It’s common for those who are traveling overseas for the first time to pack a lot of stuff.  The fear is being so far from home and needing something. But a recent article speaks of the problems of over-packing. It advises leaving behind shampoo and hair dryers (which most hotels have) and not bringing extra shoes and books, which are bulky and heavy. The writer notes that when you wind up lugging heavy luggage over Europe’s cobblestone streets, you’ll wish you didn’t bring so much with you. 

In a way, it’s an apt metaphor for the travel advice the apostle Paul provides.: “For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it” (1 Timothy 6:7). He ties this to the problem of possessing too much: “Those who want to get rich fall into temptation,” and he warns that extra baggage is “a trap” leading to “ruin and destruction” (v. 9). People of faith have a different travel destination where all that’s needed is provided by God—“everything for our enjoyment” (v. 17).

It might be good for us today to remember that what we accumulate in life is meaningless. We can’t take it with us. By being “generous and willing to share” (v. 18), Paul says, we “lay up treasure . . . for the coming age.” This is the best travel tip of all, the secret to “life that is truly life” (v. 19).

Charles Joughin was a sailor from the young age of eleven. He served as a baker on a number of ships, and in 1912 got hired onto a cruise ship sailing out of Southampton, England. That ship, the Titanic, hit an iceberg in the Northern Atlantic. As the ship went down, Joughin helped people into lifeboats. He himself stood atop the end of the Titanic as it sunk vertically into the water. Miraculously, he survived.

Thirty years later, during World War II, Charles was on another ship, the RMS Oregon. It was rammed by another vessel, and it also sank. Remarkably Joughin survived, again.

Scriptures tell us we’re all on a sinking ship. Paul writes, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). He refers to the rebellious nation of Israel, quoting Isaiah: “Unless the Lord Almighty had left us some survivors, we would have become like Sodom” (Isaiah 1:9). Paul speaks of a “remnant” of Israel, a shipload of survivors: “only the remnant will be saved” (Romans 9:27). How are they saved? By receiving the good news (Romans 10:16). You see, we’re all like Israel, drowning in our sin. None of us can be rescued unless we receive the good news. The lifeboat that God throws out to us all is Jesus.

We who believe in Jesus might need to be reminded of the remarkable truth that we are, by God’s mercy, survivors. Those who haven’t yet found Jesus in the troubled waters of life might do well to climb in the lifeboat.

In the early 1930s, Cleo McVicker came up with a product that could be used as wallpaper cleaner. Back then, most homes were heated by coal, and walls became covered in soot. Cleo’s invention could be rolled over wallpaper and would pick up the grime. Well, the wallpaper cleaner never became popular, but decades later, a teacher used Cleo’s product in her classes to create Christmas ornaments. From that was born a new company—Rainbow Crafts—and the wallpaper cleaner was repurposed as a children’s toy, “Play-Doh.”

On a far greater scale, God has a way of repurposing people. We remember the biblical story of Joseph and his “coat of many colors. As a young man he was a lowly shepherd and was sold into slavery by his brothers. But God led Joseph through great difficulties and into the top ranks of government. Eventually, Joseph became “repurposed” as “the ruler of all Egypt” (Genesis 45:26). Yet we must note the end of the story: Joseph’s calling was not about power but about grace, Jacob’s son, Joseph, extended grace to his brothers, forgiving them. Reuniting with his family, Joseph “kissed all his brothers and wept over them” (v. 15).

In a sense, all of us are “failed products.” It’s through “the grace of a Son,” Jesus, that we are repurposed into greater things. As you do life today, think of your higher purpose and remember to extend grace to others, just as Christ does for us.

Morse was the son of a Protestant minister and a struggling painter of landscapes. In the 1820s, he made a meager living as a limner—“an itinerant painter” of colonial America. But his was a life God led in another direction. Morse also had an interest in science. He learned about electromagnets, conceiving an idea that would change the world. In 1832, Samuel F. B. Morse conceived the idea of an electric telegraph and later went on to make the first working telegraph.

Probably the most dramatic biblical account of “career change” was that of Saul, who was “breathing out murderous threats” against believers in Christ (Acts 9:1). Jesus appeared to him in a great light (v. 3) saying that Saul was persecuting Him. Essentially, Saul was told to stop because he was under new orders now (v. 6). Saul did a U-turn in his life and assumed a new identity in Christ as the apostle who would eventually spread the gospel wherever he went.

Sometimes what we think is our future really isn’t. God leads us in another direction. Perhaps He needs to call us out of our sin. Or maybe it’s a change of ministry or vocation. When God redirects our lives, we do well to stop what we’re doing and follow our new orders. And as our new path opens before us, we might just echo the joy of the first dot-and-dash message of Morse’s telegraph: “What hath God wrought!”

It was 1863. Edwin stood on a railroad platform in Jersey City. He watched as a young man was forced by crowds against a train car. The man dangerously fell into the crevice between the train and the platform. The train started to move. Edwin reached down and, at the last minute, pulled the man to safety.

The saved man was Robert Todd Lincoln, son of President Abraham Lincoln. Robert later wrote that his rescuer’s “face was of course well known to me,” because Edwin Booth was a famous actor. In fact, he was the brother of another actor—John Wilkes Booth—who would assassinate the president two years later.

This historical oddity illustrates a reality for us. We don’t choose the family we’re born into. Perhaps our siblings or parents made wrong choices. Maybe we’re the ones who’ve made a mess of everything. But the Bible tells of God’s family plan: “those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God” (Romans 8:14). As His children, “we are [his] heirs” (v. 17). Amazingly, we’re invited to call him “Abba, Father” (v. 15).

We may long wrestle with the dysfunctions of our earthly family. But we can take comfort that God has changed our spiritual heritage. He adopts us into His family. Most precious of all—He invites us to call him our Father.

In 2011, Karey Packard and her daughter were packing boxes for a move to a new home. Suddenly, Karey collapsed, and her heart stopped—the beginning of a long nightmare. Doctors revived Karey, but her condition worsened through the night. Her husband, Craig, was told to call family to say final goodbyes. They prayed what Craig called, “a prayer of desperation.”

How often have we prayed a prayer of desperation in a crisis? Mary and Martha did. They sent a desperate message to Jesus: their brother Lazarus, “the one you love,” was gravely ill (John 11:3). When Jesus finally arrived, Lazarus had been dead for four days. Martha, in anguish, said to Jesus: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died” (v. 11:21). She knew Jesus could heal sick people but could not imagine His power to overcome death. Jesus, of course, raised Lazarus, a foreshadowing of His own resurrection weeks later.

Karey Packard had officially flatlined, yet miraculously God brought her back to life. In the stories of both Karey and Lazarus it’s easy to miss the point: God has purposes that we don’t know. He neither heals everyone nor brings all dead people back to life. But He gives us a transcending assurance: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die” (v. 25). As believers, whatever happens, we know we’ll be with Jesus. Maybe that makes our desperate prayers a little less desperate.

In the aftermath of Turkey’s devastating earthquake in February 2023, a haunting photo came across newswires: a father sitting amid ruins holding a hand extending from the rubble—the hand of his daughter. We see the edge of the mattress where his daughter had been sleeping, and we see her lifeless fingers that he now holds. His face is grim; his grief is profound.

In this father’s gritted face, I see a semblance of our own heavenly Father. Genesis tells us that God was grieved by the devastation of sin in His creation: “It broke his heart” (6:6 nlt). Isaiah, speaking of the future Messiah, says, “He was . . . a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief” (53:3 nlt). God grieves for us, and with us, and sits at the edge of the rubble of our lives, reaching for us: “I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand” (41:13).

Whatever devastation you currently face—a tragic circumstance, the loss of a dear one, or maybe even the effects of your own sin—know that God grieves with you. Whatever earthquake has shaken your life, see that God is reaching for your hand. Whatever your current sorrow, hear the God of love saying to you, “Do not fear; I will help you” (v. 13).

Fyodor Dostoevsky was facing a firing squad. He quietly counted the last moments of his life. Dostoevsky, a believer in Jesus, is considered one of the greatest writers in all of literature. His monumental novel, The Brothers Karamazov, explored themes about God, life, and death. It was said of Dostoevsky, “He spoke about Christ ecstatically.” The rifles raised. “Ready! . . . Aim . . .”

Jesus, alluding to His own execution, speaks to His disciples and to us of the eternal value of life and death when He said, “The hour has come” (John 12:23). The image is a seed (our life), which produces a great harvest through its own sacrifice (v. 24). Jesus tells us not to love this life too much, for it is those who are willing to sacrifice this present life who will find “eternal life” (v. 25).

These are hard words—we cherish our life on earth. But Jesus is saying that being His disciple requires sacrifice. We’re counseled to hold life loosely, to embrace the joy of the life to come, and to find our hope in His words, “My Father will honor the one who serves me” (v. 26).

Fyodor looked death in the face. But a letter from the Czar was delivered at the last second. A reprieve. Dostoevsky’s life was spared, yet this experience would infuse all of his later works. Indeed, the epigraph of The Brothers Karamazov is this verse, John 12:24: “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

A Danish study explored the phenomenon most of us have experienced: perceiving ourselves as younger than we really are. The findings suggest a constant—whatever our current age, we all see ourselves as 20 percent younger. A fifty-year-old tends to imagine herself as forty years old. (This conjures up a comical scenario in which a child thinks, “Wow, I’m five, but I feel I have the energy and looks of a four-year-old!”)

It doesn’t take a scientific study to state the obvious: we’re all growing older. And Scripture has much to say about this. Isaiah’s words were issued to an Israel that had aged and become weary, but as one commentator says, “This promise to Israel, enfeebled and grown old as a nation, is applicable to every aged follower of Christ.”

The prophet reminds us of God’s provision throughout the life of everyone who has been faithful to Him: “I have upheld [you] since your birth, and have carried [you] since you were born” (Isaiah 46:3).

So as we stew and fret about growing older, we’re reminded that God is still with us. He promises: “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you” (v. 4). Whatever age you are (or the 20 percent younger you imagine yourself to be!), embrace today God’s promise: “I have made you and I will carry you” (v. 4).

In February 2023, the James Webb Space Telescope made another remarkable discovery. Beyond where humankind had previously been able to peer into the universe, it discovered six new galaxies. This discovery upended much of what we know about space. One astronomer remarked, “It turns out we found something so unexpected it actually creates problems for science.” An astrophysicist said almost apologetically, “There is nothing wrong with not knowing.”

It seems that God continues to surprise us all. The psalmist David, long before the advent of space telescopes, seems to be talking directly to the scientists of today: “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is . . . the Creator of the ends of the earth” (Isaiah 40:28). He goes on, pre-dating that astrophysicist’s words, “[God’s] understanding no one can fathom” (v. 28).

But if we stop there, we miss the beauty of this passage. He who is unfathomable is not impersonal. He who created those six galaxies, and all the others, is the same God who “gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak” (v. 29). The God of the universe is also the personal God who helps those who hope in Him to “soar on wings like eagles” (vv. 28, 31). Rest assured, the unfathomable God is the One we do know—the One who speaks into our lives with power and strength.