Daily Reflections From God's Word

Tag: Distraction

  • The Plastic Chair Was Never the Problem

    Key Scripture:
    “And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” — John 8:32 (NKJV)
    “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” — Romans 12:2b (NKJV)

    I came across an image recently that caught me off guard—and convicted me more than I’d like to admit.

    It was a horse. Big, strong, muscular. But it was standing still, tied by a rope to a flimsy plastic lawn chair. That horse could’ve broken free without even trying. But it didn’t. Not because it couldn’t—but because it believed it was bound.

    And right then, I saw myself.

    For the past month, I’ve allowed distractions to pull me away from the very disciplines that gave me life—prayer, time in the Word, pouring truth into others through every platform God gave me. One small excuse turned into a week. One neglected moment of prayer turned into silence. Then came the guilt. The disappointment. The rope.

    Not one of those things—distraction, laziness, or even failure—was stronger than my calling or the presence of God in my life. But somewhere in my head, I gave them that power. I started believing that I had to feel on fire to be faithful. I told myself I needed to wait until I was inspired, until life calmed down, until I “got it together.”

    But that was the rope talking. That was the plastic chair.

    Jesus didn’t die and rise again to set us halfway free. The bondage we face now isn’t always external. Sometimes, it’s just a lie we’ve believed for too long.

    And that’s where the real battle is won: not just by cutting the rope—but by renewing the mind that believed it held us.

    Romans 12:2 doesn’t say we’re transformed by doing better. It says we’re transformed by the renewing of our mind. That’s where it starts. That’s where the chair loses its grip.

    So here I am—coming back to the things I’ve neglected. Not because I feel worthy, but because I now see the truth. The enemy will try to convince us we’re too far gone. That God’s disappointed. That we’re disqualified.

    But listen to me: that chair has no power.

    The truth is that God is waiting—not with condemnation, but with open arms.
    The truth is that freedom isn’t earned, it’s claimed.
    The truth is that your calling doesn’t evaporate when you get distracted.
    It waits—right where you left it.

    Reflection Questions:

    1. What lies have I believed about myself that are keeping me tied down?
    2. Where have I allowed distractions to become spiritual chains?
    3. What truth do I need to replace those lies with today?

    Closing Prayer:
    Father, I confess that I’ve allowed myself to become entangled in lies and distractions. I’ve believed the rope was real, even when You’ve already given me freedom. Help me today to renew my mind—to replace the lies with truth. I want to walk in the freedom Jesus died to give me. Pull me back into the disciplines I’ve neglected, and meet me in that place. I’m coming home. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  • When Obedience Makes No Sense: Marching Through the Impossible

    Scripture focus: “You will not need to fight in this battle. Position yourselves, stand still and see the salvation of the Lord…” (2 Chronicles 20:17, NKJV)

    The Bible is packed with stories that, if we’re being honest, sound like they should’ve ended in disaster. People facing impossible odds, following battle plans that would never fly in a military strategy room—and somehow walking away victorious. Why? Because God was the one calling the shots.

    Let’s start at the Red Sea. The children of Israel—more than 600,000 men, plus women and children—had finally escaped Egypt. But they were trapped between the uncrossable Red Sea and Pharaoh’s pursuing army. No weapons. No escape route. No time. But instead of rallying the people to arms, Moses said something crazy: “Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord” (Exodus 14:13). Then God parted the waters. The people walked through on dry land. And when Pharaoh’s army followed, the sea closed in behind them.

    That’s not strategy. That’s sovereignty.

    And then there’s Jericho. A fortified city with high walls and strong defenses. Any human general would’ve planned a siege. But God gave Joshua a blueprint that sounded like a children’s game: walk around the city once a day for six days in total silence. Then on the seventh day, march around seven times. Blow the trumpets. Shout. That’s 13 total laps around the city.

    Now pause for a second. The number 13 has a bad reputation. The world calls it unlucky. Some elevators skip the 13th floor. People talk about Friday the 13th like it’s cursed. But let this sink in: God used 13 laps—that “unlucky” number—to bring down the walls of one of the strongest cities in the Promised Land.

    Let the world call it bad luck. We call it divine design.

    It doesn’t stop there. Gideon started with 32,000 men to fight the Midianites. But God trimmed it down to 10,000… then just 300 men—armed not with swords, but with trumpets, torches, and clay pitchers. Judges 7:12 says the enemy was “as numerous as locusts; and their camels… as the sand by the seashore.” That’s not just outnumbered. That’s outmatched, overwhelmed, and underqualified. Yet by God’s hand, victory came anyway.

    Over and over we see it:

    • Hezekiah and the Assyrian army (2 Kings 19)
    • Jehoshaphat against the armies of Moab and Ammon (2 Chronicles 20)
    • Daniel in the lion’s den (Daniel 6)
    • Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3)

    These aren’t just Bible stories—they’re testimonies. Reminders that when obedience seems foolish, God’s power is often just moments away.

    I don’t know what kind of battle you’re facing today. Maybe you’re on lap 11 or 12, and nothing’s changed. The walls are still there. The enemy still looms. The fear is still whispering in your ear. But let me say this:

    Don’t quit before lap 13.

    Don’t let the world define your “unlucky” situation. Let God redeem it for His glory. Maybe you feel like the underdog—like Gideon. Or maybe you’ve been marching silently like Joshua, wondering if your obedience even matters. It does. It always does.

    And when you’re tired? When quitting seems easier than continuing? Remember the words of Jehaziel in 2 Chronicles 20:17, “Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.” Or David’s bold declaration to Goliath in 1 Samuel 17:47, “The battle is the Lord’s.” Or the simple, powerful invitation from Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

    There’s a song from the Imperials—recorded back in 1979—that still speaks:

    Praise the Lord, for the chains that seem to bind you
    Serve only to remind you
    That they drop powerless behind you
    When you praise Him.

    Chains look real. Walls feel permanent. But God? He specializes in things that don’t make sense.

    Reflection Questions:

    1. Have you ever obeyed God when it didn’t make sense? What happened?
    2. Are you on a “lap” right now where quitting feels easier than trusting?
    3. What walls are you facing today that need a God-sized breakthrough?

    Final Encouragement:
    Obedience may not feel powerful—but it positions us to see God’s power clearly. Don’t stop short. Don’t buy the world’s definition of what’s “lucky” or “logical.” If He brought you to it, He’s more than able to bring you through it.

    Keep marching. Lap 13 is coming.

  • Don’t Quit at 40: The Power of Day 41

    The number 40 appears over and over in Scripture. It’s the number of testing, trial, and preparation.

    It rained 40 days. On day 41, Noah saw dry land.

    Moses fasted and received God’s commandments on day 41.

    Israel wandered 40 years. Year 41? They entered the land.

    Goliath shouted threats for 40 days. On day 41, David shut his mouth for good.

    Jonah warned Nineveh for 40 days. Day 41, God relented.

    Jesus fasted and was tempted for 40 days. Day 41, Satan was gone.

    After resurrection, Jesus appeared for 40 days. Day 41? He ascended.

    What’s the pattern? Trial ends. Transition begins.

    You might be stuck in your “40.” It feels like a no-man’s land—like nothing’s happening. Like God’s not moving. But Daniel prayed and fasted for 21 days before the angel broke through. And the angel said something worth writing on your wall:

    “I have come because of your words.” (Daniel 10:12)

    You have no idea what’s moving because of your prayers. There’s resistance. There’s warfare. There’s testing. But don’t give up.

    Galatians 6:9 reminds us:

    “Let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”

    We talk about Day 1 faith. Let’s talk about Day 41 faith—the kind that survives 40 days of silence, struggle, and opposition. The kind that refuses to quit one day before the miracle.

    Your 41 is coming.

    God is not done.

    Don’t stop now.

  • Worship With Ashes Still on You: A Grown-Up Faith That Won’t Let Go

    Text: Job 1:20–22; Job 2:7–10; Job 13:15–16 (NKJV)

    There’s a moment in Job’s story that stops me cold every time.

    It’s not when he loses his livestock, or his house, or even his health.

    It’s not even when he buries his children.

    It’s what he does next that breaks me open.

    “Then Job arose, tore his robe, and shaved his head; and he fell to the ground and worshiped.” (Job 1:20, NKJV)

    Worship.

    Not after the storm passed.
    Not when the healing came.
    Not when God explained everything.

    Right in the thick of ruin, with his heart in pieces and the air still thick with grief, Job chose to worship.

    That’s not just faith. That’s grown-up faith.

    What Does Grown-Up Faith Look Like?

    We’ve heard the phrase “childlike faith” preached from the pulpit—simple trust, dependence, wonder. And that’s good. It’s biblical. But there’s another side to spiritual maturity that doesn’t get nearly as much airtime.

    Grown-up faith doesn’t always get answers.
    It doesn’t always feel God’s presence.
    It doesn’t always see the reward.
    But it remains faithful anyway.

    It’s the kind of faith that keeps showing up at the altar when your prayers seem to bounce off the ceiling.
    It’s the kind of faith that keeps your Bible open even while your world is closing in.
    It’s the kind of faith that tears its robe in grief and still says, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

    “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there.
    The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;
    Blessed be the name of the Lord.”     (Job 1:21, NKJV)

    Let that sink in. Job didn’t worship because he understood. He worshiped because he trusted—and trust doesn’t need an explanation when it’s rooted in relationship.

    The Real Test of Integrity

    Job didn’t just endure suffering—he was stripped bare in every way. Financially. Relationally. Physically. Emotionally. And then came the voice of the person who should’ve stood beside him in solidarity—his wife.

    “Do you still hold fast to your integrity? Curse God and die!”
    But he said to her, “You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?” (Job 2:9–10, NKJV)

    He didn’t rebuke her harshly. He didn’t retaliate with bitterness. But he refused to let go of his integrity.

    There it is.
    Right there is the battle line we all face.

    Do we have a faith that endures adversity? Or do we only serve God when the blessings flow?

    Grown-up faith doesn’t just praise in the light—it clings in the dark. It holds on when the feelings fade. It says, “I still believe” even when every earthly reason not to is staring you down.

    “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him. Even so, I will defend my own ways before Him. He also shall be my salvation.” (Job 13:15–16, NKJV)

    Job wasn’t in denial. He wrestled. He asked questions. He poured out raw grief and soul-deep confusion. But he never let go of the God who had let grief touch his life.

    That’s grown-up faith.

    A Mirror for the Modern Church

    Let’s be real. We’re not very good at suffering.

    We’ve built a brand of Christianity that sells the blessings of God but rarely prepares people for the battle. We hand out coffee mugs that say, “God is good,” but don’t know what to say when a believer is drowning in loss and no rescue boat comes.

    We’ve started measuring our spirituality by how “blessed” we appear.
    But what if the truest test of faith is what we do when the blessings disappear?

    Can you still praise when your body is sick?
    Can you still pray when your heart is shattered?
    Can you still stand when it feels like God Himself allowed the storm?

    That’s the crossroads. That’s where integrity is either refined or abandoned.

    Let’s Be Honest With Ourselves

    If you’ve been walking through a season of fire—where nothing makes sense and God feels silent—I want to speak to you gently but truthfully:

    Don’t confuse God’s silence with His absence.
    Don’t confuse your pain with His punishment.
    And don’t confuse your confusion with faithlessness.

    Sometimes faith is loud and victorious.
    Other times it’s quiet and stubborn—barely a whisper.
    But if you’re still clinging? Still choosing to worship even while you bleed?

    Then you’ve got grown-up faith, my friend. And it’s rare. And it’s beautiful.

    Final Questions for Reflection:

    • What’s the condition of your faith when God doesn’t answer?
    • Is your relationship with Him built on who He is—or just what He gives?
    • Have you ever praised God through tears instead of triumph? What did that moment change in you?
    • What does it mean to you to “worship with ashes still on your skin”?

    Let’s not settle for a faith of convenience.

    Let’s be a people who worship not just when God gives, but also when He takes away.
    Let’s carry a faith that can stand in the furnace—not because we understand, but because we know the One who walks in the fire with us.

  • 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.”