Imagine Jesus today: He is leaning over, bending down close to someone who is hurt. He’s listening. His eyes fill with tears as He hears that person’s troubles. Then His hand gently brushes away a tear. He was hurt once too. He understands.
Fear of insignificance creates the result it dreads, arrives at the destination it tries to avoid, facilitates the scenario it disdains.
He made you you-nique.
Author Glennon Doyle Melton wrote, “Every time we open our mouths and speak, we are either saying let their be light or let their be darkness.
Fear creates a form of spiritual amnesia. It dulls our miracle memory. It makes us forget what Jesus has done and how good God is.
The parched soil of fear needs steady rain.
Besides, consider what he did. He gave his Son. His only Son. Would you do that? Would you offer the life of your child for someone else? I wouldn’t. There are those for whom I would give my life. But ask me to make a list of those for whom I would kill my daughter? The sheet will be blank. I don’t need a pencil. The list has no names.
Sometimes we do the wrong thing for the right reason. We’ve all been there.
Today’s thoughts are tomorrow’s actions.
Not once did Christ use his supernatural powers for personal comfort.
A happy saint is one who is at the same time aware of the severity of sin and the immensity of grace.
Prayers move God. And God moves angels.
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.