Praying Pint

 

I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live. — Deuteronomy 30:19

Into the Word

Here is a question worth sitting with: why does choice exist at all?

God could have created us already loving Him. Pre-loaded, pre-set, incapable of wandering. No commands needed, no garden at risk, no cross required. One word from Him and every heart on earth would turn. The God who spoke galaxies into existence could speak devotion into us just as easily. So why the slow way? Why a command that can be refused? Why a door that can be walked out of?

The answer begins with what love actually is.

A Doll That Says I Love You

Press the button on a child’s doll and it says “I love you.” It says it every time, without fail, forever. And it means nothing, precisely because it cannot say anything else.

Love that cannot refuse is not love. It is playback. And God did not create the universe to hear playback. The world He designed runs on real love, love that is chosen, and choice requires the genuine possibility of walking away. This is the staggering risk at the heart of creation: to make creatures who could love Him, God had to make creatures who could leave Him.

He measured that risk in full. He saw Eden’s broken gate, the wilderness rebellions, the cross. And He judged one freely given heart worth all of it.

Set Before You

Now listen to how God speaks at the edge of the promised land. Moses is old. Forty years of wandering are ending, and this is his final sermon. If ever there were a moment for God to simply install obedience in His people, to spare them the centuries of failure He could already see coming, it was this one.

Instead, He lays out two paths like a parent setting two roads before a child: I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. He does not hide the stakes. He does not soften the danger. And then comes the sentence that should stop us: therefore choose life.

The Almighty pleads. He who could compel, entreats. He stacks every reason on the side of life, points to it with both hands, and then steps back and waits for a decision He refuses to make for us. And in the very next breath, He tells us what choosing life actually means:

There it is. Choosing life was never about picking the safer road. It is choosing Him. There may be no stranger sentence in Scripture than a sovereign God saying choose, and no sentence that tells us more about what He wants. Not compliance. Communion.

The Law Came Before the Fall

Notice something easy to miss in Genesis. The commands appear in chapters 1 and 2. The fall happens in chapter 3. Law existed in paradise, before sin, before shame, before anything went wrong.

That single observation quietly dismantles one of our deepest assumptions. We tend to think law entered the world as punishment, the way a prison appears after a crime. But Eden had law while Eden was still perfect. Why? Because law is what freedom looks like on paper. A robot needs no commands; it cannot disobey. A stone needs no commandments; it cannot wander. The very existence of a command is proof that the one receiving it is free.

Every “you shall” in Scripture is therefore a quiet coronation. It assumes we can hear, weigh, and answer. It treats us not as machinery to be operated but as persons to be addressed. God’s law is not the evidence that He distrusts us. It is the evidence that He dignified us, lifting dust to the level of dialogue.

The Father Who Waits

This is why the father in Luke 15 looks so strangely powerless. He does not stop the son from leaving. He does not send servants to drag him home. He divides the inheritance with hands that must have trembled, and then he waits. He scans the road. The almighty God, as Jesus paints Him, chooses the posture of waiting, because the only homecoming worth having is the one the son chooses himself.

A forced return would have brought the body home and left the heart in the far country. We know this is true, because the parable shows us exactly that man: the older brother. He never left the house, yet he stood outside it in the end, as far from his father’s heart as his brother had ever been in the pig pens. Presence is not the same as love. The father wanted more than his sons’ obedience or their proximity. He wanted his sons. So he endured the silence of one and the coldness of the other, holding open a door for both. God has the power to compel us and has never once used it. That restraint is not weakness. It is the cost of wanting real love instead of an echo, and He has been paying it since Eden.

Before We Move On

We sometimes wish faith were easier, that God would simply override our doubts and make belief automatic. But an automatic faith would be the doll’s voice, and God has too much love for us to settle for it. Every morning we wake up free to ignore Him is a morning He has renewed His risk. Every command He gives us is another act of trust, another crown placed on creatures who keep proving unworthy of it, another choose life spoken in hope.

The question His restraint asks of us is gentle but piercing: He has given us the freedom not to love Him. What are we doing with it?

He could force the whole world to bow in three seconds. Instead, He sets life before us and says, choose. (Bible Portal)

 

As You sent Me into the world, I also have sent them into the world. (John 17:18)

John 17 is the majestic prayer of Jesus to God the Father, prayed only a few hours before He was arrested, tried, beaten, and crucified. Jesus prayed for Himself (1-5), for His disciples (6-19), and for us – those who would believe through the preaching and testimony of His disciples (20-26).

Verse 18 tells us one thing Jesus recalled in His prayer, that the Father had sent Him into the world. Jesus then declared that He was sending His disciples in the same way (I also have sent them into the world).

Think of the first aspect: that Jesus Christ is the ultimate “sent one,” whom the Father sent to bring salvation to lost and needy humanity. This makes Jesus the first and greatest missionary the universe has ever seen. A missionary is a “sent one,” and Jesus was sent, and He was sent into the world.

Consider how the Father sent the Son into the world:

– Jesus was not sent as a philosopher like Plato or Aristotle, though He knew higher philosophy than them all.
– Jesus was not sent as an inventor or a discoverer, though He could have invented new things and discovered lands unknown to His people.
– Jesus was not sent as a conqueror, though He was mightier than Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar.
– Jesus was sent to teach.
– Jesus was sent to live among us.
– Jesus was sent to suffer for truth and righteousness.
– Jesus was sent to rescue lost humanity.

Connect all that with how Jesus sends His disciples. Remember, Jesus said that it was in the same manner: As You sent Me…I also have sent them. It’s certainly true that Christians can be great philosophers, inventors, and even conquerors. But those terms do not fundamentally describe the work of God’s people in a general sense.

As believers, as followers of Jesus Christ, our greatest contribution to the world is to teach and preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, to identify with and draw near to lost humanity, to suffer for truth and righteousness as God appoints us, and to be God’s instruments in bringing His salvation to the world. It’s not bad to help humanity in other ways, but being sent as Jesus was sent is our unique calling as God’s people.

Interestingly, earlier in this prayer, Jesus said He was not praying for the world, but for His people (17:9). Yet, this prayer has great and true concern for the world. Jesus wanted to reach the world, but He would do it through disciples who would be so transformed that they would go forth even as Jesus was sent.

Jesus told His disciples that He was leaving them and would soon return to His Father (John 16:5). But Jesus wasn’t abandoning them; He was sending them. There’s a big difference between the two.

As the Father sent Jesus, so Jesus sends us. (Guzik)

 

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. — Matthew 11:28–30

Into the Word

Notice what actually happens in these three verses. Jesus does not simply tell the weary to put their burdens down and walk away unburdened. He says: come, and I will give you rest. Then, in the very next breath: take my yoke. There is an exchange happening here, not a removal. We arrive carrying something heavy. He takes it from us completely. And then He hands us something else to carry in its place.

This is easy to miss if we only hear the first half of the invitation. Rest, in what Jesus offers, is not an empty-handed life. It is a hand that has set one burden down in order to take up another. And the strange thing Jesus promises is that the new burden, though real, will somehow be light. Not absent. Light. He does not just give us a new weight. He teaches us how to carry it.

The Burden He Takes, The Burden He Gives

What we bring to Jesus is, at its root, the weight of sin, and that weight runs deeper than what we ourselves have done. Sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin (Romans 5:12). We were born into the wreckage of that, and onto it, year after year, we have added our own. Fear, guilt, the quiet pressure to prove ourselves worthy of a love we are not sure we already have. The inherited and the added, fused into one weight no human being has ever been strong enough to carry.

Jesus does not simply lighten this burden. He takes it. Fully. He carries our sin, all of it, to the cross and leaves none of it for us to manage on our own. And in its place, He gives us a different one entirely, the burden of His yoke, the burden of love, the weight of laying our lives down for others the way He laid His down for us. We did not choose this trade in order to be burden-free. We chose it because the new weight, somehow, is not the same kind of weight at all.

The Secret Inside the Word “Easy”

Here is where the passage holds its real secret. My yoke is easy, Jesus says, and my burden is light. But anyone who has loved someone deeply knows that love does not subtract effort. The secret is not that the new burden requires less. The secret is how it is meant to be carried.

In the city of Keelung, Taiwan, a sixty-five-year-old woman named Liu Kuei-lan carried her thirty-two-year-old son on her back, every day, for thirty years. Hu Jen-chuan had fallen from a table at the age of two and slipped into a six-day coma. He never spoke or moved again. Liu weighed barely 88 pounds. Her son, grown into a full-sized man, weighed 181 pounds, more than twice what she did. She carried him anyway, to keep him from developing bedsores, and fell more than once under his weight, breaking bones in the process. When a reporter asked how a woman her size could carry a man twice her weight, she answered simply: He ain’t heavy, he’s my son.

No one required this of her. She could not afford a nursing home, but even if she could have, it is hard to imagine she would have chosen it. For thirty years she carried a weight that should have broken her, and somehow, in her own words, it was never heavy at all. Not because it was light. Because it was love.

This is the pattern hidden inside Jesus’ words. The thing that determines whether a weight crushes us or simply wearies us is not its size. It is whether we are carrying it in love, or carrying it because we have no other way of proving we are worth something.

The Paradox of Love

This is the strange territory Jesus is leading us into: a burden that is genuinely heavy, and genuinely light, at the very same time. Not light because it has been made smaller. Light because love has changed what it means to carry it.

But where does a love like that come from, the kind that carries impossible weight and somehow still calls it light? Before Jesus ever asked us to carry anything, He carried us first. He carried the weight of every sin we would ever commit, every burden we could never have borne ourselves, all the way to a cross. And Scripture does not describe Him doing this with resentment, or gritted teeth, or the silent martyrdom of someone counting the cost. It describes Him doing it for the joy that was set before him (Hebrews 12:2). Joy. Not despite the weight. Through it.

He did not complain under the weight of us. He rejoiced. And it is that same joy, His joy, poured into us, that becomes the strength by which we now carry what He places on our shoulders. We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19). We did not invent this secret ourselves. We inherited it from Him. The joy that carried Him to the cross is the same joy that teaches us how to carry our own.

The Joy We Didn’t Expect

This is why people who have given the most for the sake of others rarely describe their lives using the language of burden, even when the cost is plainly visible to everyone around them. Without always being able to explain it, they have learned to carry their burdens the way Christ first carried His: not gritting through the weight, but finding, somewhere inside it, a joy that does not make sense from the outside. Tired and full at the same time. Pouring out and somehow not empty. Carrying a cross and somehow also resting.

This was always the joy Jesus intended to pass on. On the night before His arrest, with the cross only hours away, He told His disciples:

Not joy as the absence of suffering. Joy given in the very shadow of it, meant to remain even after He was gone, meant to become ours the way it had been His.

This is the rest Jesus actually promises. Not a life with nothing on our shoulders. A life where what is on our shoulders has been transformed by the way we are carrying it.

Before We Move On

We were never meant to carry life unburdened. We were meant to carry it in love. Jesus does not simply remove our weight and send us away light. He takes what we carried out of fear, completely, and exchanges it for what He carries out of love, and then He teaches us, patiently, how to carry it the way He does. Heavy, and somehow light. A cross, and somehow rest.

Bring what is breaking you. Leave it at His feet. And discover the weight only love knows how to carry. (Bible Portal)

 

And He, bearing His cross, went out to a place called the Place of a Skull, which is called in Hebrew, Golgotha, where they crucified Him, and two others with Him, one on either side, and Jesus in the center. (John 19:17-18)

On that day at Calvary, Jesus wasn’t the only one to die on cross. There were two others with Him, one on either side, and Jesus in the center.

Yes, Jesus was in the center. This was literally true; of the three crosses, Jesus was in the middle. Yet as a concept, there are many ways that it could be said that it was Jesus in the center.

Jesus was centered among humanity. From His incarnation, through His whole life, Jesus lived as one of us. Jesus died among men and women, Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor, high class and no class, the educated and the uneducated, the religious and the secular, the guilty and the innocent, the weepers and the mockers, those deeply moved and those indifferent, those who hated Him and those who loved Him.

Jesus was centered among sinful men. His enemies thought this would make His sufferings worse. They thought it would bother the Savior to see the low company He died with. In His death the righteously religious mocked Him and His disciples forsook Him; yet Jesus was centered among sinners to the end.

Jesus was centered among confusion. Matthew 27:46-49 tells us that when Jesus cried out in agony to His Father, the people around Him didn’t understand and some even thought it was kind of amusing.

Jesus was centered between believing and rejecting. Matthew 27:44 told us that both robbers mocked Him, but Luke 23:39-41 tells us of a change in one of the criminals. Before His death, the last human voice to tell the truth about Jesus was a criminal converted at the last moment.

Jesus was centered between saved and perishing. The thief on the cross was the last companion of Jesus on this earth before His death – and Jesus brought Him to salvation. Not with a sermon, but with every sermon He had already preached, every righteous deed He had done before. This was perhaps the only comfort to Jesus on the cross. Still, one thief was saved, but one was lost, and Jesus was in the center between them. To pass from lost to saved, you must go through Jesus.

Jesus was centered between God and man. Jesus on the cross took all the punishment our sin deserved. At the cross Jesus was both the priest and the offering.

Jesus was centered in all God’s history and work. We do not look at Jesus in the center with pity, as if we should all feel sorry for poor Jesus. He was the winner at the cross. This was the greatest victory of all time.

On that most special of days, Jesus Christ was in the center. Is He in the center of your life? (Guzik)

 

God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. — Romans 5:8

We love because he first loved us – 1 John 4:19

Romans 5:8 isn’t only a comforting truth. It’s a mirror.

Before we ask what this love means for how we treat others, we have to sit with what it means for how we love Him.

He loved us before we understood Him. Before we believed correctly, lived rightly, or even knew His name. That kind of love doesn’t just ask to be admired. It asks to be returned. Not out of obligation, but because once we truly see what it cost Him, something in us wants to give back without conditions, the way He gave to us without them.

We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19). That’s the order. His love comes first. Ours is the response. And when that response is real, it begins to change the way we love everyone else too.

He didn’t wait until we understood Him to love us. That’s where our love for Him begins.

And it’s where our love for others has to come from too. (Bible Portal)

 

God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. — Romans 5:8

Into the Word

That same night Peter denied Jesus three times by a charcoal fire, Jesus was already on His way to die for him. John places these two scenes right next to each other on purpose. It is, in the plainest sense, a definition of love.

The Timing Nobody Talks About

While a servant girl was asking Peter, “You’re not one of his disciples, are you,” and Peter was answering, “I am not,” Jesus was already committed to a path that would cost Him everything.

Picture what that night actually looked like. In the high priest’s courtyard, Peter stands by a charcoal fire, warming his hands, shrinking back into the crowd. Not far away, Jesus stands before Caiaphas, being struck, being mocked, being condemned. Two scenes. Same night. Same hours. And in both of them, Jesus is moving toward the cross, not away from it, for the very man who is at that moment pretending he never met Him.

Romans 5:8 isn’t an abstract theological statement. It’s literally what happened that night. Paul wasn’t only describing a concept. He was describing Gethsemane and the high priest’s courtyard, happening in the very same hours. The love he wrote about wasn’t theoretical. It had a location. It had a timestamp.

Loved Before Understood

This story didn’t survive because anyone wanted to protect a reputation. It survived because it testified to something bigger than Peter’s failure. Jesus’ love was never contingent on being recognized, understood, or even believed in by the people He was dying for.

We didn’t know Him fully. We misread Him, misunderstood what He came to do, and scattered when things got hard. The disciples expected a king who would overthrow Rome. They got a Savior who let Rome kill Him instead. That wasn’t the story any of them thought they were in. And yet He knew exactly what He was doing, and He did it for them anyway. Not after they finally understood. Not once they got it right. But in the middle of their confusion, their fear, their denial.

He knew us anyway. He embraced us anyway.

What This Means for the Love We Give

Most of the love we offer comes with conditions attached, even when we don’t say them out loud. We love people more easily once they’ve proven themselves. Once they understand us. Once they apologize. Once they change. We tell ourselves we’re being wise, protecting our hearts, waiting for the right moment. But what we’re really doing is making love something people have to earn before we hand it over.

Jesus loved at the exact moment He was being denied and misunderstood. Not after. That’s not just a comforting fact about how God feels about us. It’s a confrontation with how we feel about the people in our own lives.

Is there someone we’re withholding love from until they finally understand us, or treat us better, or get it right? What would it mean to love them the way we were loved, before any of that happened? (Bible Portal)

 

“All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3:16–17)

In August of 1949, my grandfather—a largely unknown young preacher at the time—was at a Christian retreat center in the mountains east of Los Angeles, California. A spiritual battle raged inside of him. A friend who had gone to Princeton Theological Seminary had repeatedly and passionately encouraged my grandfather to change his view on Scripture.

“People no longer accept the Bible as being inspired the way you do. Your faith is too simple,” the friend argued.

My grandfather, in his autobiography Just As I Am, shared, “I had no doubts concerning the deity of Jesus Christ or the validity of the Gospel, but was the Bible completely true? If I was not exactly doubtful, I was certainly disturbed.”

Ultimately, after intense and prayerful study of Scripture, my grandfather fell to his knees and cried out to God. He acknowledged that he didn’t know all of the answers or how to respond to his friends’ questions, but surrendered to the inerrancy of God’s Word by faith.

With the spiritual battle won, the difference in his preaching was immediately noticeable. He spoke with a newfound authority. By November, the Greater Los Angeles Crusade launched this obscure North Carolina evangelist into a household name.

By my grandfather’s own admission, you likely would have never heard of Billy Graham if not for his decision to accept the full authority of Scripture. Once the matter was settled in his soul, God used him to reach millions.

The apostle Paul, in his letter to Timothy, similarly encouraged his spiritual son to rely on Scripture and make it the center of his faith. Why?

First, it has a divine origin, with God as the author. “All Scripture is given by the inspiration of God” (2 Timothy 3:16a). Not some Scripture. Not just the parts of the Bible that we like and that make us feel comfortable. No, all Scripture is given by the inspiration of God!

It is the self-revelation of God, penned by human authors under the control of the Holy Spirit. Therefore, the Bible is totally reliable for both you and I. As was the case for my grandfather, if you hope to gain anything from the Bible, this has to be a settled point. Scripture is totally from God—its origin is divine.

Second, as God’s Living Word, Scripture is “profitable” for us in all facets of life (2 Timothy 3:16b). The Bible is not only the road map to Heaven, but also the compass for the Christian life. It provides everything needed to know God, to find salvation, to be convicted of sin, to be corrected and restored, and to guide followers in Christian discipline.

Finally, the Bible equips and completes us (2 Timothy 3:17). It gives us the prescription and cure for the disease of sin. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9, NKJV). As we are convicted of sin, confess it, are forgiven, and pursue righteousness, we mature in our faith and in our walk with God. Each new day of a Christian life should find us more and more like Jesus. From there, we are ready for “every good work” on behalf of the Kingdom.

Though circumstances, relationships, politics and culture shift and move like shaking ground, the Bible is everlasting—a firm foundation. It lights our path and meets our needs. Commit to filling your soul with the Word of God, and allow Him to guide your steps. (F. Graham)

“All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3:16–17).

 

 

Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. –Matthew 5:44–45

Stephen was on trial before the Jewish religious leaders. When he said he saw Jesus standing at the right hand of the Father, the religious leaders drove him out of the city and stoned him. In Stephen’s final moments on earth, I want you to notice the similarities to Jesus’ final moments before His death on the cross.   Look at Acts 7:59: “They went on stoning Stephen as he called on the Lord and said, ‘Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!’” Do these words sound familiar to you? Jesus said the same thing when He was on the cross: “Into Your hands I commit My spirit” (Luke 23:46).   Then Stephen fell to his knees and cried out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them!” (Acts 7:60). Again, these words should sound familiar. When Jesus was on the cross, He looked at the people who had put him there and said, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). Stephen’s last request before he died was not that his family be taken care of or that he miraculously be spared. No, Stephen’s last prayer was that his persecutors would find forgiveness through Jesus Christ.   At least one person present that day would go on to find God’s forgiveness, just as Stephen had prayed. Acts 7:58 says, “The witnesses laid aside their robes at the feet of a young man named Saul.” This is the first appearance of Saul of Tarsus, later known as the apostle Paul. Little did Stephen know that this young man would become one of the greatest Christian missionaries in history.   Like Jesus, Stephen was accused on trumped-up charges. Like Jesus, Stephen spoke the truth boldly before the religious leaders. Like Jesus, Stephen gave his spirit into God’s hands. But perhaps the most amazing similarity is that, like Jesus, Stephen had a heart of compassion for his enemies. He did not pray that his persecutors would be destroyed; he prayed that they would find forgiveness. We are never more like Jesus than when we love and pray for our enemies. (Jeffress)

 

Exodus 28:36-38  “You shall make a plate of pure gold and engrave on it, like the engraving of a signet, ‘Holy to the LORD.’ And you shall fasten it on the turban by a cord of blue. It shall be on the front of the turban. It shall be on Aaron’s forehead, and Aaron shall bear any guilt from the holy things that the people of Israel consecrate as their holy gifts. It shall regularly be on his forehead, that they may be accepted before the LORD.

Revelation 21:27    But nothing unclean will ever enter it, nor anyone who does what is detestable or false, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s book of life.

Hebrews 4:14-16  Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

 

This passage is an introspective meditation on the hidden faults that can affect worship, service, and private devotion. It urges readers to recognize that even sacred acts may be tainted by pride, vanity, indolence, or forgetfulness of God.

The listed faults—hypocrisy, formality, lukewarmness, irreverence, wandering hearts, and forgetfulness—show that religious activity does not guarantee spiritual sincerity.

The excerpt from Dr. Payson’s letter to his brother is particularly illustrative. In comparing his parish and his heart to the “garden of the sluggard,” Dr. Payson confesses that even his desires for improvement may be motivated by pride, vanity, or indolence. The analogy of wishing for a weed-free garden, only to realize that selfish motives may prompt the wish, highlights the complexity of human intention. This introspection reveals that even our aspirations for holiness can be compromised by self-interest.

The passage calls readers to look more carefully at the hidden iniquity beneath outward virtue and the need for honest self-reflection and repentance.

Yet the meditation ends in hope through Jesus Christ. As the true High Priest, he bears human unholiness and presents his own holiness before God, giving believers confidence in grace rather than in their own righteousness. (Spurgeon)

 

 

Mark 14:32-36  And they went to a place called Gethsemane. And he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” And he took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be greatly distressed and troubled. And he said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death. Remain here and watch.” And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”

 

Trust; confidence, belief, freedom from doubt, assuredness, certainty, conviction, reliance, committed

How is this willful trust in God manifested in our lives? Look at Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. Father, take this cup from me, yet not my will but yours.

Are we able and willing to TRUST God, His plans and purpose to the point of being physically beaten, whipped, and nailed to the cross (unbelievable pain and death)?

Do we have more doubts than trust?

Is it possible we just live our lives in prosperity, pleasure, and busyness with little to no thoughts of God’s will, purpose, and plans?

As long as things are going smoothly and peacefully, our trust, or what we call trust, is really high. However, when things go south, we wonder what has gone wrong. We take action, and usually this, in my case, is self-reliance. It is as if I am saying, if things are going smoothly and peacefully, God is with me, and I am in and doing His will. This may be true, but also, it may be I have a very shallow trust in God. What is my default thoughts when the smooth gets very rough, and the peaceful gets chaotic?

God knows all things. He knows. Nothing is beyond His knowing. Is our first thought when adversity happens, God, I know you know all things; I trust You and need Your help to understand it and get through it.

The saying “to truly know a person, see them in times of trouble” reflects a deep truth about human nature: people often reveal their true character when faced with adversity. In moments of stress, hardship, or crisis, the surface-level niceties and small talk often fade, and what remains is a person’s core values, belief, and trust.

Oh, that we would always be in the presence of God, filled with the Holy Spirit, and ever-trusting in His grace, mercy, love, knowing, presence, plans, purpose, and will.