We act like God’s only good when the outcome is good. We say, ‘We’ve got a good God because I’ve got a good job.’ But what if I don’t have a good job? Does that mean God’s not good anymore?
When safety becomes our god, we worship the risk-free life. Can the safety lover do anything great? Can the risk-averse accomplish noble deeds? For God? For others? No. The fear-filled cannot love deeply. Love is risky. They cannot give to the poor. Benevolence has no guarantee of return. The fear-filled cannot dream wildly. What if their dreams sputter and fall from the sky? The worship of safety emasculates greatness. No wonder Jesus wages such a war against fear. His.
Struggles come, for sure. But so does God.
The Lord is near to all who call upon Him. Psalm 145:18.
Why did God leave us one tale after another of wounded lives being restored? So we could be grateful for the past? So we could look back with amazement at what Jesus did? No. No. No. A thousand times no. The purpose of these stories is not to tell us what Jesus did. Their purpose is to tell us what Jesus does.
Fear, at its center, is a perceived loss of control. When life spins wildly, we grab for a component of life we can manage: our diet, the tidiness of a house, the armrest of a plane, or, in many cases, people. The more insecure we feel, the meaner we become.
God has a great race for you to run. Under his care you will go where you’ve never been and serve in ways you’ve never dreamed.
Set it down, child. I’ll carry that one.
Upper-room futility. A little bit of faith but very little fire.
When a father leads his four-year-old son down a crowded street, he takes him by the hand and says, “Hold on to me.” He doesn’t say, “Memorize the map” or “Take your chances dodging the traffic” or “Let’s see if you can find your way home.” The good father gives the child one responsibility: “Hold on to my hand.
Happiness is less an emotion and more a decision, a decision to bear with one another.
Happiness is found by giving it away.
Pray for people. Serve more. Practice patience. And, bring the best out in people.
We learn brevity from Jesus. His greatest sermon can be read in eight minutes. His best-known story can be read in ninety seconds. He summarized prayer in five phrases. He silenced accusers with one challenge. He rescued a soul with one sentence. He summarized the Law in three verses and reduced all his teachings to one command. He made his point and went home.
Jesus, right now, at this moment, in the midst of your storm, is interceding for you. The King of the universe is speaking on your behalf. He is calling out to the heavenly Father. He is urging the help of the Holy Spirit. He is advocating for a special blessing to be sent your way. You do not fight the wind and waves alone. It’s not up to you to find a solution. You have the mightiest Prince and the holiest Advocate standing up for.
Oversize and rude, fear is unwilling to share the heart with happiness. Happiness complies and leaves. Do you ever see the two together? Can one be happy and afraid at the same time? Clear thinking and afraid? Confident and afraid? Merciful and afraid? No.
Your complaints are not over the lack of necessities, but the abundance of benefits. You belly aches over the thrills, not the basics; over benefits, not the essentials. The source of your problems is your blessings.
To see the despair without the grace is suicidal. To see the grace without the despair is upper room futility. But to see them both is conversion.
He empowers us to be what he calls us to be.
In like manner the Spirit of God hovered over the face of the waters. And once there was calming, there could be creating.
Find a promise that fits your problem, and build your prayer around it.