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After three days they found him in the temple courts, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. Everyone who heard him was amazed at his understanding and his answers. Luke 2:46-47

Was it difficult for Joseph and Mary to give Jesus a normal upbringing? Was he a normal villager’s kid? In this one account from Luke, Jesus goes to the temple when He is twelve, asks a few questions, offers some insights in response, and the scholars are amazed.

How do you hide the Light of the world in a dark and oppressive Roman society? In Nazareth, there very well could have been stories among the villagers about Jesus. Though His first public miracle was at the wedding at Cana, did things happen earlier that could only have been explained by the word ‘miracle’? We’re not told but I find it interesting that Mary turned to Jesus at the wedding and casually asked if He would do something about the wine that had run out.

I wonder if the presence of God, resident in Christ, caused cataclysmic reactions at various points in His childhood. Surely something extraordinary happened in the temple when Jesus was twelve. His divinity was on display that day.

Thirty years of age is a long time for Jesus to wait to be released into public ministry. In God’s wisdom, there were thirty years of preparation for three years of ministry.

You and I may be aware of spiritual gifts that lie in waiting. We strain to exercise them and second-guess God’s wisdom of how long it will be until the door of our calling is opened. Could there be a lifetime of preparation for a few short years of ministry? Yes. John the Baptist was a flash of Light for a very short time, but never, according to Jesus, did anyone burn brighter.

I submit to Your wisdom and timetable. Amen

Wise men came from the east to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He who was born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the east and have come to worship Him.” Matthew 2:1-2

Scholars disagree on the length of the wise men’s journey to Bethlehem. The shortest calculation is forty days. The longest, and the one most everyone agrees upon, is approximately two years. Whether a 40-day journey or a 2-year voyage, it took considerable planning.  

Had they always been looking for the star that appeared in the night sky? How did they know its significance?  How could they be sure it wasn’t something of lesser significance? But they knew.  And as they traveled, they would have recalibrated continually to ensure they were still on track. Eyes fixed, they were led safely to their destination.  

Symbolically, each of us embarks on a similar journey. We see the glory of God revealed, not in the skies, but in the face of Christ. That event means more than what we can convey in a dinner conversation. It holds such significance that we are willing to stop everything, count the cost, and embark on a journey that takes a lifetime. Ultimately, we won’t arrive in Bethlehem to see a baby but in heaven to see a risen, glorified Jesus. Along the way, we need to keep our eyes fixed. We need to recalibrate. If our gaze remains on Jesus, the north star, we follow a direct path home. 

Jesus understands the sojourn. He made it Himself. Eyes fixed on His Father, He was led safely to glory. 

Jesus, I’m looking at the horizon and not at my feet. Amen

There is none like you, O LORD; you are great, and your name is great in might. Jeremiah 10:6

Long before Bethlehem’s star pierced the night, God made Himself known through names that echoed His sovereignty—The God Who Sees, The God Who Hears, the Lord our Banner. These names were powerful, yet still veiled. Then Jesus came, and there was a seismic shift in how humanity understood God.

Immediately after Jesus’ birth, the shepherds learned His identity: Savior and Emmanuel. And as He grew, His names became windows into the Father’s heart: Bread of Life, Good Shepherd, True Vine, Lamb of God, Precious Cornerstone, and Last Adam. Each name peeled back another layer of the mystery. Each one gave believers new glimpses into the complex and unfathomable depths of God.

There is nothing more important for me to learn than the names of God. The ones that are most precious to me are those I had to embrace out of great need. They became fluent in my soul only when I needed them to be. Some still remain theological to me, shimmering with beauty but not yet inhabited. Others are now as essential as breathing because they were forged in seasons where I had nothing else to stand on.

On my next quiet journaling day, I want to gather these names, both ancient titles and New Testament revelations, and write them out like stepping stones of grace. And after the ones that have carried me, I will jot down the memories associated with them: the moments of fear, surrender, healing, and hope that opened my heart to who God truly is.

Before life is over, I want to know You within the context of all Your names. Amen

“Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a servant and was born as a human being.” Philippians 2:7

Parents of missionaries who serve in dangerous places carry a unique ache. They live with the possibility of loss and the knowledge that obedience sometimes leads their children into the very heart of spiritual conflict. They wonder if they will see their sons and daughters again, and they wrestle with the fear that faithfulness may cost more than they feel prepared to give.

Does God understand their agony? Yes. He felt it first.

From eternity, the Trinity moved in perfect unity—a communion so deep that human language has a hard time capturing it. Scripture hints at the mystery of the Three-in-One, a love so integrated that Jesus could say, “I am in the Father and the Father is in Me.” Their fellowship was dynamic, like a slow, synchronised dance, each One freely and joyfully yielding to the other.

Then came the moment when the Son stepped forward into His mission.

Imagine the holy disruption. The rhythm of heaven shifted when Jesus crossed the threshold into time. The Father watched Him go with omniscient grief. He knew the malice of Satan, who would unleash every weapon in his arsenal. He foresaw the ambushes, the murderous crowds, the sleepless nights, and the sorrow that would carve itself into His beloved Son’s face.

And the Father planned every escape, every delay, every divine “not yet” that would preserve the Lamb until Calvary’s appointed hour. God tasted what human parents feel when their children step into danger for the sake of the Gospel.

He also saw the outcome of His sacrifice. He saw the disciples who would rise in courage. He saw the nations receiving light. He saw the Church that would be pressed down but never destroyed.

Father, You also gave everything. You saw the suffering, the danger, the heartbreak, and chose love anyway. Thank you. Amen

Then the elders and all those at the gate said, “We are witnesses. May the LORD make the woman who is coming into your home like Rachel and Leah, who together built up the house of Israel. May you have standing in Ephrathah and be famous in Bethlehem. Ruth 4:11

If I truly grasped the weight of my words, I would handle them with far greater reverence. I would strip away careless speech, choosing instead to let every word sow something holy. A blessing is never lost; it doesn’t evaporate into the air or dissolve with time. It roots itself in the soil of a person’s life and bears fruit according to God’s own laws of sowing and reaping. The elders who blessed Boaz that day could not see beyond the moment, but they understood the power of covenant language. Their culture knew that blessings and curses shaped destinies. They spoke boldly, invoking the legacy of Rachel and Leah over Ruth. What they could not have imagined was that Ruth’s son would become the grandfather of King David, and that centuries later, another King—Jesus—would rise from that very lineage in Bethlehem. Their blessing reached farther than their understanding.

There’s a beautiful tradition practiced in many churches. At the end of the service, the congregation stands and grows quiet while the pastor lifts his hand to speak a blessing over the people. It isn’t a formality. It isn’t a polite way to dismiss the crowd. It reflects something far older and far deeper. In the Old Testament, words spoken in blessing carried real spiritual weight. A blessing was viewed as an act that set something in motion. Isaac’s blessing over Jacob shaped a nation. Moses’ blessing over the tribes carried God’s intentions forward. When a blessing was spoken, it was believed that God Himself would honor and act upon those words.

On a more personal note ~ I realize that I have the power today to bless another. What I speak may be the catalyst for profound change. And conversely, what I spew in anger has the potential to become their prison. May my language leave a taste of the divine.

So I offer this blessing now: “Father, I bless each person who reads these words. Draw them gently beyond their comfort zones and into deeper communion with You. Let them discover the riches of Your love and grace. Surround their homes with Your warring angels and make Your presence the glory in their midst. Keep them from evil and strengthen them to stand firm against the enemy. Prosper their children spiritually. Sit with them at their tables and surprise them with holy conversation. Amen.”

Meanwhile Boaz went up to the town gate and sat there. When the kinsman-redeemer he had mentioned came along, Boaz said, “Come over here, my friend, and sit down.” So he went over and sat down. Ruth 4:1

Boaz prepared the moment with care. He knew he needed to speak with the man who held the legal right to redeem Naomi’s land and marry Ruth. It was a delicate conversation—one that could have easily turned adversarial. Boaz could have approached him with charm, rivalry, or manipulation. But he didn’t. He chose the path of friendship. He also chose integrity over strategy. A heart rooted in God does not need to fear the strength, status, or possessions of another. In God’s kingdom, no one is diminished by another person’s blessing.

But I recognize my own insecurities here. I know what it is to glance sideways and feel the sting of envy and to see someone living the very life I longed for.  I can interpret their abundance as evidence of God’s favor and my lack as evidence of His neglect.  In those moments, authenticity becomes nearly impossible. My words sound kind, but my heart is conflicted. Internally, I fear they will see straight through me.

I’ve been guilty of believing that God was withholding good from me. I feared He played favorites.  I chose to forget that He was still writing my story and that I’d not yet reached the chapters where redemption unfolds in full.  Taking those lessons into the future, I know now that I cannot judge His faithfulness midstream. He has not finished healing the ashes of my past. He has not finished rewarding the seeds of obedience I’ve planted through the years.

I also cannot know the full truth of others’ lives behind closed doors, either. I may be impressed by their public story yet know nothing of the private ache behind closed doors. Pain is universal. No life is as flawless as it appears from afar.

There is no competition in the kingdom of God. Boaz knew this, and he rested. He trusted that God would safeguard his love for Ruth.  Maturity allows me to sit at the table with the very person who once stirred my envy. Not because I have risen above them, but because Christ has rooted me deeper in Himself.

When I am content in Your love, whom shall I fear? Amen

When Ruth came to her mother-in-law, Naomi asked, “How did it go, my daughter?” Then she told her everything Boaz had done for her and added, “He gave me these six measures of barley, saying, `Don’t go back to your mother-in-law empty-handed.’ ” Ruth 3:16-17

Ruth must have been deeply moved by Boaz’s generosity. His kindness didn’t seem to be self-serving. His heart was generous enough to honor not only Ruth but also Naomi. In his world, redemption was woven into the fabric of family and legacy. This instinct mirrored the very heart of God.

Nearly every time God spoke to the patriarchs, His promises stretched beyond individuals and wrapped themselves around their children, their children’s children, and even generations yet to be born. God thinks in lineage. His Father-heart beats within every covenant He makes. And here’s what comforts me today.  My family legacy is important to Him today because it’s essential to me.

My own heart carries the weight of my family; those who have not yet awakened to Jesus, who live unalarmed by their need for Him. Perhaps their lives have not yet cracked deep enough to search for a Savior. But life eventually delivers its blows. Sorrow knocks on every door. Job said, “Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward.” Pain is inevitable and often serves as a tutor that leads a stubborn soul toward God’s mercy.

God may already be scattering gifts across the paths of my loved ones; mercies they do not yet recognize, protections they do not thank Him for, kindnesses they attribute to chance. Their spirits may sleep now, but the Giver does not stop giving.  God’s mercy is patient, persistent, and creative.  He does not withdraw. They are my family, and they are on His radar.  As long as I love and pray for them, He moves toward them.  Covenant love stretches farther than rebellion. 

Thank you for caring about my family. I entrust every name, every story, every wound, every wandering heart into Your hands. Amen