We lose focus on what God has done for us and then aren’t able to do what He really wants us to do.
We lose focus on what God has done for us and then aren’t able to do what He really wants us to do.
When you prepare a small dinner and twenty guests arrive unannounced, you wish you’d known what was coming—yet knowing what to prepare isn’t the only kind of readiness that matters. Luke 1 tells of a righteous priest who knew exactly what God expected of him, yet when God himself appeared with news he’d prayed decades to hear, he found himself unprepared to simply listen.
We’ve all wanted to write that resignation letter—to let the world know the hurt isn’t our fault. Joseph faces that exact urge in Matthew 1, betrayed and confused after he finds out Mary, the woman he is betrothed to, is pregnant — forced to choose between saying his peace and keeping it.
Plans go awry all the time, and in the moment it feels terrible whether the fault is human weakness or God himself saying no to what we wanted. That’s exactly where Mary finds herself in Luke 1 when Gabriel’s greeting turns her ordinary day—and her entire future—upside down.
We’ve all found ways to look faithful without being faithful—the outward gesture that signals piety while the heart is somewhere else entirely. That’s exactly the trap Isaiah 7 sets in plain sight: a king who quotes the law of God to refuse the sign God himself is offering, and whose very piety is the problem.
We keep chasing what looks impressive—the success the world promises—forgetting it all carries an expiration date, like a freshly cut tree that soon dries out and becomes trash. Samuel falls into the same trap sizing up Jesse’s sons in 1 Samuel 16, until the Lord stops him cold.
Most of us hear “You shall not make for yourself a carved image” and assume the second commandment is aimed for some folks worshipping a metal statue long ago. But the same human frailty that raised the golden calf still reaches for something visible, manageable, and reassuring. What have we begun to trust, protect, or worship in place of the God who rescued us?
Pharmaceutical commercials fill the screen with daisy fields and frolicking joy so you’ll tune out the side effects. Are God’s Commandments filled with killer side effects, too?
Family conflict. Our attempts to force a good outcome. So often our all too human messes and efforts leave life looking like a train wreck that gives sin the final word. Yet Genesis 35 closes Isaac’s story by calling him “old and full of days” and placing his divided sons together at his burial. Maybe even our broken lives still have hope of being full?