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Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.”  John 6:35

Jesus often speaks of the new birth in terms of coming and believing. Here, He adds two more verbs so I don’t miss the point: coming and believing are like eating and drinking.

• A culinary expert sits before a table overflowing with food. It is a feast—colors, textures, and fragrances all arranged with exquisite care. She circles the table slowly, studying every dish. She leans in to catch the aroma of a steaming platter, letting the herbs and spices tease her imagination. She tears off a corner of warm, multigrain bread, feeling the crisp crust and the soft interior. “Perfect,” she thinks. She analyzes, describes, evaluates. Later, she will write a beautiful article about the experience. But she never actually eats. She leaves with eloquent words and an empty stomach.

Nicodemus came to Jesus like that—curious, respectful, intelligent. He had a fascinating, late–night conversation with the Son of God and left with his mind full… but his heart still empty. I am unsettled by how many people can talk about the Bible in an informed way, but rarely speak of Jesus with the warmth of firsthand love. They master the text but miss the Person ~ kind of like a spiritual food critic. Bible study must be love–driven. Insight is not the main course; it is the byproduct of having actually dined. 

I think back to how many times I sat through the Lord’s Supper and missed its deepest meaning. “Take, eat… drink this cup.” It’s called communion.  A shared life.  A shared table.  Yet, I treated it as ceremony more than encounter. Now I understand a little better: He was never inviting me to analyze the meal. He was inviting me to partake of Himself.

Lord Jesus, I come, I believe, I eat, I drink. Amen

See now that I, I am He, and there is no god besides Me; It is I who put to death and give life. I have wounded and it is I who heal, And there is no one who can deliver from My hand.  Deuteronomy 32:39

What exactly is a life-saving wound? 

It is a wound that comes wrapped in a loving purpose. A wound allowed by a Friend, not an enemy. A wounding that, when redeemed, will one day yield a joy so deep it dwarfs the agony that once felt unbearable.

The tragedy is that so many children of God never see their past this way. They name their wounds only as tragedies. “Victim” hardens into a permanent label. Deprivation carves out a defeated mindset. And the God who was—and is—sovereign over their story becomes, in their eyes, more adversary than Ally. They reason that only an enemy would inflict a wound.  But enemies mean to kill or maim.  God wounds to save and bless.  Never do I suffer anything that is not an installment to something glorious. 

• A child who is never chosen, never the object of anyone’s affection, grows up carrying the heavy cloak of rejection. They move through the world assuming they are forgettable. But the wound can be lifesaving when he discovers that God is a pursuer. He tracks them through the years, draws them to the cross, adopts them into His family, and pours favor over their once-unwanted life.
• A teenager who has been mocked and bullied because he is “different” grows into an adult unsure of his voice. He believes his distinctiveness is a defect. Yet that wound can be life-saving when he realizes that God set him apart on purpose. The very traits that made him a target are the markings of leadership.
• A woman blindsided by divorce papers feels ripped in two. Betrayal echoes through her body. She is sure she will never again feel whole. But that wound can be life-saving when, driven to God, she finds Him not only as Father but as Bridegroom. Day after day He meets her in the quiet, loves her without flinching, whispers comfort, provides faithfully, and proves that she is not abandoned but cherished.

What is the nature of your unhealed wound?  And what is the need that rages as a result?  Are you willing to consider that the need you’ve just isolated is life-saving if it takes you into the arms of a God who does not trivialize what you suffered, but refuses to let it have the final word?  Look up. Believe. Live in the promises.

Revive my faith. Reinterpret my wounds.  Amen

Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.  Psalm 62:8 

How many people do I really have with whom I can speak unfiltered—no careful spin, no guarding, no editing? With whom can I empty my heart and know that perfect wisdom is listening, sifting, and answering? If I’m honest, it’s a very short list. To speak that freely is a rare gift.       

The Hebrew phrase “pour out” is as vivid as it sounds: to empty, to spill, to let what is inside come out. I’m struck by how often Scripture uses it. Dependent prayer is described as “pouring out one’s soul.” God Himself “pours out his wrath” on hardened rebellion. And then there is this: “I will pour out on the house of David… a spirit of grace and pleas for mercy, so that, when they look on me, on him whom they have pierced, they shall mourn.” (Zechariah 12:10). Judgment poured out, mercy poured out, the Spirit poured out—Scripture is heavy with this language.

There are times I pour out my heart to a few trusted friends. But do I feel that free with God? Do I censor myself in prayer, weighing every word, trying to sound composed and mature? Do I sit on my anger, my disappointment, my confusion and call it “faith”? Or is prayer, for me, a place where I can truly tip my soul and let everything come—knowing my heart is landing in utterly safe hands? God invites that kind of honesty, and I am held in a Love that is not threatened by my mess.

Two images grip me.

First, I see myself lifting my heart to God, like a cup, and gently tipping it, letting the contents run out before Him.
Second, I see Him, in response, pouring out His own Spirit over me; washing, filling, softening what has grown hard.

Both are beautiful, but they are not equal. Pouring out my heart will bring some relief, yes. But the real transformation comes when He pours out His Spirit. When that happens, nothing in my inner world can stay quite the same.

So, with confidence and without restraint, I pour out my heart to You, Lord. And I ask—pour out Your Spirit upon me. Where I am fractured, make me whole; where I am numb, make me alive; where I am afraid, make me steadfast in You. Amen

By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our lyres.  For there our captors required of us songs, and our tormentors, mirth, saying, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”  How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?    Psalm 137:1-3

Not all Psalms were written by David.  This one was written by a Jewish exile living in Babylon.  Having seen his homeland destroyed and then taken as a captive into the foreign culture of the Babylonian Empire, he struggled to get his spiritual bearings.  His new homeland was corrupt and excessive, and the people of God stuck out like sore thumbs. 

They were invited to sing their simple songs of faith to the taunts of the crowd, not unlike the Jews who were made to perform in the camps for Nazi soldiers.  Brilliant violinists, violists, cellists, and bass violin players formed string quartets to pacify the military tyrants who despised them. 

The song of the redeemed is being rendered just as peculiar against the backdrop of these unsettling days.  As we continue to witness rapid decline into the abyss of godlessness, we must not conform.  God’s grace will enable us to stand and to sing.  Our allegiance is to the kingdom of heaven and His culture of holiness.     

There is an ongoing emotional and spiritual adjustment for what we’re witnessing and what we know will come next.  In our grief, God invites us to sing the songs of the exiles. We are clearly outsiders and the brunt of society’s jokes, but our voices must not be silenced.  The noise of evil must not prevail over the praise of God’s people.  It’s not time to close the piano lid.  It’s not time to retire the pen of the poet.  It’s not time to put away the instruments.  Never has the music of faith been more important and never are the songs sweeter than when saints raise their joyful voices with tear stained faces. 

You are my joy.  Let my hope sing.  In Jesus’ name, Amen

The LORD foils the plans of the nations; he thwarts the purposes of the peoples. Psalm 33:10

Walls are meant to keep enemies out, but they can also keep prisoners in.

Ask those who lived under the shadow of the Great Wall, behind the barbed wire of North Korea, or in the long shadow of the Berlin Wall. A barrier can feel like protection, or a sentence.

God, in His severe mercy, sometimes builds walls in the life of a wayward son or daughter. That comforts us when the prodigal we love is racing toward destruction. But it is agony to watch them pound their fists against an invisible barrier. Nothing quite works. Doors that seem to swing open for others stay shut for them. Job applications vanish into silence. Savings meant to fund their dreams are swallowed by unexpected expenses. The pattern is too consistent to be coincidence: they are being lovingly hemmed in.

This is often where we step in and say, “Turn to God. He can turn your life around.” That is true. But if we are not careful, we can present God as a cosmic genie whose main role is to sponsor their plans. Telling them simply to “pray and ask for what you want” overlooks the deeper issue: they want everything but God. If He granted every request in that state, the very gifts would harden into idols, glittering just enough to keep them from facing their real spiritual poverty.

When we recognize that God Himself is thwarting a path, we are invited into a different kind of love. Here are three ways we can respond:

1. Pray first, then speak with holy tenderness.
2. With humility, help them see that the resistance they keep meeting may not be bad luck, but the loving hand of God blocking a destructive road.
3. Our instinct is to problem solve, to open doors, to smooth the path so they can finally “succeed.” But if God is the One doing the thwarting, our interventions can become interference. Love sometimes means stepping back and letting His wall stand.

Our deepest prayer is not that they “catch a break,” but that they bow the knee. We ask God to bring them to the place where they want Him more than they want their plans—even if the road to that place is rugged.

Lord, I will be Your prophet and their intercessor. Amen

Your testimonies are righteous forever; Give me understanding that I may live.  Psalm 119:144

When are the Psalms normally read?  When someone is hurting.  Whether sickness, betrayal, danger, or the pain of being falsely accused, we can be sure there will be a Psalm that correlates.  But if a Psalm is read-only to gain comfort and validation, we are missing out on a goldmine. 

The honesty of the Psalms has intimidated me.  I have historically been afraid of extreme complaints.  I’m shy of being called a drama queen if I join David in exclaiming that ‘my tears have been my food day and night,’ even if it’s true.    But I would do well to read the Psalms aloud when I’m in distress, to train myself to speak with gut honesty to God.  The Psalms show me how to well order the expressions of travail. 

The Psalms not only encourage me to own my feelings, but they also instruct me on how to think in the midst of them.  They unveil the kinds of things I should praise God for when I need to worship yet don’t feel like it.  

The Psalms challenge me to be balanced.  If I lean toward reading them for intellectual enjoyment, they will challenge me also to have a heart response.  If I lean toward a cathartic release of my heart, they will challenge me to espouse theology and to risk faith beyond tears.  Ever balanced, they instruct me on how to think and how to feel like Jesus. 

Shape my thoughts and free my heart to beat like Yours.  Amen

By faith Joseph, as he was nearing the end of his life, mentioned the exodus of the Israelites and gave instructions concerning his bones.  Hebrews 11:22

Joseph never forgot the stories of his great grandfather.  They had been passed down to him while sitting at the feet of his father, Jacob.  Though Joseph was rejected by his brothers and sent into slavery, and then lived most of his life in Egypt, he wasn’t fooled about God’s promise concerning the promised land.  When his people came to Egypt and enjoying a period prosperity and then unbearable suffering, he never thought this would be their permanent home.  He could foresee the exodus of his people years down the road even though he did not know the details.  He knew they were headed for the land God had shown Abraham.

Joseph envisioned it, and that is impressive enough. But then he put action to his faith through the plans he put into motion regarding his own death and burial.  He made no ‘just in case’ caveats. “I’d like to be buried with my people if they leave Egypt but if they don’t, here’s what I want done with my bones.”  No, so sure was he of the word of his God. This is one of the reasons he makes it into the hall of faith.

When I begin to distrust God’s promises, I will jump to make alternate plans in case God doesn’t come through.   Joseph had reasons to wonder if God had changed his mind about the destiny of His people as he reviewed the drought that nearly killed his clan, their migration to Egypt, and their prosperity since they integrated into Egyptian culture.  Yet Joseph wasn’t fooled by appearance.

Once God has made His will for me clear, I should never have a backup plan just in case.  Despite the tumultuous political year ahead of us in 2024, despite personal challenges I can’t yet anticipate, God’s Word still stands. His plans for me and for you prevail.

Lord, nothing will deter my footsteps.