From what we know about wisdom literature in the Bible, Psalm 139 appears to be, in part, a wisdom psalm. This means it’s meant to encourage us to reflect and meditate on God and his Word. Woven throughout each stanza, we notice themes of worshipping God and His creation, including the smallest details that make up our human bodies. “I will praise you because I have been remarkably and wondrously made,” wrote the psalmist. “Your works are wondrous, and I know this very well (Psalm 139:14)”

I can’t help but make a connection between this verse and our brain’s remarkable ability to memorize and recall things like songs, stories, and Scripture. This alone is worthy of awe and praise. Because I struggle to memorize verses, I’m grateful to have gotten this one psalm inside of me so many years ago.

I relied on this last summer during an MRI when my nerves got the better of me and I began to panic. God kindly brought this passage to mind, along with other relaxation strategies, and it was such a powerful comfort to recite each familiar verse like it was an old friend. Even in the MRI machine, I was under God’s care and protection.

Lent is a time when we willingly reflect on our sin and mortality. I find this a little easier to do after reading Psalm 139, which assures us that God knows our inner thoughts already. If Lent unearths feelings of shame, this is a great psalm to read as a comfort. God is not surprised by our brokenness or the limitations of our love. “Even the darkness is not dark to you,” the passage says (v.12). When we remember how God formed us from dirt—which some do by marking their foreheads with ash on Ash Wednesday—it humbles us. But we’re also told just how beautifully crafted we are and that God delights to show us the path out of our temptation to sin.

We receive so many daily messages challenging God’s truth that we are well-made and well-loved. But reading Psalm 139 can help us reflect on our truest identity.

So today, even as we confess our sins, let’s also thankfully remember the hope we have in Jesus: “The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me,” writes the psalmist. “LORD, your faithful love endures forever; do not abandon the work of your hands” (Psalm 138:8).

Do you ever think about trees and water and wildflowers and how they don’t use words to talk yet say so much? Right now, there’s a Japanese maple in the garden to my right, and its soft, star-shaped leaves are reaching out into the afternoon light. There’s a whole essay buried inside those leafy branches.

I’m thankful for the agricultural age the New Testament was written in because there are so many tangible, everyday images that remind us of God and His kingdom. Mustard seeds and mountains. Grapevines, sheep, and fruit trees. While creation bears silent witness to what it has seen, we’re called to bear witness with our words as well. I say “as well,” because our own silent witness is also powerful.

The apostle Paul’s divine purpose was to become a servant and a witness of God’s work. In Acts 26, Paul recounted God’s call for him: “I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you as a servant and a witness of what you have seen and will see of me” (Acts 26:16). This is why Paul took great care to carefully argue and defend the integrity of his words and behavior before Festus and King Agrippa. He assured them he was being rational, “speaking words of truth and good judgment” (v.25).

What Paul had seen was great. Revolutionary. He saw light from heaven (v.13). He spoke with the One who fulfilled the promised hope of the ancestors (v.6). He saw his own personal transformation in becoming the very kind of person he used to imprison (v.10). And his testimony was made even more powerful because it was his eyesight that was taken away during an encounter with God on the road to Damascus (vv.12–18). The humor in that isn’t lost on me. Paul, the one who was blinded by God, was now bearing witness to Him. It’s the kind of story only God could write, isn’t it?

Paul followed through on his calling to the death as he continued to serve Christ and speak of all he had seen. He lived a difficult life—one that not everyone could bear so well. But now you and I have the privilege of reading story after story after story of God’s faithfulness and transformation in the lives of both the Jewish people and Gentiles as the apostle preached the promised message of hope.

We are also called to bear witness to what we’ve seen. What have you seen today that speaks of God? What have you seen that you can share with others? What have others seen and shared with you that points you to the love of Christ?

Written by Bailey Gillespie

“Pneuma is the Greek word for ‘Spirit’ or ‘breath.’ It’s here in these open, windy places where I feel this breath on my skin and in my hair that I’m most able to sense and inhabit the presence of my God.”

On the day of Pentecost, the Jewish people staying in Jerusalem also experienced the presence of God through the movement of wind. And not just any wind—not a gust or a light breeze, but a “violent rushing wind” (Acts 2:2). Can you imagine what that must have sounded like? Or felt like? Or how it must have knocked about their belongings in that house? Of course, all this was promised in the words of the prophet Joel: “And it will be in the last days, says God, that I will pour out my Spirit on all people” (Acts 2:17; Joel 2:28). Yet certainly not even this prophecy could have prepared them for the power and terror of that moment.

What’s also interesting is how this heaven-charged wind didn’t just rush through the windows where God’s people were staying and then rush back out. It filled the people themselves. Along with tongues of fire resting on each person, it filled the house with the electrifying presence of God through the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:3–4).

Why do you think God used such a dramatic method for confirming that the promised Holy Spirit had arrived?

When I read this story, I see power. Besides being a God who keeps His promises (v.33), He is more powerful than a violent wind, displaying His ”wonders in the heaven above and signs on the earth below (v.19). Our all-powerful God pours out His own Spirit on us, so we can walk in it with the same kind of power and authority.

I’m sure the Jewish men and women gathering to observe Pentecost—a feast to celebrate the first fruits of harvest—didn’t expect to witness such a moment. But the Holy Spirit moves within those who believe as “streams of living water” (John 7:38), and it is often surprising. Today, may we remember the power and authority of God within us and walk in it.

In the end, these two characters do make it back home again, but their bread isn’t what saves them. They are rescued through forces of good that are outside their control—what you might call “divine intervention.”

Just two chapters ago, we saw Jesus offer what only He could to the Samaritan woman: living water. He helped her understand His nature as the only One who is truly able to provide everything we need for life. Likewise, in John 6, Jesus expanded on this imagery by declaring that He also satisfies the hungry. “No one who comes to me will ever be hungry,” said Jesus to the crowd at Capernaum, “and no one who believes in me will ever be thirsty again” (John 6:35).

What stands out to me in today’s passage is that the crowd already had a story that contextualizes what Jesus is saying. On one hand, the people are tracking. They’re familiar with the stories of their ancestors that tell of God’s provision in the wilderness. They knew their heritage and how God provided the Israelites with bread from heaven to sustain them on their journey (Exodus 16:4). But they were also confused. They were hung up on tangible signs and the kind of bread you can chew and tear apart in your hands.

With full bellies and curious hearts, they questioned Jesus in a verbal exchange that’s almost humorous. But Jesus was trying to refocus their vision on eternal things. Miraculous loaves and fish or heavenly bread in the wilderness were not just intended to fill their bellies. They were prophetic meals that pointed to something that would truly last forever.

I’m grateful for stories of great literature that remind us of God’s divine provision amid our limitations. Physical food and drink only take us so far. Jesus, the Bread of Life, never runs out (John 6:35), and He alone sustains us for the long and difficult journey ahead. He is the nourishment we feast on. There are no circumstances beyond His control. His grace and provision will see us through to the end.

In the Christian faith, we have lots of community activities, but we don’t always confess our sins as a group. The focus tends to be on individual sins and a personal relationship with Jesus. Many of us don’t experience the joy and freedom that a corporate confession can bring, like the Israelites did in today’s passage. We might feel these on some level during personal times of prayer. But there’s something powerful about repenting in a room where you may be sitting very close to a person you don’t like or have conflict with. God’s love breaks our hearts in places where we desperately need it.

In Nehemiah 9:2, the author wrote: “Those of Israelite descent separated themselves from all foreigners, and they stood and confessed their sins and the iniquities of their ancestors.” Here, we see God’s people set themselves apart before bringing not just their present-day sins as a nation but the sins of those who came before them. When was the last time any of us did this?

The Israelites would often offer a sacrifice to atone for their sins. In the Christian faith, we talk about a sacrifice of praise instead. We confess our sins to the Savior who has already atoned for us. After the nation of Israel repented for turning away from the law, the Levite priests led them into a renewal of the covenant (vv.5–37).

Corporate confession isn’t lost on us today. We often bring our sins to God in church services. In some churches, pastors lead the congregation through a reading that prompts everyone to confess their sins together. One reading goes like this: “Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone…” Doing this together, though, is not separate from what God is looking for most: each individual’s heart being transformed by His love.

Whether in watching TV to the confession of sin, when we’re participating with others, we’re reminded that we’re not alone. Confession as believers is a beautiful thing because it puts us in our rightful place, and it brings God praise. “Therefore,” says Hebrews, “through him let us continually offer up to God a sacrifice of praise, that is, the fruit of lips that confess his name” (Hebrews 13:15).

There’s a place in my life right now where rebuilding feels really slow and uncomfortable. Yet just like Nehemiah, I’m trying to trust the gracious hand of God. And so this passage today is a comfort. For me, the place is finances. For anyone in 2025, you know how hard it is to find work, pay the bills, and grow your savings. If anything, my husband and I feel like we’re drowning right now. We got married last spring and have struggled to find sustainable work ever since I left my full-time job and he graduated with a ministry degree. The market is hard, and our rebuilding process is slow. 

Nehemiah had a vision of what could be in remembering the glory of what used to be. And with the support of King Artaxerxes I, he formed a creative partnership with the Lord, preparing to rebuild Jerusalem and reestablish Israel’s presence inside the city gates. Some people grow resentful after a season of exile or opposition. They turn away from God. But when Nehemiah responded to the officials, it’s clear from his word choice that he had not: “I told them how the gracious hand of my God had been on me, and what the king had said to me” (Nehemiah 2:18). He still saw God as gracious and protective. The people weren’t on their own in the rebuilding. Instead, “their hands were strengthened to do this good work” (v.18). 

I love this imagery of our hands being strengthened. It lets me breathe a little more deeply. And the beautiful thing is, as we rebuild the beliefs, relationships, and resources in our lives, God partners with us. We aren’t alone. Our strength flows from Him. If our lives are rooted in the foundation of His love, we can trust everything to find its place from there. 

In this season of rebuilding our finances, God is showing me the small, quiet ways He’s providing along the way. My husband works two days a week now at an organic farm (he also brings home fresh basil, onions, and broccolini—a gift!). As I too continue to pursue my career opportunities, I find hope in Nehemiah’s story. We still have The Big Need, but as we work on short-term solutions, we pray and wait…and wait and pray.  

In whatever “in-between” space you find yourself right now, trust that Christ is our cornerstone (Ephesians 2:20). All that we do and all that we are begins and ends in Him. As Scripture so beautifully puts it, in Christ, we are always being put back together, “built together for God’s dwelling in the Spirit” (v.22).  

Growing up, my family teased my brother about how he should run for president. He had the brains and the vision, and we even created a fun Facebook page with a 2028 campaign that gained a decent following of friends. He used to laugh it off and roll his eyes every time a ghost writer posted an update, while never actually denying the fact that he would make a good candidate. I’m still holding out that our playful digital campaign efforts will sweep the House in 2028. Can you imagine if one day your brother became president?

Even more so, can you imagine if your brother claimed to be the Messiah? I mean, I love my brother more than anything, but that’s on a whole other level. A bold move like that would no doubt give me serious cause for concern. Even if I were familiar with Old Testament prophecies and could vouch for the integrity of my sibling, I would have all sorts of questions, namely: Of all the people out there, how could the Messiah be my brother?

I imagine that James, the brother of Jesus, wrestled with a question like this. We aren’t given a substantive origin story for James all in one place, so we have to weave together a few distinct verses to gain a glimpse of the life of this man. We’re told that Jesus had four brothers: James, Joses, Judas, and Simon, and at least two sisters (Mark 6:2–3). We know that, after watching his brother attract a following in the synagogues while simultaneously offending the Nazarene crowds, Jesus’s family declared Him to be “out of his mind” and tried to restrain Him (Mark 3:20–21). We know that James and his brothers mocked Jesus and didn’t believe in Him during His earthly ministry (John 7:1–5).

But then something happened. After His resurrection, Jesus appeared to James (1Corinthians 15:6–7). While Scripture doesn’t give us specific details about this story, it’s evident that at some point after the resurrection, James became a convert and disciple of Jesus. I would imagine that after experiencing the trauma of having a brother crucified and buried, you’d start to listen to what He has to say after His lungs are filled with life again.

James became a leader of the church in Jerusalem (Acts 15:13–29; Galatians 1:18–19). He wrote the book of James—and in it, he says, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger” (James 1:19). More than any other New Testament book, the teachings that fill these pages mirror the teachings of Jesus and His signature Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7). And it makes sense that Jesus would have influenced James’s communication and storytelling techniques. They were brothers, after all.

Before Jesus’s death, James didn’t understand Jesus and His ministry. But after bearing witness to His sacrificial death and resurrection, he was changed forever.

Written by Bailey Gillespie

“A woman named Martha welcomed him into her home,” goes the story in the Gospel of Luke. “She had a sister named Mary, who also sat at the Lord’s feet and was listening to what he said” (Luke 10:38–39). Immediately, I picture both my stepmother-in-law and my good friend whose ways of relating to others couldn’t be more different. One won’t sit down long enough to have a conversation, and the other is perfectly comfortable spending hours on the couch engrossed in story-telling. 

Yet the lesson Jesus has for us here transcends gender and even personality stereotypes. Instead, it focuses on the gift of presence. He wants to know and spend time with each of us individually and intimately and wants us to know Him too. He yearns for hearts that aren’t so distracted by things that easily draw our attention away from Him. 

Martha’s tasks weren’t unimportant, of course. It was her “worried and upset” spirit the Lord wanted to free her from (v.41). We see this anxiety rise again when Martha asks Jesus about her brother, claiming that if He had been there, Lazarus wouldn’t have died (John 11:21). It sounds harsh, yet her statement also illustrates her faith. And Jesus knew this—He always sees clearly through the shadow of our fears, insecurities, and disappointments to what our hearts truly need. As usual, His response came from a non-anxious presence. Before the miracle of her brother’s resurrection, Jesus turned Martha’s gaze to Him and toward trust in His power. I can’t imagine it was an easy thing to do at that moment, but the intimacy in their relationship showed her how worthy of trust Jesus is.

I think it’s normal for us to project ourselves into the story of Mary and Martha, wondering what we would do if he stopped by our home. But maybe there’s an even better question—instead of asking “Am I like Martha or Mary?” perhaps Jesus is inviting us to ask “How can I trust in God today?” No matter what, His non-anxious presence inspires us to be still and truly see His love all around us.

In the story of Elijah, we feel the prophet’s exasperation when he called Israel out on their lack of commitment. “How long will you waver between two opinions?”, he challenged the Israelites on Mount Carmel. “‘If the LORD is God, follow him. But if Baal, follow him.’ But the people didn’t answer him a word” (1Kings 18:21). On his own, Elijah’s reprimand seems like no match for a deceived nation and 850 false prophets (v.19). But his loyalty to Yahweh was. It took Elijah’s obedience to his calling and an irrefutable sign of God’s power to reawaken the Israelites. 

I’m sure Elijah was trembling in his boots. But his unwavering commitment is admirable. Author Frederick Buechner calls this “whistling in the dark.” It’s the choice to live from a place of faith and trust even when your circumstances give you every reason to doubt the safety of your own life. Despite the widespread betrayal, Elijah spoke from an inner confidence which we see in verse 15 when he said, “As the LORD of Armies lives, in whose presence I stand, today I will present myself to Ahab.” 

In whose presence I stand. 

I can only hope to live in such a way during hard times, remaining rooted in Jesus. It’s not easy. But we have a whole spiritual family of men and women who shook in their boots yet followed the Lord—or returned to Him after walking away. When circumstances seem to indicate the absence of divine involvement (think deferred hopes, tragedy, or any prolonged time of confusion), our trust has a way of eroding. Thank God for His faithfulness and for elevating voices like Elijah’s who remind us of the way back home. 

Changing our minds about where to eat for dinner isn’t quite the same as switching loyalties from Yahweh to Baal. Nevertheless, may we be single-hearted, single-minded, and fiercely committed to the God who holds all things together and will never leave us. The next time we feel afraid or confused, let’s remember that we stand in the presence of the Lord of Armies. I pray that as we journey with God, our lived experience with His love assures us down to our bones that He is trustworthy and worth following, come what may. 

Along the river, you can spot towers of smooth stones called cairns balanced one or two feet high. Although these are now little more than artistic contributions from local river folk, in ancient times, cairns served as burial monuments or ceremonial landmarks. They marked something worth remembering.

Throughout Scripture, stones symbolize many different things. After Jacob’s dream, where God promised to watch over and provide for him, he was caught off guard and used the stone lying at his head to memorialize the moment: “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it” (Genesis 28:16). Suddenly, that place was known as Bethel, the house of God, because the Lord had made His presence known there (v.19).

I love that Jacob was surprised by encountering God. Don’t we always forget how close He is? Embedded in us is the classic tension between head and heart: we know God is with us, though sometimes it may not feel like He is. I can’t tell you often I’ve been surprised to find Him, just when I’d feared that His silence indicated His absence.

This stone was an important step in Jacob’s journey. Because of what the Lord revealed to him in a dream, he was able to carry forward the promise of returning to his “native land” with confidence (Genesis 31:13). But I admit, I’m a little confused by the plot twist.

Before Jacob made it home, he met and wrestled with God. Why was this the method for receiving God’s blessing? Why couldn’t Jacob have his homecoming without a disjointed hip? Despite the paradox of blessing brought from misfortune, Jacob was so moved by encountering God’s presence that he, once again, named the place to memorialize it.

Whether it’s owning a home or publishing a book or witnessing a reconciliation, my heart desires things that aren’t guaranteed. What God does promise is abundant life: new ways of thinking, of living, of being. We are no longer slaves to death. We don’t have to wait for God to inhabit a place now that His Spirit lives in us.

As we watch for the Lord together, let’s name the moment we see Him. Let’s raise a stone in remembrance. Let’s live from a place of blessing and abundance rather than scarcity because our birthrights are no longer dependent upon our earthly lineage. Instead, we hold the heavenly birthright Christ gives us, “an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading” (1Peter 1:4).