Over and over in the Scriptures He compels, and at times commands, His people to record His righteous deeds…His miraculous works…His persistent kindness. The whole Bible, in fact, is an encyclopedia set of His love.

This can’t be based on ego. God doesn’t need human praise to prop Himself up. Nor can it be bravado. Who could the keeper of the stars possibly be trying to impress? The records aren’t for Him. They’re for us.

For though we’ve never breathed a single breath He didn’t give us, never lived a single day He did not grant us, though we’ve never known another love like His love and never experienced grace more costly than the kind Jesus died to offer, we forget. Over and over, we forget.

We forget that everything was made by Him and for Him (Colossians 1:16), even us and all who we hold dear.
We forget that He has loved us since before He poured the foundation of the earth (Ephesians 1:4), so it cannot be based on how we perform (or don’t perform).
We forget that all of creation is telling the story of His power and love (Romans 1:20).
We forget that the earth is His footstool (Isaiah 66:1) and the nations are under His control (Psalm 22:28).
We forget that His love is the forever kind (Jeremiah 31:3) and that nothing and nobody can snatch us from His hands (John 10:28).
We forget that grace compelled Him to go to the cross where Jesus willingly laid down His life for sinners (Romans 5:8).

Our forgetting takes us down all manner of unnecessary rabbit holes: We fret, we fear, we fall short. The Lord knew we would, so He’s given us the records of His love. In Psalm 107, the psalmist recorded a history of humankind; there was wandering and darkness, struggles, and storms. Alongside these, the writer recounts the deeds of the Lord.

“He led them by the right path” (Psalm 107:7).
“He has satisfied the thirsty and filled the hungry with good things” (v.9).
“He saved them from their distress” (v.19).
“He stilled the storm to a whisper” (v.29).

Spiritual amnesia is a byproduct of the fall. But the Lord is gracious with our short-circuits. This is one of the great gifts of the psalms. They are an invitation to remember who God is and to let that remembering reform us into worshipers again and again.

This is why the psalmist wrote, “Let whoever is wise pay attention to these things and consider the LORD’s acts of faithful love” (v.43).

God doesn’t have to work to remember anything. He knows who He is and what He’s done. He knows just how unlike Him we are in this way. He’s left a paper trail for us to guide the way back to Him.

Take a page from this psalmist’s playbook. Pay attention to all the Lord has done. Consider His acts of faithful love, including the words He inspired in Scripture so that you can remember what kind of God you serve.

First, there is darkness, accompanied by silent stillness. The world sleeps to the hum of a quiet lullaby. But as light begins to break through, first in pin holes, then in streaks, there is sound. Creation is an orchestra comprised of a thousand instruments. Our Creator is our conductor, daily raising His baton to call us to rejoice.

Rejoice in who He is…
In what He’s done…
In all He’s promised…

Insects greet the morning with stringed instruments strapped to tiny hind legs. Birds make up the woodwinds. They gather on branches and electric lines; their tiny bird hearts burst with praise. Dogs bark. Cattle moo. Babies call for their mamas.

This is not idle noise. It’s the beautiful sounds of the ones God made waking up to the things He made us for. Simply put, we were meant for rejoicing.

This is one of the many drumbeats that thump beautifully throughout the psalms. Among other things, these inspired words are meant to call us to worship the Lord, to stir our affections toward Him, and to strike our vocal chords to sing songs of His great love.

Psalm 33 begins like a sunrise…

Rejoice in the LORD, you righteous ones.
—Psalm 33:1

God’s people are called to worship so often in Psalms (not to mention in the whole of Scripture) that this sentiment might seem unremarkable at first glance, but the psalmist’s point is the point of our lives. Righteousness redirects our rejoicing. Both the righteous and unrighteous will spend our days in worship, but who will we celebrate? Who will we sing to? Who or what will lift our eyes off our navels and onto someone greater? There are nearly endless options but only One deserving.

Praise is a right response to a righteous God. The call of this psalm, of every psalm—the call of this season, of every season—is for our hearts to rejoice in the righteous One, who right this very moment is setting everything that is wrong back to right.

After spending countless penstrokes calling God’s people to praise the Lord in any way possible—with the lyre (v.2), on the strings (v.3), with a joyful shout (v.3)—the psalmist again reminds us: This is what we were made for. The Lord is worthy of our worship every sunrise, sunset, and moment in between.

“For our hearts rejoice in him because we trust in his holy name” (v.21). You can repeat the daily rhythm of creation any time, any place.

Sit in stillness for a moment. Turn down the volume of your life. Let your heart go quiet within you. Then, think about the Lord. His name. His face. His grace! Like the sun rising slowly on the horizon, let His praise bubble up inside your soul. Then let it rise, higher still, brighter still, louder still.

Today and tomorrow and every day until glory, do what you were made to do.

Rejoice in the Lord, you righteous ones…For our hearts rejoice in him because we trust his holy name.
—Psalm 33:1, 21

In celebration of my pending nuptials he joined my groom-to-be and all of the groomsmen on a wedding-day deep-sea-fishing excursion. That’s how we learned that the deep sea is no place for my dad. He became so seasick that his skin looked green, even hours after the boat returned to the dock.

When I read about Paul’s sailing “adventures” in Acts 27–28, my dad’s seasick face comes to mind. As one often does when recounting something harrowing, the writer of these verses spares no detail. His descriptive words paint a picture of a trip gone terribly wrong: Dangerous. Disaster. Unsuitable. Fierce. Severely battered. Raging.

What my dad endured was nothing like what Paul and his companions went through. Yet we can all picture ourselves in the eye of a terrible storm. No, I’ve never been stuck at sea. I’ve never clung to a physical mast while winds and waves blocked the stars from my view, but I know how it feels to be storm tossed, to be pummeled by the tempests of life and wonder if I would survive. I think of the storm of my parent’s divorce. The storm of hearing that my child might not make it. The storm of painful church conflict. The storm of a severed friendship. The storm of cultural upheaval. The storm of my mother’s illness.

Because the storms keep raging, we all know how it feels when “all hope [is] fading that we [can] be saved” (Acts 27:20). As I consider the storm-tossed life, the story of Paul’s shipwreck tosses me a life raft of hope. Consider your own rough seas as you reflect on the passage below.

But the centurion kept them from carrying out their plan because he wanted to save Paul, and so he ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and get to land. The rest were to follow, some on planks and some on debris from the ship. In this way, everyone safely reached the shore. 
—Acts 27:43–44

Though the going is rarely easy, the Lord who commands the seas and the storms is always with us. Though we may be battered and bruised by our brokenness, still we can cling to hope in Christ. In every storm He is our anchor, and the storm-tossed life will not end with our ultimate demise. Today we can keep paddling homeward even if we’re only clinging to the planks of our hope. Because Christ has promised that one day we will safely reach heaven’s shore.

Trade places with Paul in your mind. Could you look powerful accusers in the eye, knowing they could have you executed with a wave of their hand? Could you stand the heat of their accusations without melting? Personal experience has taught me that my insides would more likely turn to jelly. My hands would shake. Words would fail me. On my own, I don’t have what it takes to endure this kind of pressure. Which makes me wonder: What truth kept Paul’s knees from knocking? What was the rod of steel that ran up his back really made from? More than moxie was required in that moment. His was a response to meeting the Messiah. Paul was doing more than making his mark on the pages of history as he stood before the court; he was showcasing the gospel.

Hebrews 10 describes another kind of courtroom. Let’s imagine ourselves there. It’s not Sadducees and Pharisees who sit behind this bench but God Himself. Humanly speaking, we can expect the gavel to drop because we are guilty. Each of us has violated the holiness of God. We deserve to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Still, we can enter this courtroom just like Paul entered his, with confidence. Though the high priest in Paul’s case wished him struck, Jesus, our High Priest, took the blows upon Himself.

There are times when I fear that the weight of my own sin might tear me apart, moments when I am suddenly and painfully aware that I don’t deserve to be in the presence of a holy God. You have those moments too: when a sin you thought you were free of suddenly ensnares you again, when you catch the idol factory of your heart churning out something or someone new to worship, when you’ve tried and failed to live like Scripture calls you to live. When those moments come, we share in Paul’s defense. “It is with respect to the hope of the resurrection of the dead that I am on trial” (v.6 ESV). It’s not that the gavel will not fall but that it has already fallen on Jesus at Calvary. What the Lord spoke to Paul in his hour of need He speaks to us in ours. “Take courage” (v.11 ESV). Heads high. Palms steady. Pulses slow. Because of our High Priest, Jesus, “let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith” (Hebrews 10:22).

I nod my head in understanding…

Hard work gets rewarded.
Pedigree propels us forward.
Elbow grease and effort come with ribbons and cheering crowds.

Since we were big enough to earn a gold star, this is what we’ve been taught. It’s why, in part, God’s gift of grace can feel so slippery inside our hearts. A system where salvation is earned through sacrifice and good choices makes sense to our task-minded brains. The idea that heaven is a club with membership requirements seems reasonable, especially since our sinful hearts can convince us that we have the spiritual résumé to be charter members.

But the right-side-up-way of Jesus is that no one deserves to be reconciled to God; still all are welcome who put their faith in Christ (Romans 3:23–24). This is the miracle that God has baked into human history and told in His Word since the days of Abraham.

Sure, there was a chosen people. God hand selected a tiny nation to live set apart for Him, but the point of their existence wasn’t to highlight their specialness. It was to display that the gospel is for the rest of us too—those who have neither the spiritual pedigree nor the perfect record required to live in unbroken fellowship with the God of the universe.

This “good news” must have been disorienting to Peter. When the Spirit gave Peter a vision of animals he’d always been forbidden to consume and commanded him, “Get up, Peter; kill and eat” (Acts 10:13), Peter responded with (self)righteous indignation. “‘No, Lord!’ Peter said. ‘For I have never eaten anything impure and ritually unclean’” (v.14).

But through the revelation of the Holy Spirit, it didn’t take Peter long to understand this wasn’t about food, animals, or keeping the rules. We hear this truth move the eighteen inches from Peter’s head to his heart, in the sermon he preached to a room full of Gentiles.

Now I truly understand that God doesn’t show favoritism, but in every nation the person who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.
—Acts 10:34-35

Through his obedience to the Spirit, Peter pulled the pin on a grenade that exploded grace on the whole world, not a select few. All of us who are in Christ, in every era and pocket of the world, remain in the blast zone today. May we never get over the awe of it. May we respond like the Jews in the room did the day Peter preached his first sermon to a room full of “others” who weren’t chosen people but still chosen.

The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were amazed because the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles.
—Acts 10:45

Jesus, thank you that we are all trophies of your grace.

In the context of time, we think short means insignificant, a gap between more important things…

“I’m going to take a short walk.”
“Do you have time for a short phone call?”
“Let’s take a short break.”

But the Lord must have a different kind of short in mind. That is, after all, how His Word describes the season we all find ourselves in.

Even though for now for a short time, if necessary, you suffer grief in various trials.
—1 Peter 1:6 (emphasis mine)

No one would describe their season of suffering, no matter how long it takes, as short. That’s true of the little “w” waits we endure as we navigate illness, heartache, and need. It’s especially true of the big “W” wait we’re all enduring as we long for Jesus to come back and establish His kingdom of righteousness and love. It’s been two millennia since His ascension! The wait feels anything but short.

The weeks after Christmas can feel like a parable of this reality.

We’ve seen His glory. We’ve tasted His goodness. We’ve felt the warmth that only comes when many in the world are united around worshiping Him. The contrast is too stark. The darkness is less tolerable now. The wait until Christmas comes again feels impossibly long. Our souls groan, “Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus.” We’ve seen too great a light to trudge through the darkness for another year.

Ah, but we are one Christmas closer to seeing our Savior face-to-face. Whether He grants you eight Christmases or eighty, each one is moving you toward the moment when you will leave this world behind and enter the place He’s been preparing for you.

However long He asks us to hold on, it will feel short compared to an eternity with Him. Through His Word, He has given us the recipe for waiting well.

Therefore, with your minds ready for action, be sober-minded and set your hope completely on the grace to be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
—1 Peter 1:13

Think about Jesus.
Dwell on Jesus.
Talk about Jesus.
Sing to Jesus.
Obsess over Jesus.

Pass the time, however long it may be, between this moment and the moment you see Him face-to-face considering the One who has promised to make all things new.

Oh Lord, we long to be with you. As the darkness of January stretches out before us, we are tempted to grow faint, but we know the Light is coming. Light of the World, you are coming back. Superglue our eyes to you as we wait for your glorious return. Amen.

But bent is not the only posture the Savior’s momma knew how to carry herself with. It’s also safe to picture her with her feet planted, her back straight, and her arms outstretched, boldly declaring the goodness of God.

It’s true she scuttled over to her cousin Elizabeth’s house—perhaps to withdraw from the limelight that must have accompanied her claims of an immaculate conception—but once there she found her voice. She used it to sing boldly of the God who had gifted her with the gift of His Son.

Strip away the gauzy sweetness with which you’ve trained your mind to picture the scene. Leave room for the possibility that the news of the Messiah was met with boisterous worship.

In those days Mary set out and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judah where she entered Zechariah’s house and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped inside her, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.
—Luke 1:39–42

Elizabeth’s baby gives us a clue about how we are made to respond to our Savior. He didn’t simply kick a little foot or jam a tiny elbow into his loving mother’s rib. He leapt! Can babies leap? This one did.

What did Elizabeth do? She exclaimed…loudly.

Then she exclaimed with a loud cry.
—Luke 1:42

Jesus is not news to be received with nodding heads and polite smiles. His presence draws us to our feet. Our very cells are ready to stand at attention and burst into praise.

And praise Mary did.

This young, ordinary girl who had just received the most extraordinary news burst into song. Those who have only ever pictured Mary as quiet and unassuming have surely never read the Magnificat (Mary’s Song from Luke 1:46–55). Mary’s words are bold. We have every reason to believe that she delivered them boldly. And she didn’t toot her own horn. She didn’t ball up her first and rail against her oppressive government or her wayward culture. She sang loudly and spoke boldly of Jesus. Isn’t that refreshing?

My soul magnifies the Lord,
And my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.
—Luke 1:46–47

Picture her lungs expanding and then pushing these words out with deep conviction and awe. Imagine her saying this loudly, not hiding the miracle that God had promised but shouting it from the rooftops. Imagine her singing it out like a show choir.

What turns old women into exclaimers and young moms into proclaimers? Jesus!

Don’t let anyone tell you this is only the season of silent nights. It is a time for raucous celebration. Let’s get rowdy! Our King has come! He is coming again! Dance. Sing. Tell it on the mountains. Mary’s song is our song. Now and forevermore.

The Bible is many things, one among them the unbelievably beautiful story of God’s lopsided covenant with the people He’s made. The Old Testament showcases this covenant through the nation of Israel.

They were small. God made them big promises.
They were chronically unfaithful. He remained faithful.
They were prone to wander. The Lord surrounded them with His presence.
They were whiny. He remained wonderful.

Hear His resolve.

“Instead, this is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel after those days”—the LORD’s declaration. “I will put my teaching within them and write it on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people.” 
—Jeremiah 31:33, emphasis mine

God’s goal has never been ownership but relationship. For reasons that rightly boggle our finite brains, He knew Israel would fall dreadfully short. He called them His own anyway.

Though Israel was set apart and unique among the peoples of the earth, this radical covenant isn’t contained to the pages of the prophets. Jesus ushered in a better covenant, built on God’s old pattern of lavish love and grace. As the writer of Hebrews reminds us, “But Jesus has now obtained a superior ministry, and to that degree he is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been established on better promises” (Hebrews 8:6).

The new covenant isn’t better because the old covenant was broken. God kept His promise then. He will keep His promise now. But Jesus made a way for lopsided grace to extend to all who call on His name. There has never been better news! We are the partakers of a new and forever covenant. The only signature on the contract is Jesus’s, signed in His blood.

We are small and relatively insignificant. Yet Christ died for us that we might receive the humungous gift of forgiveness.
We are unfaithful. Yet He will never turn His back.
We are prone to wander. So He leaves the ninety-nine.
We are whiny. He is our Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace, and Mighty God.

God promises. We receive. God pours out His grace, and we bathe in it.

Don’t let your heart default to any other way of thinking this Advent season. Don’t try to drum up His favor. It’s yours already. Don’t make yourself weary trying to hold up your end of the bargain. You don’t serve a bargain-striking God. God’s grace is a gift, unwrapped and waiting for you to enjoy. You don’t have to earn it. You get to enjoy it. The truest wonder of this wondrous season is Jesus. Thank Him today for His lopsided grace.

Here in Revelation 15–16, we see a picture of the wrath of God poured out. It’s a terrifying image, bowls filled to the brim with the righteous judgment of God. As squeamish as God’s wrath may make us, deep down, we know He is justified. We look around at mankind and inwardly at our own wicked hearts and must repeat the cry of heaven:

“They deserve it!”…
“Yes, Lord God, the Almighty, true and just are your judgments.”
—Revelation 16:6–7

Notice that in these passages, no one is arguing with God’s justice. No scales are needed to weigh and consider the justice of God. Over and over we read that these grisly judgments are in line with a fair and true God. This is justice in its purest form. And yet it’s possible, even when His justice is deserved and devastating, to choose insurrection over His goodness and mercy. Though the judgments certainly take center stage here, there is still an undercurrent of the people’s rebellion within these passages:

They “blasphemed the name of God…and they did not repent and give him glory” (v.9).

They “blasphemed the God of heaven…they did not repent of their works” (v.11).

They “blasphemed God” (v.21).

Consider those pummeled by the final bowl of wrath. Though buried under hailstones weighing a hundred pounds, they still shook rebel fists at God. If we are honest with our own hearts, we see that our own rebellious streak runs just as deep. Our own eye for justice is just as distorted.

But God, in His infinite mercy has unclenched our rebel fists. We are shielded from God’s ultimate judgment and are now “hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3). Instead of continuing in rebellion, God’s grace has taught us to respond like Israel when the nation witnessed God’s wrath on Pharaoh and His men.

Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the LORD. They said:

I will sing to the LORD,
for he is highly exalted;
he has thrown the horse
and its rider into the sea….
LORD, who is like you among the gods?
Who is like you, glorious in holiness,
revered with praises, performing wonders?
—Exodus 15:1,11

God’s righteous wrath isn’t all penned up for the day of judgment. Even now He judges the wicked. Even now He has the right to rule our hearts and lives. When face to face with His judgment we only have two options. Because He is so worthy, may we choose to worship the God who is just.

Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Scarecrow stood quivering before The Great and Powerful Oz. Smoke filled their nostrils. Sound waves wreaked havoc on their eardrums. A giant, green disembodied head communicated his displeasure while their hearts raced and knees buckled.

And then…Toto pulled back the curtain.

The terrifying wizard was just an illusion. He had no more power to inflict harm than the old man pulling the levers.

Revelation 13 paints a perturbing picture. An otherworldly beast rises from the deep accompanied by a power-hungry dragon. Together they command the worship of the world. Death and destruction are their national anthem.

And it was permitted to wage war against the saints and to conquer them. It was also given authority over every tribe, people, language, and nation. 
—Revelation 13:7

This isn’t a Hollywood screenplay. We can’t disassociate from the realities of these demonic powers as we watch them unfold from our couch with a bowl of popcorn on our lap. Perhaps your heart wants to race and your knees want to buckle at the thought of it. But when fear of the forces of darkness begins to grip you, let Scripture pull back the curtain.

Look at those verses again. Ask yourself: who’s really in control?

The beast was given a mouth to utter boasts and blasphemies (v.5).

It was allowed to exercise authority (v.5).

It was permitted to wage war (v.7).

It was also given authority over every tribe, people, language, and nation (v.7).

Every ounce of authority the beast possesses was granted to him by our holy God. And that which the Lord giveth, He will most certainly take away.

The powers of darkness are never outside the authority of the Light of the World. God never surrenders His sovereignty—not for a nanosecond. In the end, the beast’s power will be exposed for what it truly is, a temporary and limited illusion. There will be real death and devastating destruction. Even now the “the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion, looking for anyone he can devour” (1Peter 5:8), but soon enough, the King of kings and Lord of lords will place the beast and the dragon where they belong: underneath His feet (Romans 16:20).

Church, we’ve got our marching orders:

This calls for endurance and faithfulness from the saints.
—Revelation 13:10

How can we endure the darkness of our day? And the darkness that’s to come? With our eyeballs glued to Jesus, the One who was, and is, and is to come. The one and only sovereign.

Plant your feet. Square your jaw. Allow the Word to run a steel rod up your back. Whatever beasts may come, Jesus reigns supreme.

Keep this command without fault or failure until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ. God will bring this about in his own time. He is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings, and the Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see, to him be honor and eternal power. Amen.
—1 Timothy 6:14–16