Our Daily Bread Devotional

Joy was concerned for her relative Sandy who for years had struggled with alcoholism and mental-health issues. So Joy went to Sandy’s apartment, but with doors locked it appeared vacant. As she and others planned their search for Sandy, Joy offered up a simple prayer: “God, help me to see what I’m not seeing.” As they were leaving, Joy looked back at Sandy’s apartment and saw the tiniest movement of a curtain. In that moment, she knew that Sandy was alive. Although it took emergency assistance to reach Sandy, Joy rejoiced in this answered prayer.

The prophet Elisha knew the power of asking God to reveal to him His reality. When the Syrian army surrounded their city, Elisha’s servant shivered in fear. Not the man of God, however, for with God’s help he glimpsed the unseen. Elisha prayed that the servant too would see, and “the Lord opened the servant’s eyes” to see “the hills full of horses and chariots of fire” (2 Kings 6:17).

God lifted the veil between the spiritual and physical worlds for Elisha and his servant. Joy believes God helped her see the tiny flicker of the curtain, giving her hope. We too can ask Him to open our eyes to His reality, that we’d be given the spiritual vision to understand what’s happening around us, whether with our loved ones or in our communities. And we too can be agents of His love, truth, and compassion.

Decades ago, I went to a college retreat where everyone was talking about a personality test. “I’m an ISTJ!” one said. “I’m an ENFP,” another chirped. I was mystified. “I’m an ABCXYZ,” I joked.  

Since then, I’ve learned a lot about that test (the Myers-Briggs) and others such as the DiSC. I find them fascinating, because they can help us understand ourselves and others in helpful, revealing ways—shedding light on our preferences, strengths, and weaknesses. Provided we don’t overuse them, they can be a useful tool God uses to help us grow.

Scripture doesn’t offer us personality tests. But it does affirm each person’s uniqueness in God’s eyes (see Psalm 139:14-16; Jeremiah 1:5), and it shows us how God equips all of us with a unique personality and unique gifts to serve others in His kingdom. In Romans 12:6, Paul unpacks this idea, writing, “We have different gifts, according to the grace given each of us.”

Those gifts, Paul explains, are not for us alone, but for the purpose of serving God’s people, Christ’s body (v. 5). They’re an expression of His grace and goodness, working in and through all of us. They invite each of us to be a unique vessel in God’s service.

During our wedding ceremony, our minister said to me, “Do you promise to love, honor, and obey your husband, until death do you part?” Glancing at my fiancé, I whispered, “Obey?” We’d built our relationship on love and respect—not blind obedience, as the vows seemed to suggest. My husband’s father captured on film the wide-eyed moment I processed the word obey and said, “I do.”

Over the years, God has shown me that my resistance to the word obey had nothing to do with the incredibly complex relationship between a husband and wife. I’d understood obey to mean “subjugated” or “forced submission,” which Scripture doesn’t support. Rather, the word obey in the Bible expresses the many ways we can love God. As my husband and I celebrate thirty years of marriage, through the power of the Holy Spirit we’re still learning to love Jesus and each other.

When Jesus said, “If you love me, obey my commandments” (John 14:15 nlt), He showed us that obedience to His Word would be the result of an ongoing loving and intimate relationship with Him (vv. 16-21).

Jesus’ love is selfless, unconditional, and never forceful or abusive. As we follow and honor Him in all our relationships, the Holy Spirit can help us see obedience to His Word as a wise and loving act of trust and worship.

Leaving home one morning, Dean found some friends waiting with balloons. His friend Josh stepped forward. “We entered your poems in a competition,” he said, before handing Dean an envelope. Inside was a card that read ‘First Prize,’ and soon everyone was crying tears of joy. Dean’s friends had done a beautiful thing, confirming his writing talent.

Weeping for joy is a paradoxical experience. Tears are normally a response to pain, not joy; and joy is normally expressed with laughter, not tears. Italian psychologists have noted that tears of joy come at times of deep personal meaning—like when we feel deeply loved or achieve a major goal. This led them to conclude that tears of joy are pointers to the meaning of our lives.

I imagine tears of joy erupting everywhere Jesus went. How could the parents of the man born blind not weep for joy when Jesus healed him (John 9:1-9), or Mary and Martha after He raised their brother from death (11:38-43)? When God’s people are brought into a restored world, “Tears of joy will stream down their faces,” God says, “and I will lead them home with great care” (Jeremiah 31:9 nlt).

If tears of joy show us the meaning of our lives, imagine that great day to come. As tears stream down our faces, we’ll know without doubt that the meaning of life has always been to live intimately with Him.

A routine wellness check for little Calvin revealed a few unexpected spots on his body. During the visit, he was given some shots, and the injection spot was covered with a bandage. At home, when the time came to remove the small adhesive covering, Calvin whimpered with four-year-old fear. Seeking to console his son, his father said, “Calvin, you know I’d never do anything to hurt you.” His father wanted his son to trust him more than fearing the removal of the bandage.

Four-year-olds aren’t the only ones who grow faint in the face of discomfort. Surgeries, separation from loved ones, mental or psychological challenges—and more—prompt our fears, sighs, cries, and groans.

One of David’s fear-filled moments was when he found himself in Philistine territory while fleeing a jealous King Saul. When he was recognized, he was anxious about what might happen to him (see 1 Samuel 21:10-11): “David . . . was very much afraid of Achish king of Gath” (v. 12). Reflecting on this uncomfortable situation, David wrote, “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. . . . In God I trust and am not afraid” (Psalm 56:3-4).

What shall we do when life’s discomforts stir up our fears? We can gaze into the face of our heavenly Father, who’s always there to help us.

“Prayers for an upcoming brain scan.” “That my kids would come back to church.” “Comfort for Dave, who lost his wife.” Our card ministry team receives a weekly list of prayer requests like these so we can pray and send each person a handwritten note. The requests are overwhelming, and our efforts can feel small and unnoticed. That changed after I received a heartfelt thank-you card from the recently bereaved husband, with a copy of his beloved wife’s obituary. I realized anew that prayer matters.

Jesus modeled that we should pray earnestly, often, and with hopeful faith. His time on earth was limited, but He prioritized getting away by Himself to pray (Mark 1:35; 6:46; 14:32).

Hundreds of year earlier, the Israelite king Hezekiah learned this lesson too. He was told that an illness would soon take his life (2 Kings 20:1). In distress and weeping bitterly, Hezekiah “turned his face to the wall and prayed to the Lord” (vv. 2-3). In this instance, God’s response was immediate. He healed Hezekiah’s sickness, added fifteen years to his life, and promised to rescue the kingdom from an adversary (vv. 5-6). God answered his prayer not because Hezekiah was living a good life, but “for [His] own honor and the sake of [His] servant David” (v. 6 nlt). We may not always receive what we ask for, but we can be sure that God is working in and through every prayer.

The “monster” in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is one of the most widely known literary characters, captivating our cultural imagination. But close readers of the beloved novel know that a strong case can be made that Shelley actually portrays Victor Frankenstein, the delusional scientist who created the creature, as the real monster. After creating an intelligent creature, Victor denies him any guidance, companionship, or hope of happiness—seemingly guaranteeing the creature’s descent into desperation and rage. Confronting Victor, the creature laments, “You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph.”

Scripture reveals how different the true Creator of all things is—with unchanging, tireless love for His creation. God didn’t create on a whim, but out of love created a beautiful, good world (Genesis 1:31). And even when humanity turned from Him to choose monstrous evil instead, God’s commitment to and love for humanity didn’t change.

As Jesus explained to Nicodemus, God’s love for His creation was so great He was willing to give even what was most dear to Him—“his one and only Son” (John 3:16)—that the world might be saved. Jesus sacrificed Himself, bearing the consequences of our sin, so “that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him” (v. 15).

We have a Creator we can trust with our hearts and lives.