September 9 — "Truth Unfolds to the Receptive Soul"

Today's Reading: Matthew 13:1-23 

Why do some people seem to ‘get it’ while others can’t seem to grasp the words of Jesus? Why doesn’t the Lord just reveal truth to everyone? That’s a tough one. But it’s exactly the kind of heart-level question Jesus tackles in today’s passage.

In Matthew 13:11–13, Jesus explains that spiritual truth isn’t randomly dispensed —it’s revealed to those who are ready and willing to receive it. God’s truth blazes like the noonday sun—available to all. But just like a window must be open to let the light flood in, the heart must be open to receive God’s Word. The issue isn’t God’s reluctance to reveal—it’s our readiness to welcome what He’s already shining forth.

Now, let’s be honest—it feels unfair at first glance. If God loves everyone, why not just “download” the truth into every mind like a divine software update? But here’s the twist: God isn’t playing favorites. He’s honoring the posture of our hearts.

Picture this: if someone repeatedly resists the truth, mocks it, or hardens their heart, God won’t shove His Word down their throat. Forced love isn’t love. Forced faith isn’t faith. God honors free will. So when people shut their ears, even the truth they did know starts to fade. But when someone leans in with an open heart—even with doubts, questions, and messy struggles—God joyfully pours out more light.

Today, God’s truth is more accessible than ever. The Bible is the most widely distributed book on the planet, and the Gospel echoes across continents. Yet while some receive it with joy, others scoff or scroll past. Why? Because revelation isn’t just about exposure—it’s about response. God gives deeper understanding to those who hunger for it. But for those who resist, truth becomes like sunlight against a shuttered window—always shining, never breaking through.

So no—it’s not unfair. It’s radically just and wildly loving. God won’t force Himself on anyone. But for those who truly hunger and thirst, the windows of heaven swing wide open. Instead of questioning God’s fairness, let’s examine the posture of our own hearts. Are we hungry for His truth? Are we asking Him to reveal more? Pray this daily: “Lord, keep my heart soft and open.” Lean in with humility, and God promises to illuminate His Word and His ways.

Today, may the Lord bless your seeking heart with ever-deepening revelation. May His Spirit shield you from pride, unbelief, or hardness. May your eyes stay wide open to the light of His Word. And may you walk in greater clarity, wisdom, and joy as He entrusts you with more of His kingdom truth. 

September 8 — "The Sin That Shuts the Door"

Today's Reading: Matthew 12:22-50

The “unforgivable sin” sounds terrifying at first glance. In Matthew 12, Jesus issues a sobering warning: “Blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.” Cue the internal panic—what if I’ve done it? What if I blurted something foolish or doubted God in a moment of weakness? But here’s the heart of it: Jesus isn’t out to frighten sincere seekers. He’s confronting hearts that have grown cold—those who repeatedly reject the Spirit’s testimony about Him.

Back then, blasphemy wasn’t taken lightly. For the Jewish people, it was a severe offense against God. God’s name wasn’t just a label—it represented His character, holiness, and covenant presence. To blaspheme meant to slander or dishonor God—His name, His character, His Word, His works. To curse His Name (Yahweh) was to attack the very heart of divine identity. It wasn’t just profanity—it was rebellion. This wasn’t just about reckless speech; it was a hardened attitude that despised what is sacred.

Now picture this: Jesus had just worked jaw-dropping miracles—healing the sick, restoring sight, freeing the demon-oppressed. The crowd was amazed, but the Pharisees? They doubled down, accusing Him of partnering with Satan. Calling the Spirit’s work “demonic” wasn’t a slip-up—it was a calculated, intentional rejection. So Jesus drew a bold line in the sand: every sin can be forgiven, but persistently branding God’s Spirit as evil slams the door on forgiveness itself.

Why is this sin unforgivable? Because it rejects the only path to salvation. The Spirit is the One who convicts us and points us to Christ. If someone stubbornly resists Him to the very end, they’re refusing the only cure for sin. Forgiveness is found in Christ alone, and to reject the Spirit’s witness is to turn away from the lifeline of grace.

This truth still holds today. Blasphemy against the Spirit isn’t a careless comment or a season of doubt—it’s a deliberate, settled rejection of Jesus and the Spirit’s testimony about Him. And here’s the hope: if you’re worried you’ve committed it, that very concern reveals a tender heart. The Spirit is still stirring in you!

So don’t push Him away. Keep your heart soft, welcome His conviction, and rest in the forgiveness found in Christ. The Spirit always leads us to Jesus—say “yes” every time He calls.

Today, may the Lord bless you with a heart that’s tender to His Spirit, bold to confess Christ, and overflowing with joy in His forgiveness. May His witness fill you with confidence and peace as you walk with Him. 

September 7 — "When Rules Miss the Point"

Today's Reading: Matthew 12:1-21

From the very beginning, the Bible doesn’t whisper—it shouts: human life is sacred. Genesis declares that human beings are made in God’s image. Not birds, not stars, not oceans—only people bear His likeness and were crafted for intimate fellowship with Him. That divine imprint makes every life—from unborn child to wrinkled saint—immeasurably precious.

But somewhere along the way, the Pharisees missed the point. They turned the Sabbath—a day meant as a blessing to people for the refreshment of their soul—into a rigid rulebook. They obsessed over regulations and missed the relationship. They guarded the law but forgot the love behind it. They valued habits over humanity.

So when Jesus healed on the Sabbath, they were outraged. And Jesus, with piercing clarity, responds with a reminder of God's love and care for human life, "How much more valuable is a man than a sheep!" and "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." Boom. That’s the mic drop.

Jesus wasn’t just correcting their theology—He was revealing God’s heart. The Sabbath was never designed to trap people in religious duty. It was a gift. A divine rhythm of rest, renewal, and delight designed to be a blessing.

And that’s the thread woven through all of God’s Word—from Genesis to Revelation. Everything He’s done, every command He’s given, every breath He’s sustained—it’s all been for our good, all flowing from His relentless love. Creation wasn’t a cold blueprint; it was a masterpiece painted with joy. The Law wasn’t a cage; it was a compass pointing us back to life. Redemption wasn’t a reluctant rescue; it was a passionate pursuit of our hearts.

Let’s be honest—“religion” often feels like a checklist: behave, perform, impress. Cold. Rigid. Exhausting. But the Gospel flips the script. It starts not with duty, but with delight. Not with bondage, but blessing. God’s moral commands, His rhythms of rest, His creation—they’re not traps. They’re gifts. Jesus didn’t come to pile on pressure. He came to offer relationship, forgiveness, freedom, and love.

So when the weight of trying to follow the rules starts to crush your joy, you too could be missing the point. Remember: you’re not a rule-keeping robot in God’s religious factory—you’re His beloved child, made for grace, not grind. You’re a beloved child in a world designed with your blessing in mind. The cross screams your value. The Sabbath whispers His care.

Beloved, may your eyes be opened to your worth in His eyes. May you receive creation as His gift, His Word as your anchor, and His rest as your invitation. Walk today knowing—you are infinitely treasured by your Father in heaven. 

September 6 — "The Rest You’ve Been Looking For"

Today's Reading: Matthew 11

Life piles up fast—work stress, family drama, financial strain, and the haunting weight of our own missteps. It’s like lugging a backpack stuffed with bricks up a mountain trail, each step heavier than the last. And into that exhausting climb, Jesus speaks: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28).

When Jesus first spoke these words, His audience was drowning in religious rules, crushed by the weight of Pharisaic law and Roman oppression. They were worn out, spiritually parched, and desperate for relief. Instead of offering more hoops to jump through—He offered Himself. He is the soul-rest we crave (Hebrews 4:9–10). His peace isn’t circumstantial—it’s unshakable (John 14:27).

Fast forward to today: we may not be bound by ancient laws, but we’re still burdened. The pressure to perform, succeed, and prove ourselves is relentless. Some of us drag guilt from yesterday; others clutch anxiety about tomorrow. And Jesus still says, “Lay it down. Stop carrying what only I can bear. Trade your hustle for My rest.”

Picture this: a little boy in the yard, straining to move a massive rock. He pushes, pulls, grunts, and groans—but it won’t budge. Tearfully, he tells his dad, “I’ve tried everything!” His father kneels beside him and says, “No, son—you haven’t asked me.” Then, with ease, the dad lifts the stone and carries it away.

That’s Matthew 11:28 in action. We exhaust ourselves trying to move life’s boulders alone, forgetting our Heavenly Father stands ready to lift what we cannot. So here’s the call: don’t just admire the invitation—accept it. Coming to Jesus means surrendering the load, confessing our limits, and trusting His rest is enough. It means showing up daily—in prayer, in the Word—and letting Him renew your soul.

In the paraphrased version from Eugene Peterson –“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”¹

Too many believers keep dragging burdens Jesus already offered to carry. Friend, it’s time to drop them at His feet and breathe deep in His grace.

May you come as you are today—no masks, no striving—and find rest in the One who carries what you can’t.

 

 

¹THE MESSAGE: The Bible in Contemporary Language copyright © 1993, 2002, 2018 by Eugene H. Peterson. 

September 5 — "Let Go to Hold On"

Today's Reading: Matthew 10:24-42

Picture someone dangling off the edge of a cliff—fingers cramping, arms trembling, sheer panic in their eyes. They’re convinced that if they let go, they’ll plummet to their death. But just three feet below? A sturdy ledge. Solid ground. Safety. All they have to do is release their grip.

That’s us. Clinging to control, comfort, and our carefully curated lives—terrified that surrender equals disaster. But Jesus says in Matthew 10:39, “Whoever clings to his life will lose it, but whoever gives it up for My sake will find it.” It’s one of His most upside-down truths. And it messes with our logic.

We’re wired to preserve ourselves. The world teaches us to protect, promote, and hold tight to what we’ve built. But Jesus invites us to let go—for His sake—and promises that in doing so, we’ll discover real life. Eternal life. Abundant life.

Letting go feels like losing. We grip our plans, possessions, and identities like lifelines. What if God’s plan doesn’t match my dream? What if I give something up and never get it back? What if God sends me somewhere I don’t want to go? Deep down, we fear that surrender will leave us empty.

But here’s the freeing truth: what we’re clinging to isn’t nearly as secure as we think. Health, wealth, relationships, success—they’re all fragile. Jesus offers a better trade: our temporary, breakable life for His eternal, unshakable one. And when we finally loosen our grip, we don’t fall into chaos—we fall into grace. Into the arms of the One who knows us best and loves us most.

A missionary once described how villagers caught monkeys using a hollowed-out gourd tied to a tree, filled with sweet nuts. The hole was just big enough for a monkey to slip its hand in—but once it grabbed the nuts, it couldn’t pull its fist out unless it let go. The hunters didn’t chase or harm it. They simply waited. The monkey trapped itself.

That’s us again. Hanging from cliffs. Fists clenched around dreams, fears, and illusions of control. But Jesus isn’t asking us to fall—He’s asking us to trust. To release what we cannot keep and receive what we cannot lose.

Today, may the Lord give you courage to open your hands. To let go. To fall—not into emptiness, but into the fullness of His life. Because losing your life for His sake isn’t loss at all—it’s the greatest gain you’ll ever know. 

September 4 — "Street-Smart, Pure-Heart"

Today's Reading: Matthew 10:1-23

Matthew 10:16 is one of those statements from Jesus that makes you think twice: “Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” Sheep, wolves, serpents, and doves—oh my! It’s not just poetic wildlife—it’s Jesus prepping His disciples for the real hostility they’d face while proclaiming the Gospel, and how to respond with both grit and grace.

In that culture, sheep were the definition of defenseless. No claws, no fangs, no horns, no powerful jaws, no muscular build. And wolves? They hunted in packs, ruthless, fast, powerful and relentless. So when Jesus said, “I’m sending you out as sheep among wolves,” He wasn’t sugarcoating a thing. He was saying, “You’re exposed. The world will see you as easy prey.” Translation? “They’re coming for you.” His next line? “So be wise as serpents.”

To the disciples, serpents (snakes) were viewed as sharp-eyed, danger-sensitive, cunning, and masters of timing. A serpent doesn’t rush in—it reads the room. It knows when to slither and when to stay still. Jesus wasn’t calling us to be deceitful or sneaky—He was saying, “Use your brain! Be spiritually street-smart.” And then He adds the counterpunch: “Innocent as doves.” Doves don’t plot. They don’t lash out. They’re pure, peaceful, and non-aggressive.

So here’s the divine tension: be shrewd without being sinful, and holy without being naïve. Be street-smart with a pure-heart. In today’s world, that means we don’t cave to fear, but we also don’t stumble around clueless. We engage culture with wisdom—knowing when to speak, when to listen, when to stand firm, and when to step back. And our motives? Always pure. No manipulation. No bitterness. Just love, seasoned with discernment. Jesus calls us to be serpent-smart—strategic and observant, sidestepping traps without ever striking with venom.

Take a workplace moment: a colleague scoffs, “I don’t get why anyone still believes the Bible—it’s outdated.” You feel the tension. Instead of launching into a defense, you pause. You ask, “What makes you feel that way?” That’s serpent wisdom—reading the room, opening a door. Then you respond with dove-like innocence: “I’ve found the Bible speaks to things I wrestle with today—identity, purpose, hope.” No agenda. Just honest, humble witness. That’s the strategy—truth with tenderness.

Maybe you’re staring down a tough conversation at work, or feeling the strain of faith-based tension in your family. Be the dove—gentle, kind, unoffensive. But also be the serpent—alert, aware, and spiritually awake to the battle around you. Jesus isn’t sending us into the fray empty-handed. He’s handing us divine game plan.

So step out today—soft-hearted, sharp-minded. Full of grace, full of truth. The world needs Christ followers who walk wisely, never losing their innocence. 

September 3 — "A Shepherd’s Beating Heart"

Today's Reading: Matthew 9:18-38

Jesus never looked at a crowd the way we do. We often see traffic, statistics, problems, interruptions, annoyances. He saw sheep—harassed, helpless, wandering. Matthew 9:36 says, “He had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.”

That’s the heart of a true Shepherd. Not just one who sees the crowd, but one who feels their ache, notices their need, and moves toward them with love. Being a Shepherd isn’t about wielding a staff—it’s about laying down your life. It’s fierce, tender, and wildly generous.

Jesus embodied this perfectly. He didn’t glance past the crowd or delegate their pain. He stepped in. His heart was protective, patient, and extravagantly kind. He didn’t just see their brokenness—He felt it. And then He acted.

So what does that look like in us? As we grow in Christ, His Shepherd heart should begin to beat inside us. It may be a faint pulse at first, but as we grow we start noticing the hurting, the harassed, the helpless. And we don’t just notice—we feel the tug of God’s compassion and the call to guide, protect, and love until they find their way home.

But if you don’t feel that ache—if you can walk past the broken and feel nothing—then something’s wrong. Not just “missing.” Wrong. Because if Christ lives in you, His compassion should be leaking out of you. If your heart doesn’t break for the lost, it’s time to ask: Whose heart is beating in your chest?

The Gospel doesn’t call us to a life of comfort. It calls us to carry—to carry their burdens, to carry the weight of their pain. If you’re not moved by the harassed and helpless, maybe you’ve forgotten what it felt like to be one of them. Maybe you’ve grown numb. Maybe you’ve grown proud. Either way, it’s time to repent.

If you already carry a Shepherd’s heart—bless the Lord for it! Tend it well. Keep it soft by staying close to Jesus, the Chief Shepherd. Feed it with His Word. Guard it from bitterness and burnout. And when you see someone straying—go gently, go boldly, go lovingly.

If you don’t sense this Shepherd heart pulsing inside of you—ask for it. “You have not because you ask not.” (James 4:2)  Seek the Lord for it. Wait upon His Spirit until that heart starts beating. Then, start to serve others. Go where it’s hard. Serve where it’s inconvenient. Love when it’s uncomfortable. Compassion grows when you use it.

From the heart of the Good Shepherd to yours—may He give you eyes that see, a heart that aches, and hands that heal.