and rest beneath the rule of the One whose throne has never trembled.

Let this name become more than something we know. Let it change the way we know You, God. Amen