Daily Reflections From God's Word

Tag: Christian walk

  • Resting in the Word: Real Renewal for Real Life

    We’ve all been there—running on empty, putting out fires, barely holding it together. We throw up a quick prayer while driving, scan a verse meme on social media, and wonder why we still feel so disconnected and drained.

    But God doesn’t invite us to survive—He calls us to abide.

    “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

    It’s a command, yes—but it’s also an invitation. Back in verse 1, we’re reminded:

    “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”

    So why are we looking everywhere else but Him?

    When we take time to rest in the Word, we’re not being lazy—we’re getting aligned.

    The benefits of regularly engaging the Bible aren’t just spiritual (though that alone should be reason enough). Mental clarity improves. Emotional health stabilizes. Family life strengthens. Even social bonds grow deeper when we’re rooted in truth instead of tossed by feelings.

    The Bible says:

    “He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water… whose leaf shall not wither” (Psalm 1:3).

    That’s fruitfulness. That’s stability. That’s the promise of rest.

    And how do we access that?

    “How can a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed according to Your word… Your word I have hidden in my heart, that I might not sin against You” (Psalm 119:9,11).

    Intentional time in Scripture does more than inform—it transforms. It purifies the path. It recalibrates our compass. It strengthens what the world is trying to tear down.

    Paul reminded Timothy,

    “Be diligent to present yourself approved to God, a worker who does not need to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth” (2 Timothy 2:15).

    That diligence? It’s our lifeline.

    And in our darkest moments, we echo Jeremiah:

    “This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope… The Lord is my portion… Therefore I hope in Him” (Lamentations 3:21-26).

    Let’s be honest: what’s standing in the way of your stillness?Let’s name it. Let’s challenge it. And let’s carve out time to rest in the Word—not just visit it on occasion. Your spirit, your very soul, depends on it.

  • What If I Gave Everything?

    Another day. Another 30-minute drive to work. Another song on Pandora.

    And once again, my eyes started to leak at 70 mph—thanks to another set of powerful lyrics.

    Isn’t it funny how we can hear a song we’ve sung along with countless times, but this time… we’re actually listening? Maybe God opens our ears to hear it—really hear it—and our hearts to accept the depth behind those anointed words.

    Today, it was “What If I Gave Everything” by Casting Crowns.

    “All my life I longed to be a here. My sword raised high, running to the battle. I was gonna take giants down. Be a man you would write about. Deep in my chest is the heart of a warrior. So why am I still standing here? Why am I still holding back from You?…”

    Isn’t that the dream of every little boy and young man? To be the hero. The one others look up to. The preacher behind the pulpit delivering a fiery message to a hungry congregation. The missionary, thousands of miles from home, risking his life to carry the good news of Jesus Christ and the salvation He offers.

    I was about 13 when I first saw the movie The Cross and the Switchblade. David Wilkerson was a giant in my eyes—the way he brought his family to the inner city and preached to violent street gangs. That kind of courage stirred something in me.

    But I cowered.

    When I was 18, I had an opportunity to pray with a drunk man beneath the railroad bridge at Peoria and Archer.

    But I flinched.

    Why? That was my neighborhood. What if someone I knew drove by and saw me kneeling… praying… with a homeless drunk?

    “I hear You call me out into deeper waters. But I settle on the shallow end. So why am I still standing here? So afraid what it might cost to follow You. I’d walk by faith if I could get these feet to move…”

    And that’s where many of us find ourselves, isn’t it?

    We hear the call. But we lack the courage.

    I’ll be the first to admit—it’s a scary proposition.

    So… we settle. We ease into the shallow water. Right at the edge. Getting our feet wet, but afraid to wade deeper. Maybe up to our ankles. But it’s a fight to get that far. Knee-deep? Waist-deep? Chest-deep? Why risk drowning?

    I get it. I’ve been there. I’ve gone out and tried to wade neck-deep, only to have it all collapse around me. Rebuked. Reviled. Castigated. Told I was out of the will of God.

    So… I stepped back.

    Back into the shallow water. Back to safety. Away from the criticism. Away from the heat.

    I found my niche. A quiet place in the shadows. Away from the spotlight, doing my small part. Don’t get me wrong—it was, and is, rewarding. When I look back at the ministries God allowed me to help nurture and cultivate, I’m eternally grateful.

    “But I don’t want to live that way. I don’t want to look back someday. On a life that never stepped across the line. So why am I still standing here? Why am I still holding back from You? You’ve given me a faith that can move a mountain. But I’m still playing in the sand. Building little kingdoms that’ll never stand…”

    But why? Why do I keep retreating to the relative safety of knee-deep water? What’s keeping me from diving in?

    If I’m brutally honest? Fear. Insecurities. My past. My abysmal failures. Other people’s opinions. My defeats.

    Over thirty years since stepping across that line just once… and I’m still “playing in the sand, building kingdoms that will never stand.” I hear Him calling me into deeper waters—but I keep settling for the shallows. And I’m so tired of standing here.

    How long? How long will I wait? What will it take to finally act on the faith He gave me—faith that can move mountains?

    I’m not satisfied here. Haven’t been for a long time. I feel the current pulling me, yet I keep resisting. I’m tired of fighting it. Tired of pulling against the tide. Tired of kicking against the pricks, as Paul so eloquently wrote. And just as Jesus asked him that question 2,000 years ago, I feel Him asking it of me now.

    “What if I gave everything to You? What if I gave everything? What if I stopped holding back from You? Starting now, I’m stepping out onto deeper waters. What if I gave everything? What if I stopped holding back from You? I want to see some mountains move. Ready to give everything. Say goodbye to standing here…”

    What if I gave Him everything?

    What if I handed over my life—and the reins—with no strings attached? What if I truly forfeited control for the first time?

    Is that a frightening thought? Yes. It is. Makes my stomach knot up. Makes my hands tremble. Makes my eyes blur with unshed tears as I sit here at my desk.

    But do you know what’s even more frightening?

    Another day of doing nothing. Another sunrise spent standing at the water’s edge. One more day in the safety of the shallows, fighting the current instead of flowing with it.

    I don’t know where this will lead.

    I have no idea what’s next.

    But I know this—it starts with a step. A step of faith. Out into deeper waters.

  • What We Heard at MO Youth Convention Should Echo in Every Heart

    At MO Youth Convention 2025, Bro. Stanley Gleason asked a question that hit deeper than any hype, music, or emotional moment could:“Is the church going to impact the culture, or is the culture going to impact the church?”

    That’s more than a catchy quote. It’s a spiritual mirror—and it demands an honest look.

    In every generation, the church has stood at this same crossroad: Do we remain faithful to God and His Word, or do we slowly shift to accommodate the rising tides of culture?

    Culture is persuasive.

    It speaks in trends, emotions, and feelings.

    It packages rebellion as liberation. It markets sin as self-expression.

    And if the church isn’t careful, that spirit starts to bleed into our pulpits, our music, our lifestyles—until the gospel gets drowned in a sea of relevance.

    But Jesus had no interest in blending in. He said we are the salt of the earth and the light of the world (Matthew 5:13–14, NKJV).

    Salt prevents decay.

    Light exposes what’s been hidden in darkness.

    These are active roles, not passive ones. Salt and light don’t conform—they confront.

    Romans 12:2 (NKJV) reminds us,

    “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…”

    That word transformed means something radical.

    Something visible.

    Something undeniable.

    It’s not about behavior modification—it’s about holy renovation.

    The early church didn’t survive because it was relatable.

    It thrived because it was righteous.

    It didn’t change the world by adapting to it—it changed it by standing apart, no matter the cost.

    And the truth is, what we heard from Bro. Gleason wasn’t just a message for a convention full of young people—it was a trumpet blast for every believer. A call to wake up. A challenge to examine our own lives and ask: Are we transforming culture, or being transformed by it?

    Let’s not water down our witness. Let’s not silence the Spirit’s conviction to make room for cultural comfort. The world doesn’t need a more relevant church. It needs a more righteous one.

    Reflection Questions:

    Where have I allowed cultural compromise to creep into my faith?

    Am I willing to be salt that stings or light that exposes, even when it’s uncomfortable?

    What would true transformation look like in my daily life?

    Let’s be honest—and then let’s be bold. The world is watching. But more importantly, the Lord is.

  • The Stone Was Rolled Away—So You Could Walk Out Too

    “He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.” — Matthew 28:6 (NKJV)

    The resurrection of Jesus is more than a doctrine—it’s your invitation.

    An invitation to freedom.

    To newness.

    To walk in resurrection power that still breaks chains and shatters strongholds.

    The angel didn’t just declare the victory—he invited the women to see it for themselves.Come, see the place where the Lord lay.

    The tomb was empty. Not because someone stole the body. But because death couldn’t hold Him.

    Jesus is the only One who ever borrowed a grave—because He only needed it for three days.

    And here’s what that means for you today:

    If He conquered death, He can conquer your sin.

    If He rolled away the stone, He can move what’s blocking your breakthrough.

    If He walked out of the tomb, you don’t have to stay in yours.

    This isn’t just spiritual poetry—it’s supernatural reality. The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead now lives in every believer (Romans 8:11). That means resurrection isn’t something you just read about. It’s something you carry.

    So what’s still wrapped in grave clothes in your life?

    What’s been sealed off with a stone?

    Maybe you’ve accepted defeat in a place Jesus already claimed victory.

    Today’s a good day to stop living like the grave still has power.

    Because it doesn’t.Because He lives.

    And because He lives—you can rise too.

    Prayer: Lord, thank You for the empty tomb. Help me not just to celebrate Your resurrection, but to live in it. Let dead places in me come alive again. You rolled the stone away—not just for Yourself, but so I could walk out too.

  • Between the Cross and the Empty Tomb

    “And they returned and prepared spices and ointments, and rested the Sabbath day according to the commandment.” – Luke 23:56 (NKJV)

    Holy Saturday is the quiet day. It doesn’t carry the brutal weight of Friday or the joyful triumph of Sunday. It sits in between—still, sorrowful, and unsure.

    It was a day of rest, yes, but also of confusion. The disciples had seen their Master die. Their hopes had been nailed to a Roman cross. And now? Nothing. No voice from Heaven. No angelic announcement. Just a sealed tomb and a shattered heart.

    But they still rested.

    They still honored the Sabbath. They still obeyed. Luke’s Gospel says they “rested… according to the commandment.” Even when the world didn’t make sense. Even when their faith was gasping for breath.

    That’s the beauty of the day in between. It teaches us how to wait. It invites us to trust in silence. It challenges us to worship when we don’t understand.

    Because God doesn’t stop being God just because we can’t feel Him.

    There are times in life when the waiting is long, and the silence is deafening.

    Prayers go unanswered.

    Dreams die.

    Doors close.

    It feels like hope itself has been buried.

    But just because you can’t hear God doesn’t mean He isn’t speaking. Just because you can’t see Him doesn’t mean He’s not moving.God was doing His greatest work between the crucifixion and the resurrection.

    So today, on this Holy Saturday, ask yourself:

    Can I still trust when I don’t understand?

    Can I still worship when I don’t feel a thing?

    Can I still rest, knowing that God is faithful—even in silence?

    Hold on, friend. Sunday is coming.

  • The Cost of the Curtain – Good Friday Revealed

    It’s one thing to read about the crucifixion.

    It’s another to sit in it.

    Good Friday isn’t for passive reflection.

    It’s for holy grief.

    Jesus stood in our place—tried by sinful men, denied by His friends, betrayed by His disciple. The very Word of God, silent before accusations. Pilate, finding no fault, still sentenced Him. Why? Because the crowd wanted blood.

    And they got it.

    Roman whips tore His back open.

    Fists pummeled His face.

    A robe mocked His royalty.

    A crown of thorns pressed into His skull.

    And then the nails.

    Not sanitized, pretty ones. But crude, iron spikes that shattered through nerves and bone.

    He was lifted up between thieves. Humiliated, naked, gasping for breath as the weight of every sin in history pressed down on Him.

    Yet even in agony, He cried out, “Father, forgive them.”As death crept close, He uttered,

    “It is finished” (John 19:30, NKJV).

    And then something cosmic cracked:

    “Then, behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom…” (Matthew 27:51, NKJV).

    But this wasn’t some decorative curtain. It was a thick wall of twelve layers of animal hides, woven to separate man from God. It symbolized one thing: You don’t belong here.

    But in that instant, God tore it open.

    The veil that once screamed “unworthy” now lies in ruins. Not because we got better—but because Jesus took the punishment.

    Hebrews 10:19–20 says we now have boldness to enter the Holiest

    “by a new and living way… through the veil, that is, His flesh.”

    That’s why this Friday is Good.

    Because the righteous wrath of God fell fully on Jesus… so that mercy could fall on us.

    Take some time today. Really take it. Sit with what Jesus endured.

  • The Night the King Knelt: Jesus, Judas, and Peter

    It was the final evening before the Cross.

    The room was ready, the Passover meal had been prepared, and Jesus—fully aware of what was to come—chose to spend His last free hours not in isolation or defense… but in service. Humble, shocking, intimate service.

    “Jesus… having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.” (John 13:1)

    Let that settle. He loved them—fully, knowingly, unwaveringly.

    And then He rose from supper, laid aside His garments, girded Himself with a towel, and poured water into a basin.

    He got down on His knees. And the King of Glory washed their feet.

    But this moment wasn’t just about humble leadership. It wasn’t about hygiene. It wasn’t even just a symbol.It was a revelation. And the contrast between how He treated Judas and Peter shows us just how deep that love runs.

    He Washed Judas.

    Yes, that Judas.

    Judas had already made the deal. Thirty silver coins. The price of a slave. The plan was in motion. And Jesus knew it all—

    “…Jesus knew who would betray Him…” (John 13:11).

    And yet He knelt before him anyway.

    No skipped turn. No avoided eye contact. No exposed accusation.

    Jesus washed the feet of His betrayer.Imagine that. Imagine the hands that had healed the blind gently wiping the dust from the feet of the man who would hand Him over to death. It was mercy poured out without condition. It was one final invitation. A moment of holy confrontation.

    But Judas didn’t break. He didn’t confess. He didn’t weep.He got up from the table and walked away with clean feet—and a defiled heart.

    He chose darkness, even as the Light knelt before him.

    How many times do we do the same? How often does Jesus offer us mercy—again—and we harden our hearts, justify our choices, and walk right out into the night?

    And…….He Washed Peter.

    Oh, Peter. Impulsive, passionate, and stubborn.

    When Jesus came to him with the basin, Peter resisted.“Lord, are You washing my feet?”

    … “You shall never wash my feet!” (John 13:6, 8)

    That sounds noble. Like reverence. But it was pride cloaked in piety. Peter was trying to control the narrative—to protect Jesus, to preserve the hierarchy. But Jesus wasn’t having it.“

    *If I do not wash you, you have no part with Me.” (v. 8)

    That stopped Peter in his tracks. And true to form, he flipped to the opposite extreme:

    “Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head!” (v. 9)

    Peter didn’t fully understand yet, but he surrendered. And Jesus met him right there—in confusion, in boldness, in brokenness. Jesus knew Peter would deny Him in just a few hours, not once, not even twice, but three times. Yet Jesus didn’t withhold His hands. He didn’t shame him or scold him.

    He washed him.He loved him.He prepared him—for failure… and for restoration.

    Where Judas hardened, Peter would eventually weep bitterly and return. That’s the difference. Not perfection, but repentance.

    So What Does This Mean for Us?

    It means Jesus still kneels today. He still offers cleansing. He still serves with nail-scarred hands—those who betray, those who deny, and those who simply misunderstand.

    It means no part of us is too dirty for Jesus to wash. But He will not force His grace on anyone. Judas shows us what it looks like to refuse. Peter shows us what it looks like to wrestle with pride… and then surrender.It means love kneels before us and asks: Will you let Me wash you? Will you let Me serve you? Will you follow Me… all the way to the cross?We love the idea of a God who reigns. But Maundy Thursday confronts us with a God who kneels. A Savior who scrubs the very feet that will carry betrayal and denial. A Messiah who looks us in the eye, knowing every failure, and says: “I still want you.”

  • The Bargain and the Broken Box

    On Holy Wednesday, two people made two very different decisions—one sold the Savior, and the other poured everything out at His feet.

    It began with a cold exchange. Judas Iscariot went to the chief priests—not the other way around.

    “What are you willing to give me if I deliver Him to you?” (Matthew 26:15).

    There’s no emotion in the text.

    Just calculation.

    He didn’t plead or wrestle.

    He named the price of betrayal and took the deal.

    Thirty pieces of silver.

    The cost of a slave.

    That’s what they believed Jesus was worth.

    That’s what Judas accepted.

    We can almost picture the smirk on Caiaphas’ face, the scribes nodding in approval, the money counted out and dropped into Judas’ hand with a metallic clink.

    Done deal.

    The Son of God sold for pocket change.

    No prayer.

    No hesitation.

    Just a transaction.

    A soul for sale.

    But while Judas was closing his bargain, a broken woman was stepping into a Pharisee’s house to pour out her heart.

    The setting couldn’t have been more different. Jesus was dining at the home of Simon the Pharisee when a woman walked in carrying an alabaster flask of fragrant oil. Luke 7 describes her only as “a sinner.” Her name isn’t mentioned here, but many believe this was Mary Magdalene—a woman who knew what it meant to be shunned, whispered about, and cast aside.

    She didn’t ask to speak.

    She didn’t make a scene.

    She just knelt behind Jesus and wept.

    Tears poured from her soul before any oil left the jar.

    She wiped His feet with her hair.

    She kissed them.

    Then she broke open the alabaster box and anointed Him with perfume that would’ve cost nearly a year’s wages.

    CeCe Winans captures the moment in the song “Alabaster Box”:

    “I can’t forget the way life used to be, I was a prisoner to the sin that had me bound…But I’ve come to pour My praise on Him like oil, From my alabaster box.”

    While Simon judged her silently, Jesus told a parable: two debtors, one owing much and the other little. Both were forgiven. “Tell Me, therefore, which of them will love him more?” (Luke 7:42). Simon answered, “I suppose the one whom he forgave more.”

    And Jesus said, “You have rightly judged.” Then turning to the woman, He said, “Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for she loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little.” (v. 47)

    Both Judas and Mary encountered Jesus face to face.

    Both had the chance to respond to who He truly was.

    One chose betrayal.

    One chose brokenness.

    One calculated what Jesus was worth.

    The other couldn’t put a price on what He had done for her.

    And today, we stand in that same tension.

    Will we grow so familiar with Jesus that we start measuring His worth in silver? Or will we fall at His feet in worship, tears, and surrender?

    Holy Wednesday reminds us: It’s not how far you’ve fallen—it’s how deeply you realize you’ve been forgiven.

    Let’s not hold back. Let’s break the box.

    Prayer: Lord, don’t let my love grow cold. Break through my pride and self-reliance. Remind me of the mercy that found me. Teach me to pour out my worship freely and to never withhold what You deserve. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  • The Power of Love and Truth – A Holy Tuesday Reflection

    “Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will by no means pass away.” – Matthew 24:35 (NKJV)

    Holy Tuesday wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t a day of rest. It was a day of boldness.

    Jesus, fully aware of the betrayal, suffering, and death ahead, walked into the temple and taught.

    He didn’t cower.

    He didn’t shut down.

    He didn’t say, “It’s too much.”

    Instead, He lovingly confronted error, poured truth into His disciples, and taught parables that pierced the heart (Matthew 21–25). He knew His time was short. But instead of focusing on Himself, He focused on us.

    That’s what amazes me.

    He called out religious pride and hypocrisy—not to condemn, but to call people to repentance. He answered the Pharisees’ traps with wisdom. He urged His followers to live ready and faithful, not caught off guard by the world’s distractions.

    He didn’t back down because He loved too deeply to stay silent.

    So many of us go quiet when the pressure turns up. We pull back when trials come. But Jesus? He leaned in.

    That’s the challenge of Holy Tuesday—will we show up like Jesus did?

    Will we speak truth even when it’s hard?

    Will we love enough to confront sin, warn of judgment, and remind people of the hope we have in Him?

    Even under pressure, Jesus taught with grace and authority. Even knowing the cross was near, He stayed faithful.

    So today, let’s reflect:Am I hiding my faith in tough seasons?

    Do I speak truth in love, or stay silent to keep the peace?

    What would it look like to boldly follow Jesus when it costs something?

    Let His example lead us.

    Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for loving us enough to teach—even when You were walking toward suffering. Help us to be bold like You, filled with truth and love. Strengthen us to speak when it’s easier to stay silent. Let Your Word anchor us, no matter what storms may come. Amen.

  • Holy Monday: The Cleansing Fire of Righteous Zeal

    As we continue through Holy Week, Holy Monday draws our attention to a powerful moment in the final days of Jesus’ ministry: the cleansing of the temple.

    What should have been a sanctuary had become a marketplace. What was meant for prayer had become a place of profit. Merchants sold sacrifices at inflated prices. Money changers exploited the poor. The house of God had been hijacked by greed.

    “Then Jesus went into the temple of God and drove out all those who bought and sold in the temple, and overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves. And He said to them, ‘It is written, “My house shall be called a house of prayer,” but you have made it a “den of thieves.”’” (Matthew 21:12–13, NKJV)

    Jesus wasn’t passive in the face of this corruption. He was moved by holy indignation. He acted with authority and purpose, purging the temple to restore its sanctity.

    This scene is more than a historical moment; it is a mirror for our own lives. We are now the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16). The question is: what have we allowed into our temple? Have worldly distractions and compromises crept in, little by little? Have we turned our hearts, meant to be houses of prayer, into cluttered spaces filled with things that do not honor God?

    Holy Monday is a call to personal inventory. It’s an invitation to let the Lord examine our hearts and cleanse them of anything that defiles His dwelling place.

    Consider this: Jesus didn’t hesitate to cleanse the temple then, and He will not hesitate to cleanse His temple now. But He doesn’t just drive things out — He restores. He makes space for true worship, for pure fellowship, for divine communion.

    Let this day prompt us to pray boldly:
    “Lord, search my heart. Show me the tables that need overturning. Cleanse me, that I may be a true house of prayer, a temple fit for Your glory.”

    Reflection for Today:
    What distractions or compromises have crept into your life that need to be driven out so your heart can fully honor God?