Daily Reflections From God's Word

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  • When to Walk Away: Pearls, Pigs, and Pointless Arguments

    Matthew 7:6 NKJV – “Do not give what is holy to the dogs; nor cast your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces.”

    There’s a difference between testifying and debating. One feeds the hungry. The other throws food to pigs. Jesus wasn’t being cruel when He said this—He was being strategic. He knew that not every heart is ready, and not every conversation is worth your breath.

    When I was in 8th grade, two brothers transferred into my school. They were “Christians,” at least in the loud, in-your-face sense. They carried Bibles everywhere, wore Jesus t-shirts, and they loved to argue—especially about doctrine. They were always looking for a fight. And one day they brought it to me.

    They started criticizing the holiness standards taught by my pastor—women wearing skirts, long hair, no makeup; men keeping short hair, modest dress, no tank tops. Their own hair was long and they honestly looked like slobs. They wanted to argue. Badly.

    Finally, one of them smugly asked, “What if, when you get to heaven, you find out all those rules weren’t necessary?”

    I wasn’t sure how to respond. So I shot up a prayer in my head and just asked the Lord for words. What came out surprised even me:

    “What if, when you die and face God, you find out they actually were necessary? What then?”

    And I walked away.

    No yelling.

    No debate.

    Just a simple, sobering question—and silence.

    I left them to think about it.

    That’s the wisdom of Matthew 7:6. There are moments when engaging is foolish. Some people aren’t hungry for truth—they’re hungry for conflict. They want to win, not learn. And when you try to hand something sacred to someone who only wants a fight, Jesus says you’ll get hurt. “They will trample it under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces.”

    Proverbs backs Jesus up on this:

    “He who corrects a scoffer gets shame for himself, and he who rebukes a wicked man only harms himself.” (Proverbs 9:7)

    “Do not speak in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words.” (Proverbs 23:9)

    “Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you also be like him.” (Proverbs 26:4)

    At some point, you’ve got to know when to plant seed—and when to shake the dust off your feet.

    And if you think that sounds harsh, look at Jesus. Sometimes He answered the Pharisees—usually with a parable or a piercing question that exposed their hearts. Other times? He said nothing. Just stood there. Silent. He knew the difference between a trap and a teachable moment. He wasn’t baited into endless arguments. He spoke truth with purpose—not performance.

    You don’t have to prove anything to a fool. The truth speaks for itself. Just make sure you don’t throw your pearls in the mud. They’re too valuable.

  • One Compass. One Master. Choose Wisely.

    One Compass. One Master. Choose Wisely.

    Matthew 6:24 (NKJV) is one of those verses that doesn’t leave much room for nuance:

    “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be loyal to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.”

    Jesus didn’t say it would be difficult to serve two masters.

    He said it would be impossible.

    We like to believe we can juggle both—church on Sunday, compromise on Monday. A foot in the Spirit and a foot in the world. But that’s not how loyalty works.

    Every heart has a compass, and it only points in one direction at a time. North toward Christ—or South toward compromise. East toward comfort—or West toward culture. You may claim both, but your choices reveal the truth.

    This is not a warning to the lost.

    This is a wake-up call to the churched.

    Revelation 2:4 (NKJV) hits like a gut punch:

    “Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love.”

    Not lost.

    Left.

    That implies direction.

    Movement.

    Intent.

    We didn’t just wander off like spiritual toddlers. We shifted our loyalty—sometimes slowly, sometimes boldly—but always intentionally.

    Because living for God must be done with intentionality.

    We want the peace of God without the discipline of following Him.

    We post Scripture on our socials while bingeing filth on our screens.

    We lift our hands in worship, then tear people down with gossip.

    We cry out for direction but ignore the Word already given.

    Then, after all that, we wonder why we feel spiritually dry, directionless, and disillusioned.

    James 1:6–8 (NKJV) names the problem:

    “But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.”

    A double-minded man.

    One foot in, one foot out.

    Always teetering between two worlds.

    It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been in church or what your last spiritual high felt like, if your direction isn’t fixed on Christ, your foundation is already cracking.

    And that brings us to Ephesians 3:16–17 (NKJV):

    “That He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love…”

    Discipleship is not about feelings. It’s not about hype. It’s about direction—and foundation. Where are your feet pointed? And what is your heart rooted in?

    If Christ truly dwells in you, there should be evidence. There should be strength in your inner man. There should be spiritual grounding that holds fast when the winds of doubt, culture, or temptation blow. But if you’re divided—if you’re attempting to serve two masters—then instability will follow you like a shadow.

    Psalm 16:11 (NKJV) offers both a promise and a choice:

    “You will show me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

    That’s the direction. That’s North. But it’s not automatic. That path has to be chosen, walked, and guarded.

    You don’t coast into holiness. You choose it. You pursue it. You turn your back on everything else—not perfectly, but purposefully.

    So, let’s get brutally honest: Where is your compass pointing?What are your daily decisions saying about who your Master really is?

    Have you left your first love while convincing yourself you’re still devoted?

    You can’t have both. Not forever. One Master will win.

    Let it be Jesus.

    So let’s talk about it: What part of your walk with God needs course correction? Let’s open the conversation and challenge each other toward obedience and clarity.

  • When Was the Last Time Discipleship Cost You Something?

    “…To be a disciple of Jesus is going to cost you something…”

    That quote hit me square between the eyes. Because when I held it up to my own life, I had to admit something uncomfortable: I don’t know that I’ve ever truly lived that kind of discipleship. Not consistently. Not fully.

    Jesus didn’t mince words. The call to follow Him was direct, costly, and repeated.

    Matthew 16:24. Mark 8:34. Mark 10:21. Luke 9:23

    That phrase—“take up your cross and follow Me”—isn’t some poetic metaphor for mild inconvenience. It was a death sentence. A surrender of will. And the fact that all three Synoptic Gospels include it—Mark more than once—tells us just how central it is to the Christian life.

    Discipleship isn’t a suggestion. It’s a command.

    And we’ve spent far too much time reshaping that command into something manageable.

    Comfortable.

    Instagrammable.

    We’ve turned “take up your cross” into a cozy quote rather than a call to daily death to self.

    Let’s be brutally honest: when was the last time following Jesus actually cost you something?

    Not just time.

    Not just a tithe.

    But real, personal sacrifice.

    Something that forced you to change your plans, stretch your faith, or confront your pride?

    We love the verses about being blessed. We highlight the promises of peace and provision. But we skip over the ones about obedience, sacrifice, and suffering. We love the idea of being “called,” but wrestle when that calling demands discomfort.

    That’s not legalism. That’s lordship.

    And Jesus made it crystal clear:

    “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23)

    He didn’t say, “Take up your dreams.”

    He said, “Take up your cross.”

    That cross is not a religious accessory.

    It’s a declaration of surrender. It means laying down your rights.

    It means serving people you don’t like, giving when it hurts, forgiving when it’s undeserved, and going where you’d rather not go.

    Jesus said in Matthew 25:35–40 that whatever we do for “the least of these,” we do for Him. That means giving a sandwich to the hungry, a drink to the thirsty, a warm welcome to the outcast, and our time to those who can’t repay it.

    Discipleship means getting out of our comfort zones.

    Rolling up our sleeves.

    Doing the hard, often thankless work of loving people well in Jesus’ name.

    It’s not flashy. It’s not always fun. But it’s faithful.

    So here’s the challenge:

    What has your faith cost you lately?

    What have you surrendered—not just out of guilt, but out of obedience?

    May we be found faithful—not just in belief, but in obedience.

    Not just in words, but in sacrifice.

    Not just on Sunday—but every single day.

  • When God Feels Distant: Walking by Faith in the Spiritual Desert

    Scripture Focus: Job 23:8-10 (NKJV)> “Look, I go forward, but He is not there,And backward, but I cannot perceive Him;When He works on the left hand, I cannot behold Him;When He turns to the right hand, I cannot see Him.But He knows the way that I take;When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.”

    Let’s be real: not every season of faith feels full of fire and clarity. Some seasons feel dry, silent, and agonizingly uncertain. You do all the right things—you pray, you read your Bible, you go to church, you try to stay obedient—but still, you feel like God has gone dark. And no matter where you look, you can’t seem to find Him.

    If you haven’t walked through a spiritual desert yet, you will. It’s not a matter of if, but when. Because the Christian life includes valleys. And some of those valleys are silent ones.

    Job knew this desert. In Job 23:8–10, we see a raw, gut-level expression of what it feels like to seek God and come up empty. He looks in every direction—forward, backward, left, right—and still, no trace of God. That’s not just disheartening; it’s devastating. Especially when you’re trying to walk in faith and remain obedient.

    The pastor of my youth, Bro. Bass, used to talk about spiritual deserts with a kind of solemn reverence. He’d say, “You can be praying, reading the Word, doing all the right things—and still feel like you’re just going through the motions.” I remember him sharing how, at times, he’d feel like God was distant even though his routine was rock-solid. He said he kept walking not because he felt God’s presence, but because he trusted God’s promise. That kind of faith leaves a mark on a young heart. It stayed with me.

    What makes Job’s declaration in verse 10 so powerful is that it comes after his desperate searching. Job says, “But He knows the way that I take; when He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.”

    That’s not resignation—that’s resolve. Job is saying, “I may not see Him, but I’m convinced He sees me. I may not feel Him, but I trust His purpose.”

    Sometimes God allows the silence not to punish us, but to purify us. The silence exposes what our faith is really built on. Are we only in it for the feelings? For the emotional highs? Or will we trust Him in the stillness?

    Silence doesn’t mean absence.

    Distance doesn’t mean rejection.

    If you’re in a season where God feels far away, don’t quit. Keep walking. Keep showing up. Keep talking to Him even when it feels like He’s not talking back.

    Why? Because He knows the way that you take. And when the testing is over, you won’t just be okay—you’ll come forth as gold.

    So here’s your reflection today:

    Have you ever walked through a spiritual desert? What did it reveal about your faith?

    Are you in one right now? If so, what keeps you going?

    How do you respond when God goes silent?

    What does Job’s example teach us about trusting God when we feel nothing?

    Let’s stop pretending these seasons don’t exist and start helping each other walk through them. Share your thoughts or stories below—you never know who’s in the desert right now, just needing someone to say, “You’re not alone.”

    Father, thank You for being faithful even when I can’t see or feel You. Strengthen me to walk through the desert without turning back. Refine me in the silence, and bring me out shining like gold. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  • But If Not—The Fireproof Faith of the Faithful

    Daniel 3:16–18 (NKJV)“Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego answered and said to the king, ‘O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If that is the case, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us… But if not, let it be known to you, O king, that we do not serve your gods.’” Daniel 3:16-18 (NKJV)

    There’s a line in this passage that should stop us in our tracks: “But if not…”

    It’s not a lack of faith.

    It’s not doubt.

    It’s full-on, furnace-ready, God-centered conviction.

    These young men looked the most powerful ruler on earth in the face and said, “Do your worst. Our God is able. But even if He doesn’t—we still won’t bow.”

    Now, pause right there. How many of us are still standing when God doesn’t answer the way we want Him to?

    We live in an age where faith is often treated like a spiritual vending machine. Punch in a verse, press “prayer,” and expect the blessing to fall. But this passage reminds us—biblical faith isn’t measured by the outcome. It’s measured by obedience, no matter the cost.

    These men didn’t just believe God could deliver them. They believed He was worthy, even if He didn’t.

    That’s not just bold. That’s holy.

    And it makes me wonder—what kind of faith am I living out in front of others? Is it the kind that stands firm when culture applauds me, but folds the moment I get called out? Or is it the kind that can stand in front of the fire, knowing God can deliver, but being fully committed even if He chooses not to?

    Truth be told, many of us are more like the Israelites who bowed than these three who stood.

    We rationalize.

    We compromise.

    We say, “God knows my heart,” while our knees hit the ground before golden idols we no longer even recognize as idols—popularity, acceptance, politics, status, convenience.

    But the real question we have to ask today is: Are we building a faith that will hold up when the fire is turned up?

    That’s not just a rhetorical question. It’s one that demands a response.

    Where in your life have you been “careful” when you should’ve been courageous?

    What cultural pressures have you allowed to shape your obedience?

    What if God doesn’t answer your prayer the way you hoped—will you still worship Him?

    We need a revival of that “but if not” kind of faith. A faith that’s fireproof because it’s not based on the outcome—it’s based on the One who walks with us through the fire.

    And friend, don’t miss this: Jesus didn’t show up before the fire. He met them in it.

    Sometimes your deliverance isn’t from the fire—it’s through it.

    Reflection Questions:

    1. What are you currently facing that feels like a fiery furnace?

    2. Are you trusting God to deliver you, or only following Him if He does?

    3. What would it look like for you to stand without compromise this week?

    Let’s get honest, church. Let’s stop bowing and start standing.

    Prayer: Lord, give me a boldness like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego. Help me to stand firm in the face of pressure and not bend to the world’s demands. May I trust in Your ability to deliver—but walk in obedience even if You don’t. Strengthen my resolve to honor You no matter the cost. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  • Built by the Lord, Anchored by the Truth

    “Therefore whoever hears these sayings of Mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man who built his house on the rock…” — Matthew 7:24 (NKJV)

    There’s a special kind of heartbreak that comes from watching something you built fall apart.

    A career you sacrificed for.

    A marriage you swore would be different.

    A life plan that felt foolproof — until it wasn’t.

    The truth is, what’s not built on the Lord won’t last.

    It’s like stacking bricks on sinking sand — eventually, it caves under the pressure.

    The song says it so clearly:

    “I put my ruins into Your hands and watched You restore them like only You can.”

    God isn’t intimidated by your ruins.

    He expects us to come to Him broken, not picture-perfect.

    He’s the God of restoration — but only if we hand Him the blueprints and let Him build His way.

    We need to start be asking ourselves some difficult questions…

    Where have I been trying to “build” on my own name or strength?

    Am I trusting Jesus with the entire house, or just a few rooms I’m willing to surrender?

    This is personal for me. I’ve seen it firsthand in my marriage. We leaned hard on our own understanding — our own coping habits, expectations, pride, and pain — and it cracked the foundation. We didn’t invite God to build it from the start; we just handed Him the wreckage and expected Him to bless it anyway.

    Now, we’re separated. And I don’t know what reconciliation looks like — or if it’s even on the table. But I do know this: building without God at the center was a recipe for collapse. The ruin wasn’t random. It was the natural result of trusting our own blueprint instead of His.

    I’m not sharing that to blame, but to confess: even with good intentions, even when you love deeply — if the foundation isn’t Christ, the whole thing stays on shaky ground.

    The bricks might get battered by life.

    The storms will come.

    But if the Lord builds it, it will stand.

    Today, let’s hand Him the keys:

    “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” — Joshua 24:15 (NKJV)

    “Lord, I give You the blueprints. Tear down what needs tearing down. Build what needs building. I trust You to make it stand firm in Your Name. Amen.”

  • The Evidence of Transformation

    “And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” (Romans 12:2 NKJV)

    I sat with a friend tonight, deep in conversation.We were talking about how the Holy Spirit truly changes people — not just on the surface, but at the core.

    As we swapped stories, faces came to mind.

    People I knew before Jesus got a hold of them — people whose lives shouted anger, addiction, bitterness, emptiness.

    And then, one by one, I remembered what happened after:

    They were radically different.

    Not perfect. Not instantly polished.

    But undeniably changed.

    That’s the work of the Spirit: not just better behavior, but a renewed mind.

    That’s why Paul tells us not to conform to the world — not to blend in, not to compromise, not to water down. Instead, we’re called to transform. And the first battlefield is always the mind.

    God’s will isn’t discovered by accident.

    It’s proved in a life that’s surrendered, renewed, and re-formed by the Holy Spirit.

    Today, ask yourself the hard question: Is there real evidence of transformation in my life?

    If the answer is “not much” — don’t fake it, and don’t despair.

    Get honest before God.

    Ask Him to renew your mind, starting right here, right now.

    Transformation isn’t optional for the Christian life.

    It’s the proof that we’re alive in Christ.

  • Craving the World’s Approval: A Silent Snare

    There’s a silent snare that creeps into our hearts, and it looks deceptively harmless. It’s the craving for validation from the world. At first glance, it feels natural — the desire to be liked, to be accepted, to be seen as valuable. But left unchecked, that desire becomes a chain.

    The world’s approval is a fickle thing. What’s celebrated today is often condemned tomorrow. What gains applause now can quickly draw criticism when culture shifts. And so the dangerous cycle begins: we start adjusting our convictions to match the crowd. We soften truth to stay accepted. We trade depth for popularity.

    But Scripture speaks clearly:

    “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.” (1 John 2:15, NKJV)

    That’s not a suggestion — that’s a warning. The world and its values are passing away, but the Word of God endures forever. When we anchor ourselves in the approval of man, we tether ourselves to something unstable and unreliable.

    Paul addresses this tension head-on:

    “For do I now persuade men, or God? Or do I seek to please men? For if I still pleased men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ.” (Galatians 1:10, NKJV)

    We can’t live to please both. Sooner or later, the path of obedience will collide with the path of public approval. When it does, we’ll have to decide whom we truly serve.

    Here’s the danger: seeking the world’s validation leads to compromise.

    It whispers, “Just a little adjustment. Just go along to get along.”

    But every small concession moves us further from the truth we’re called to live by. And the shift is gradual. One little thing at first. Then another little thing. Until suddenly, your changing your entire message.

    On the other hand, seeking God’s approval brings clarity and freedom. His standards don’t shift with culture. His love isn’t performance-based. When we root ourselves in His truth, we find stability in the storm.

    So here’s a challenge for today:

    Examine your motives.

    Are you living for the applause of man, or the approval of God?

    Whose opinion weighs more heavily on your decisions?

    And if you follow that path to its end, where will it lead?

    Let’s choose the approval that lasts.

    I’d love to hear your thoughts — how do you guard your heart against the pull of worldly validation?

  • Obedient Unto Death

    “Though He was a Son, yet He learned obedience by the things which He suffered. And having been perfected, He became the author of eternal salvation to all who obey Him.” — Hebrews 5:8–9 (NKJV)

    Jesus Christ didn’t just die for us—He obeyed for us. That’s a part of the gospel we often overlook. The cross wasn’t just about pain. It was about submission. It was about laying down His will in perfect obedience to the Father, even when every fiber of His human flesh cried out to take another path. And He did it for us.

    Hebrews 5:8 says that “though He was a Son, yet He learned obedience by the things which He suffered.” Let that sink in. Jesus—the sinless, spotless Son of God—learned obedience through suffering. He didn’t need to learn how to be righteous. He already was. But through His incarnation, He demonstrated the cost of true obedience in human flesh.

    But that obedience was not cheap.

    It was not convenient.

    It did not come with applause or comfort.

    It came with sweat like drops of blood in Gethsemane.

    It came with betrayal, mockery, and a Roman cross.

    That’s what obedience looked like in the life of Christ.

    So what about us?

    We want to follow Jesus, but often without walking the path of obedience He took. We want resurrection without crucifixion. We want glory without surrender. But Scripture doesn’t leave us that option. Hebrews 5:9 says He is

    “the author of eternal salvation to all who obey Him.”

    Not admire Him. Not simply claim Him. Not just nod in agreement at His teachings. But obey Him.

    Fully.

    Without conditions.

    Unto death if necessary.

    We say we want revival. But do we want obedience?

    We want the fire of God to fall, but don’t want to lay the sacrifice of our will on the altar.

    We say “use me, Lord,” but recoil the moment He asks for our comfort, our pride, our control.

    We say “Thy will be done,” then grieve when He takes us through Gethsemane.

    Real obedience costs something.

    Ask Abraham when he tied Isaac to the altar.

    Ask Daniel when he heard the lions roar.

    Ask Peter when the rooster crowed.

    But obedience is not just costly. It’s transformational.

    Jesus didn’t just die on the cross. He died in Gethsemane, when He said,

    “Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done” (Luke 22:42, NKJV).

    That was the moment of surrender. That was where obedience triumphed over desire. The crucifixion was the outward evidence of an inward obedience.

    That kind of surrender changes a person. It refines, purifies, exposes, and realigns.

    You simply cannot obey God unto death and stay the same.

    And that obedience is not passive. It’s defiant.Think about it—Jesus’ obedience was a direct act of rebellion against the powers of darkness.

    The cross wasn’t weakness. It was holy resistance.

    The greatest act of obedience was also the greatest act of war against sin, death, and Satan. To obey God in a fallen world is to declare war on the kingdom of darkness. That’s why it’s so hard. That’s why it’s so resisted.

    It was no different in Nazi Germany. When Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer chose to resist Hitler, he did so not just politically, but spiritually. His faith required obedience that defied evil, even when the cost was imprisonment and ultimately death. He wrote,

    “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.”

    Bonhoeffer didn’t just say that. He lived it.

    And he died for it.

    Obedience may not always look like marching off to martyrdom—but it will look like dying to self.

    Dying to pride.

    Dying to compromise.

    Dying to comfort.

    And that’s where many modern Christians hesitate. We’ve been sold a brand of Christianity that celebrates convenience, comfort, and casual belief.

    But that’s not the gospel.

    The gospel calls us to pick up our cross daily and follow Jesus. The gospel calls us to lose our life so that we might find it (Luke 9:23–24, NKJV). The gospel calls us to obedience—even when it hurts.

    Even unto death.

    So what does obedience look like in your life?

    Is there something God’s been calling you to lay down that you’ve resisted?

    Have you confused belief with obedience?

    Are you living a life that says, “Not my will, but Yours be done”?

    Let me tell you—obedience may be costly, but it is never wasted. The cross was not a waste. It was the path to victory. And your obedience, no matter how hidden, no matter how painful, is precious to God.

    “To obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22, NKJV).

    Jesus showed us what it looks like. Now it’s our turn.

    Obey Him. No matter the cost.

    Obey Him. Even unto death.

  • Lord, Use Me — Even in the Humble Things

    “Jesus, use me. O Lord, don’t refuse me. Surely there’s a work that I can do. Even though it’s humble, Lord help my will to crumble. For though the cost be great, I’ll work for you.”

    These lyrics from a song my mother used to hum while folding laundry or picking tomatoes have echoed in my heart lately. Back then, I thought it was just a sweet old tune. Now I know better. It’s a prayer of surrender. A plea for purpose. A cry of commitment.

    We often associate “working for God” with grand gestures—preaching, missions, miracles. But more often, the work is humble.

    It’s obedience when no one sees.

    Faithfulness in the mundane.

    Forgiveness when it hurts.

    Jesus said,

    “He who is faithful in what is least is faithful also in much.” (Luke 16:10, NKJV)

    And again,

    “Take up your cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23, NKJV)

    The cross doesn’t always look like suffering on a public stage. Sometimes it looks like dying to your pride in a private moment.

    Think of William Tyndale—burned at the stake for translating the Bible. His work was humble, slow, unseen for years. Yet because of him, we hold the Word of God in our hands today.

    Today, ask yourself:

    What work has God called you to that you’ve been resisting because it’s “too small”?

    Have you asked God to use you but ignored His invitations to humble service?

    Is your will still on the throne, or have you let it crumble at the foot of the cross?

    There is a work you can do. But you’ll never do it if you wait for applause, comfort, or control.

    Today, make the same choice that old song proclaims:

    Even though it’s humble, Lord, I’ll work for You.