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As it is written: “For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” Romans 8:36

My faith can be that fragile unless I learn to cultivate something deeper, a faith not dependent on fulfilled expectations.

When I cry out in need and Jesus answers with a miracle so dazzling that I want to declare His glory from the rooftops, I can drift into entitlement. I begin to expect that kind of rescue every time. It does not occur to me that the next answer may wear a different face. His love does not weaken when signs are few. His grace does not retreat when heaven is quiet. He sustains me whether I see wonders or wait in silence.

I will admit that I’ve often preferred the miracle to the Man. A visible answer can feel more valuable than His unseen Presence. I cannot touch Him, cannot look into His eyes. I come to Him, initially, needy and grasping. But I’m not meant to live in childish immaturity. Jesus grows me up past a faith that will only sing when the table is full.

God has promised to meet our needs. Sometimes He gives physical bread. Other times, He gives grace to endure hunger. Sometimes He removes the thorn. Other times, He gives more of Himself while the thorn remains.P eter, facing martyrdom, was not abandoned because Jesus did not spare his life. Christ provided Himself as Companion. Paul knew divine deliverance in more than one language. Once, the prison doors opened. Another time, his back was torn by lashes. Would he say Jesus came through the first time but failed the next? Hardly.Our spiritual fathers did not build their faith on signs and wonders. They knew this life was not the final chapter. They knew suffering could bruise the body but not bankrupt the soul. They knew Jesus was enough, not only when He rescued, but when He carried them through the pain.

Until I am safely home, Jesus is with me. That is the miracle I can trust when every lesser miracle is withheld.

Teach me to treasure Your presence more than relief. Amen

If God is for us, who can be against us?”  Romans 8:31

I was born into a war I cannot escape. It will rage until my final breath, until faith becomes sight, until the enemy falls silent. And without Him spread over my life like a holy covering, I will forget where victory comes from. I will mistake fatigue for defeat. I will believe the enemy’s lies more than God’s promises.

My enemies are the world, the flesh, and the devil. I know that God is greater than all three. I know this in the marrow of my theology. But there are days when it feels like I am losing ground, when my heart returns from battle in shreds.

The world is against me because I have pledged my life to the One it crucified. I belong to Christ, and therefore I offend others even when I speak His name with tears in my eyes. Most bristle at Him before they ever understand Him. And no matter how gently I may come, Christ still stands between us. When He is despised, I cannot expect to be warmly embraced.

The flesh is against me. There is still an old ache inside me that remembers Egypt fondly, appetites that reach back to old defaults. God’s presence is a reminder to me that I am alive to Him and dead to my old passions.  Though I have the freedom to sin, my desires for things of the flesh are being transformed under the shadow of His presence.

The devil is against me.The devil is against me. He is the ancient strategist, the accuser who studies my wounds and goes for the jugular. He knows the old griefs, the old shame, the old fears, and he returns to familiar doors hoping I will open them again. 

God is not watching me fight from some distant throne. He is not a general removed from the field, issuing orders from safety. He is there in the struggle, in the storm, in the surprise assaults, even in the places where courage leaves me completely and I have nothing left but a cry for help.

The battle is fierce, but it is not final. You are on my side and You’ve already declared victory. Amen

“For I will pour water upon him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground:  Isaiah 44:3

I’ve said goodbye to many loved ones who are now in heaven.  My mother died when I was 30.  I never knew my grandfathers.  My grandmothers graduated to heaven when I was 10, and again at 25.  My Dad died of cancer in 2003 and 7 years ago today, our son, Ryan, took his life. There was no warning. There was no note. There was no easy closure.  In 2019, June 16th also happened to be Father’s Day. A gift of homemade beef jerky had been delivered the night before. Ryan was upbeat, engaging, and gave no hint of something amiss. He was near us, and then, he was gone. The absence was both excruciating and disorienting and it continued to be – long before anything comforting could be felt.

Valuable things have been learned since then. God unwrapped the concept of ‘severe mercy.’ Pain began to unearth some skewed theology. I also came to realize that redemption and healing are incremental. But lessons aside, when grief sets in and wordlessness takes over, I learned that I need Jesus first before I need others.

The words from the scrolls of Isaiah wash over my mother’s heart, yet again, as the sadness hits and our family’s wilderness begs to be bathed by the incoming flood of Living Water. God doesn’t send a drop of water to the desert. He sends a flood. He offers more than enough. He is more than enough.

Oh Spirit of God, be poured out to comfort others, like us, whose hearts are broken. Encourage those who are still plagued with questions and fight disillusionment with you.  Be poured out upon the dry bones of our lives, the places where the smell of death is still in the air.  Be poured out upon the Word which we know, the Word which has been preached to us, prayed over us, and is still in the process of changing us.  Touch our barren landscapes with the promise of green.  We are the dry ground and You are the river.  Amen

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.  Romans 8:26

It is not a sin to be weak.  Weakness is a human condition.  Frailty plagues the most righteous man or woman, especially when in the midst of suffering.  Quickly, every one of us loses our spiritual perspective.  Our prayers reflect this vacuum.

Job was righteous.  God said so.  Yet he couldn’t understand why he was suffering and his prayers proved his confusion.  His friends thought they knew the mind of God and probably prayed for him, but wrongly.

The disciples, as much as they loved Jesus, proved to be weak prayer partners.  In the garden, when Jesus needed them most, they feel asleep during Jesus’ hours of anguish.

Elijah, a prophet of courageous proportions, succumbed to a weakened state after a great spiritual victory.  Exhausted and emotionally drained, he prayed that the Lord would take his life.  The flesh and the spirit are so integrally connected.  When the body fails, the spirit is confused.

If I don’t know how to pray for myself, how can I be sure anyone else will be able to pray for me correctly?  The answer is ‘who it is’ that is my ‘best friend’ in intercession.  The Holy Spirit.  He is aware and fully engaged with my story.  He knows my limited ability to understand God’s sovereign plan for my life.  When I cry out to God and I am wordless, much like a baby in distress, He hears my weeping and interprets it to the Father.  He perceives my faltering words, my frustrating silences and interprets those too.  He tells my story better than I can and He tells it with omniscience.  He prays about everything with perfect perspective.

So many days, I pray…. “Oh holy Spirit, rise up in me and teach me how to pray.  Form my words.  Pray when my language fails.”  Could the friendship of God be more perfectly proven than in this?

I rest in Your groanings, and even Your tears, for the places in my life which have left me speechless and wanting. Thank you for being such a friend. Amen

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.  Romans 8:22

One of the most poignant conversations happened recently, it was with my daughter, Jaime, and it centered around the implications of the Fall and how creation groans.

Typically, when we think of the effects of the Fall, we think of big things.  Pain of childbirth, plagues, destructive weather, disease, rape, murder, etc.  What struck us in our sharing was that there is a more subtle list.  I’ll start it below:

• As an infant, you were lying in your bassinette.  It was 2:00 a.m. and you woke up hungry.  You started to cry.  Your tired mother was exasperated. “No, you can’t need to eat again!”   What is that?   The Fall.
• In Kindergarten, there is whispering among a group of girls about the outfit you’re wearing.  There is shame and uncertainty.  What is that?   The Fall.
• You’re doing your homework.  Your parents are in the middle of something, but you need their help for one of your math problems.  They are irked at the interruption.  “Good grief!  Can’t you figure it out yourself?”  What is that?   The Fall. 
• Your arms, legs, and face sting from bad sunburn.  What is that?   The Fall.
• You feel uneasy and spend time driving around the block to find a parking space that is better lit with streetlamps.  What is that?   The Fall.
• You wake up and wish you felt like you did yesterday.  The energy is gone and you know you’ll have to push to get through your day.  What is that?   The Fall.

Why make a list like this?  I can tell you that it’s been very meaningful.  We know that God will wipe away all tears, that He will eradicate all disease, and that we will dwell in safety.  But how about the redemption of little things!  There will be no more exasperated loved ones who tire of our needs.  There will be no more inflicted shame by friends and acquaintances.  There will be no more days of feeling the pressure of physical limits.

And how about the biggest pain we feel?  The longing to be with God.  That ache will be satisfied when our separation comes to an end.  We will be permanently home.  Safe.  Loved.  Glorified.  Full of joy.  Looking into the face of the One we have loved, but not yet seen.

I’ve underestimated what you will restore and make new.  Let me imagine with the wonder of a child.  Amen

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.  Romans 8:18

I was so moved this morning by a C.S. Lewis quote from his book, Weight of Glory.  He defines glory as ‘a longing for something that can hardly be expressed.’ 

Suffering has the power to render a person speechless.  Glory has the same power.  We want something deep in our souls but we know it’s not available to us yet. We are to shine as the sun, we are to be given the Morning Star. I think I begin to see what it means. In one way, of course, God has given us the Morning Star already; you can go and enjoy the gift on many fine mornings, if you get up early enough. What more, you may ask, do we want? Ah, but we want so much more—something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

That is why the poets tell us such lovely falsehoods. They talk as if ‘the west wind could really sweep into a human soul’; but we know it can’t. They tell us that ‘beauty born of murmuring sound will pass into a human face’; but we know it probably won’t. At least, not yet. God will one day give us the Morning Star and cause us to put on the splendor of the sun.

At present we are on the outside of the world we belong to; we’re on the dark side of the door. The leaves of the Old and New Testaments are rustling with the rumors that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.”

C.S. Lewis WEIGHT OF GLORY

For any of you who are crushed beneath the weight of pain and words are not adequate to paint the anguish you experience, the same wordlessness will visit you again one day – but it will be an inadequacy to speak of glory, not suffering.  That is our hope and sustaining grace. I am grateful to be able to testify that, in the past year, God has taken me to stunningly beautiful places in the Spirit. At first, there was frustration that words failed me. Now, I know, accept, and celebrate it.

I am often like a fussy child not knowing what I want but hating how I feel.  You know what I want, You and Your kingdom and the restoration of paradise. Fill my heart with the hope of glory.  Amen

…and if (we) are children, then heirs – heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.  Romans 8:16

The theology of suffering is an expansive topic but in today’s scripture, it’s crystalized into something pretty simple.

Jesus suffered.

He told me that if I followed Him, I would suffer.

And if I suffer with Him, I will one day be glorified with Him.

If I am only someone’s friend in fair weather, my love for them has not yet been tested. Let hard times come and my commitment to them will cost me my own comfort. To enter their pain, I will sacrifice things like time, money, and perhaps my need to have my theology of suffering tied up in neat little boxes. Questions about faith in God’s goodness and faithfulness will arise if I remain intimate with my friend.

There is nothing abstract about that. Suffering is part of sonship. It is not proof that I have been abandoned, but often proof that I belong to Him. We want inheritance without pain, glory without fellowship in His wounds, resurrection without a cross. But if I am someone’s friend only in fair weather, my love has not yet been tested. Let hardship come, and my devotion will begin to cost me comfort, certainty, convenience, and maybe even my theology of suffering tied up in neat little boxes.

The same is true with Jesus. My willingness to remain with Him in adversity authenticates my discipleship. If I am faithful only when life is manageable, then my love has not yet been proven. If I keep the cross at the center only as long as it stays symbolic and does not become costly, then I have not understood what it means to follow Him. Jesus told me to take up my cross, not admire His from a distance. His faithfulness to the Father while suffering revealed His Sonship. My faithfulness to Jesus in suffering reveals mine.

The heart of my Savior was laid bare on the cross. My heart is laid bare when affliction strips me. Suffering reveals what comfort can keep hidden. When everything was taken from Jesus, His love still prevailed. When my comforts are removed, when I am pressed, disappointed, undone, my love for Him is exposed too. That is sobering. I’m asking Jesus to keep me near His cross when I am tempted to harden, and give me grace to stay faithful when obedience is costly.

Oh, but I depend on Your grace to love You as You have loved me.  Amen

The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “ Abba, Father.  Romans 8:15

You can learn a great deal about a person by asking this question: What comes to your mind when you think about God? Our view of God quietly shapes everything else. Many unbelievers imagine a God who loves without any judgment, or a God who judges without any tenderness. The first leaves them comfortable in their sin; the second keeps Him at a fearful distance.

But that question is just as important for the children of God. We may know the Scriptures and sincerely affirm them, yet our perception of God can still be bent by life experience, disappointment, fear, or pain.

Here is a second question, and perhaps an even more revealing one: What do I believe God thinks about me? I used to believe that God was disappointed in me, and that belief became a stronghold.

Think of the prodigal son. His father stands on the porch, scanning the horizon, waiting. And the moment he sees his son, he gathers up his robe and runs—not to lecture, but to embrace.

If you were the son coming home, and your earthly father stood on that porch, how would you be received?

And if you were the one standing on the porch, waiting for your child, what would fill your heart? Would the moment be marked by love, forgiveness, and joy?

Jesus tore the veil and gave us radical access to His Father, whom we now call Abba. That kind of nearness is meant to heal us, but only if we are willing to name what still keeps us back. I am pressing in to examine those obstacles in my own heart, and this final scripture brings me to tears.

As for you, I’ll come with healing, curing the incurable, because they all gave up on you.  Jeremiah 30:17

So then, brothers, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh.  Romans 8:12

The giving of a gift can communicate different things. It might say, ‘I love you.’ Oh, but it can just as easily convey, “Now, you owe me!’ It comes with expectations for something you should give in return. I’m sure you’ve received both kinds. I have.

It’s tricky, isn’t it? I’ve had people tell me that they receive far more gifts with strings attached than they do gifts that are freely given. Feeling indebted to people we can’t fully trust is a heavy burden. How some people expect to be repaid can be right out expensive. Perhaps you’ve stayed in a toxic relationship just because of guilt!

Live this way long enough and distrust rules our heart. Because if I’ve been accustomed to getting gifts with strings attached, I won’t be able to accept free gifts without thinking I surely owe something.

Can being a debtor be a good thing?  Yes, as long as it’s with Jesus. He is my Savior, He gives without strings, and then invites me to give back my life, not out of guilt but out of gratitude. What cures sterile Christian service that feels obligatory? What cures resentment over feeling over tired and over committed? Falling in love with the Giver. He is incapable of manipulating and using me to get His needs met. Once I understand that, I am free to listen closely and clear a good part of my calendar!

I am safe to love You with my life, Jesus. Amen

For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. Romans 8:6

This verse is clearly not vague. It asks what direction our thoughts naturally lean, what atmosphere our soul is breathing, and where we feel most at home. These questions are meant to help us slow down, come quietly before God, and let His Spirit search us with honesty and tenderness.

Reflective Study Questions

1. Where are you experiencing the difference between life in the Spirit and the irresistible pull of the flesh?
2. What once felt natural to you but now feels foreign because Jesus simply changed your appetites?
3. When you sin, do you move quickly toward God, or away, and what does that pattern reveal?

Questions For Deeper Formation

1. In what ways might you be mistaking distraction, self-indulgence, or spiritual fatigue for something harmless, when in fact it may be weakening your responsiveness to God?
2. What is the difference between stumbling into sin and becoming inwardly at home in it?
3. Is there any area where I have grown too comfortable with a divided heart—externally faithful, yet inwardly drifting?

Questions for Leaders and Shepherds

1. How can I help women discern the difference between a tender conscience that struggles and a soul that is growing increasingly at ease with the flesh?
2. In my leadership, how do I speak about sin in a way that is sobering without becoming harsh, and gracious without becoming vague?
3. What signs have I seen in women who are spiritually wandering but not spiritually dead, and how can I shepherd them with both truth and hope?

Closing prayer

Holy Spirit, show me where I’m drifting and turn my face again toward You. Amen