Devotions

Sitting in the hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit, I visited with a mother as her newborn baby cuddled up against her chest. In this technologically advanced medical facility, the doctors had recommended a very low-tech “prescription” to improve and strengthen the child’s health—the new mom was to spend extended periods of time simply holding her daughter.

There’s almost nothing like the overwhelming love and tender compassion of a parent to provide healing comfort for a child. We see this powerful imagery in the prophet Isaiah’s description of God with His people.

Even after prophesying impending exile for the nation of Israel because they’d rejected God (Isaiah 39:5-7), Isaiah emphasized to the people that God still loved them and would always provide for them. God’s tender compassion and secure care is evident in the beautiful metaphor where He is described as a shepherd who, much like a loving father, gathers His sheep “in his arms and carries them close to his heart” (40:11).

God’s presence grants us peace and protection and reminds us that He carries us close to His heart, like a newborn baby with its mother. As He “gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak” (v. 29), the Spirit’s healing comfort allows us to meet the challenges of each day.

Her fans knew her as Nightbirde. Singer-songwriter Jane Kristen Marczewski won a following in 2021 on a popular TV talent show. In 2017, she’d been diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer. In 2018, she went into remission. She started touring, but months later the cancer returned, giving her little chance of survival. Amazingly, she recovered and was declared cancer-free. But on February 19, 2022, Nightbirde died.

During her difficult journey, she blogged, “I remind myself that I’m praying to the God who let the Israelites stay lost for decades. They begged to arrive . . . but instead He let them wander, answering prayers they didn’t pray. . . . Every morning, He sent them mercy-bread from heaven . . . . I look for the mercy-bread . . . The Israelites called it manna, which means ‘what is it?’ That’s the same question I’m asking . . . . There’s mercy here somewhere—but what is it?”

The exodus story reveals much about God’s mercy. First, His mercy was promised to the Israelites. “You will be filled with bread” (Exodus 16:12). And second, His mercy may surprise us. “They did not know what it was” (v. 15). Mercy often doesn’t look like what we think. But it’s mercy nonetheless. For the Israelites, it looked like morning manna. For Nightbirde, she wrote of the gift of a blanket from a friend, and her mother’s hands.

such things. Philippians 4:8

Lap after lap, Katie Ledecky was in a familiar spot during the 1500-meter freestyle race at the 2024 Paris Olympics. For some fifteen minutes, she was far ahead of the rest of the swimmers and alone with her thoughts. What was Ledecky thinking about during the long race? In an interview conducted immediately following her gold-medal-winning performance in which she set a new Olympic record, Ledecky said she was thinking about her training partners and saying their names in her head.

Distance swimmers aren’t the only ones who need to focus their minds on the right things. We as believers in Jesus also need to guard our thoughts throughout our faith journey.

The apostle Paul encouraged the Philippian church to “rejoice in the Lord,” not be “anxious about anything, but pray about everything (Philippians 4:4, 6). The result? “The peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (v. 7). Jesus, the Prince of Peace, helps put our worries and troubles in perspective.

Paul also encouraged believers: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things” (v. 8).

As we go about our day, let’s be aware of our thoughts. When we see God’s hand in our life, we can count our blessings and worship Him.

I viewed the opening displays of the 9/11 Memorial & Museum in New York City with curiosity but kept my emotions in check. That changed when we entered the inner exhibit, which the curators have wisely closed off from children and those wanting to shield themselves from the more heartrending images. As I encountered story after story of heartbreak and loss, waves of lament rose within me.

When we witness or remember such destruction and pain, we can join the cries of those who have voiced their distress to God. This includes the words of anguish found in Lamentations, which many scholars believe the prophet Jeremiah wrote after the destruction of Jerusalem. In the tightly formed structure of this poem, he releases his sorrow and grief over the pain of God’s people: “See, Lord, how distressed I am! I am in torment within, and in my heart I am disturbed” (Lamentations 1:20). And yet he looks to God as the ultimate judge, knowing that only He can deal with the sins and destruction: “Let all their wickedness come before you” (v. 22).

This kind of honest crying out to God can help us to grapple with painful atrocities such as what happened on September 11, 2001, or other current-day evil deeds. We look to God for help, hope, comfort, and justice.

Anita Bailey’s heart was warmed when she got this social media message about her son Jalen: “I was a greeter today at [church] and a young man with a child in his arms came up to me and put his arms around me. . . . I stared for a second, then I recognized him and said, ‘Jalen’! We embraced and chatted briefly. What a fine young man!” The greeter had known Jalen in his rebellious days when Anita and her husband, Ed, felt powerless to save their son from the consequences of his unwise choices, which resulted in twelve years in prison for him.

Though the Baileys felt powerless, they were not prayerless. And neither was King Jehoshaphat in 2 Chronicles 20. When harassed by a menacing coalition of enemy forces, he called a prayer meeting (vv. 1-4). “Our God, will you not judge them?” he prayed. “For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you” (v. 12).

Have you ever felt powerless or clueless in the face of circumstances that were out of your control? Why not call a prayer meeting—either alone or with others? That’s what Jesus did in the face of His coming crucifixion (Luke 22:39-44). Prayer space is the sacred place where the petitions of powerless people are offered to our almighty God in the name of Jesus.

Before he was martyred for his steadfast faith in Jesus, an African minister whose name has not been preserved penned “A Martyr’s Prayer.” This profound message from another era has become known as “The Fellowship of the Unashamed.”

This pastor’s words present a challenge to all believers in Jesus—a challenge that echoes the words of the apostle Paul, who wrote in his letter to his young friend Timothy: “Do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord” (2 Timothy 1:8) because the Holy Spirit gives us “power, love and self-discipline” (v. 7).

Here, in part, is what that faithful African pastor wrote: “I am part of the fellowship of the unashamed. The decision has been made. I am a disciple of [Jesus] and I won’t back up, let up, slow down, back away, or be still. My past is redeemed. My present makes sense. My future is secure. . . . I live by faith, lean on His presence, walk by patience, lift by prayer, and labor by the Holy Spirit’s power.”

Both Timothy and that pastor faced difficulties we may never experience, but their words challenge us to stand strong when our faith is tested. We can remain unashamed because God “is able to guard what [we] have entrusted to him” (v. 12)—our lives and our future.

When my friend Connor takes pictures on his old film camera, he doesn’t bother to find attractive lighting or airbrush blemishes or crop out anything unsightly. His photos are startlingly raw. They stand out in my social media feed next to heavily edited photos of gorgeous people and places. Though unconventional, his work is beautiful because it communicates truth about how things really are.

We all long for what’s real, but sometimes the truth isn’t attractive to us. Close to the time of His death, Jesus declared, “I am . . . the truth” (John 14:6). His disciples were wondering how they could get to the Father’s house that Jesus spoke so longingly about (vv. 2-3). They failed to see that Jesus standing in front of them was the answer. They struggled to understand that He would bring victory through His own sacrifice.

Isaiah prophesied that the coming Messiah would have no beauty or majesty, “nothing in his appearance that we should desire him” (Isaiah 53:2). Much of what Jesus said was so challenging and unexpected that it turned religious people against Him (John 11:45-48). Yet He gave an open invitation to know the truth and find real life. “If you really know me,” said Jesus, “you will know my Father as well” (John 14:7). In the midst of an airbrushed and unrealistic world, we can embrace that beautiful, raw truth today!

“Oh, you look so serious!” I said to my ten-week-old granddaughter Leilani. She was studying my face with a knitted brow as I talked to her. “I’d be serious too,” I continued, “looking at this world. But you know what? Mama loves you, Daddy loves you, and Baba and Papa (our nicknames as grandparents) love you too. But best of all, Jesus loves you! And that means everything!”

Then it happened. Like a cloud letting the sun through, the furrow left her brow and her little face lit up with a smile that melted my heart. Like most grandparents, I’d like to believe she understood me, though that may be a stretch. But perhaps she caught some of the joy behind my words. The simple, innocent joy that shone on her face brought to mind Jesus’ words that we must “receive the kingdom of God like a little child” (Mark 10:15).

Jesus said those words as “people were bringing little children” to Him so He might “place his hands on them” and bless them (vv. 13, 16). But “the disciples rebuked them,” thinking Jesus too busy or important. That troubled Him (vv. 14-15).

Children are naturally humble and dependent. To receive God’s kindness to us in Christ, we too must turn from pride and admit our need for Him in everything. As we do, He exchanges this world’s hopelessness with the promise of life with God forever. And that should make us smile.

The news was horrific. A live-in foreign domestic helper had been so ill-treated by the family she worked for that she died. The employers were eventually jailed, but I felt it wasn’t enough. They should have suffered the same horrors they put that poor girl through, I thought, and then put to death. Then I wondered if my anger had crossed the line. Was I wrong to think such things?

Reading Psalm 109 gave me an insight into our natural sense of justice. David, for one, wrestled with anger toward those who wronged the poor and needy. “May his days be few . . . . May his children be fatherless and his wife a widow,” he charged (vv. 8-9).

But King David didn’t take revenge on these men—even though he had the power to. Instead, he turned to God as the true source of justice and deliverance. “May this be the Lord’s payment to my accusers, to those who speak evil of me,” he said. “Save me according to your unfailing love” (vv. 20, 26).

I believe God made us with an inherent sense of justice, for it reflects His own character. And we can express our feelings honestly. But, ultimately, we’re to leave judgment and punishment to Him—trusting Him to bring justice in His time and way. The apostle Paul states things clearly: “Do not take revenge . . . but leave room for God’s wrath” (Romans 12:19).