Daily Reflections From God's Word

Tag: jesus

  • 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.

  • The Opportunity You Ignored Might Be the Answer You Prayed For

    We’ve all been there. We pray sincere prayers—God, make me more patient. Give me courage. Help me love better. And then life barrels forward, full of interruptions, discomfort, and frustrating people… and we miss the point.

    I read a story recently that stopped me in my tracks.

    A man prayed earnestly for three things: patience, courage, and compassion. That day, he yelled at his neighbor, hid during a crisis, and turned away a hungry stranger. That night, in confusion and disappointment, he asked God why He hadn’t answered. God’s reply was simple and devastating: “I gave you opportunities—but you weren’t paying attention.”

    It’s sobering, isn’t it?James 4:3 (NKJV) says,

    “You ask and do not receive, because you ask amiss, that you may spend it on your pleasures.”

    Sometimes, what we call unanswered prayer is actually a misunderstood one. We want to feel different, but God wants us to become different. That requires pressure. It demands participation.

    We say, “Lord, take this from me,” and He says, “Lay it down.”

    We ask, “Change me,” and He says, “Follow Me.”

    He will empower, but we must obey.

    We don’t get stronger by avoiding the weight—we get stronger by lifting it. And when we ask God to grow us, we must expect the workout, not just the wish. The opportunity, not just the outcome.

    So today, pause and ask:

    What opportunities have I ignored?

    Where did I choose comfort over growth?

    Where did I miss Him, because I wasn’t paying attention?

    He may not hand you patience—but He’ll hand you someone that tests it.

    He may not drop compassion into your heart—but He’ll place someone in your path who needs it.

    He may not drop courage in your lap—but He’ll give you a moment to stand tall.

    The answer to your prayer might not look like a gift. It might look like a challenge. But make no mistake—it’s an answer all the same.

  • 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.