November 3 — "Never Be Thirsty Again"

Today's Reading: John 4:1-26

There’s a kind of thirst that no triple-filtered, glacier-fed spring water can touch. It’s the thirst of the soul—an ache so deep, so persistent, that nothing in this world can quite reach it. Jesus met a woman at a well who knew that ache all too well. In John 4, He told her, “Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again.” In one breathtaking sentence, He transformed a routine water break into a divine revelation about eternal life and soul-deep satisfaction.

Under the blazing Samarian sun, this woman came for water—but walked away with far more. She met the Savior. Jesus was saying, “Sure, the world offers sips of satisfaction—but I’m offering a well that never runs dry.” And here’s the kicker: every single one of us, knowingly or not, come to figurative wells in life—places where we hope to find satisfaction, relief, or meaning. We dip our buckets into relationships, success, stuff, status, even religion or education—only to wake up parched again. But when Christ fills the soul, it’s like tapping into a hidden spring that gushes with life. He’s not just the Source—He is the Satisfaction.

And that’s what makes His promise so wildly radical. He’s not offering a one-time sip—He’s placing a living spring within us. When we receive Him, His Spirit becomes that ever-flowing fountain, bubbling up with grace, peace, and joy. The soul’s deepest thirst is quenched. But here’s the wonder: the fountain doesn’t just satisfy—it overflows. We don’t keep coming back because we’re empty; we live from the fullness that’s already within us. And the more we yield to His Spirit, the more that inner spring gushes with life—renewing us, refreshing others, and spilling out into every dry place we touch.

So what now? Don’t settle for the shallow, muddy puddles of a thirsty world when you’ve got a crystal-clear, living, flowing, soul-reviving spring inside you. Jesus is both the Giver and the Source of this living water—and that “water” is His Spirit: the very life of God flowing through His people.

May the Lord stir up His living water within you today—cleansing what’s weary, reviving what’s dry, and spilling over into every space you step into. May your satisfaction be found not in the fleeting, but in the Eternal One who satisfies forever. 

November 2 — "Leggo My Ego"

Today's Reading: John 3:18-36

The world around us shouts, “Believe in yourself! Build your brand! Boost your self-esteem!” But John the Baptist sang a radically different tune: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” Just eight words—yet they form the anthem of a truly Christ-centered life.

In psychology, “ego” refers to our sense of self—our self-esteem, self-worth, or self-importance. A healthy ego, we’re told, helps us make wise decisions and navigate relationships with confidence. And that’s true… to a point. But when the ego swells—when life starts orbiting around me—the soul begins to starve. Inflated egos demand recognition, crave applause, and wrestle for the spotlight. But John flips the script: spiritual maturity isn’t thinking more of ourselves—or even less of ourselves—it’s thinking of ourselves less.

John knew his role to perfection. He wasn’t the Messiah; he was the messenger. He wasn’t the Bridegroom; he was the friend who rejoices at the Bridegroom’s voice. The spotlight belonged to Jesus alone. So when the crowds began following Christ instead of him, John didn’t sulk—he celebrated! His joy was complete because his mission was fulfilled. The friend’s job was to introduce the Groom, not upstage Him.

Here’s the truth: when we shrink ourselves and magnify Jesus, life finds its rhythm. When He increases, peace expands, pride deflates, and clarity returns. But when we increase—our plans, our preferences, our platform—joy quietly slips away. Self-importance is a heavy yoke; surrender is a liberating grace.

Culture says, “Polish the self.” Scripture says, “Crucify it.” The ego insists, “I need to be seen.” The Spirit gently whispers, “Let Christ be seen through you.” John the Baptist didn’t lose his identity by decreasing—he found it in full by exalting Christ.

So today, trade self-promotion for Savior-exaltation. Let Jesus’ presence overshadow your pride, His purpose outrank your plans, and His glory eclipse your gain. The path to joy isn’t upward—it’s downward into humility, where Christ reigns supreme.

May the Lord teach your heart the freedom of surrender and the beauty of humility. May your voice grow quiet so His may be heard. And may your life echo John’s timeless declaration: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” 

November 1 — "So. Loved."

Today's Reading: John 3:1-17

The wonder of John 3:16 isn’t about how MUCH God loves—it’s about HOW He loves. The marvel isn’t in the magnitude of His love, but in the breathtaking way He chooses to express it.

Yes, God loves us to the absolute max—no question there! But that’s not the heartbeat of John 3:16. The entire verse pivots on one tiny word: “so.” God SO loved the world. In the original Greek, that word—Οὕτως (Houtōs)—doesn’t measure the size of His love. It reveals the manner in which He poured it out.

You could say it like this: God loved the world in THIS way: He gave His Son. That simple, stunning phrase captures the essence of divine love. It’s not just a warm fuzzy or a poetic sentiment. It’s a gritty, glorious, sacrificial act. A love that rolls up its sleeves and gets to work.

In a world where “love” often means fleeting feelings or self-centered cravings, the love of John 3:16 is radically different. It’s not based on our worthiness (thank God!) or whether we’ve earned it. It flows straight from God’s own nature—freely given, no strings attached.

So, how did God show this love? Through Jesus Christ. As the Son of God, Jesus embodied love in its purest, most powerful form. What did that look like? He loved SO He served. He loved SO He healed the sick, fed the hungry, and preached the Gospel of hope and redemption. And ultimately, He loved SO He laid down His life—taking on the sins of the world with arms wide open.

This kind of love—expressed through the sacrifice of Jesus—isn’t just a beautiful story. It’s a blueprint. It challenges us to ditch shallow gestures and love in ways that are bold, selfless, and life-changing. It calls us to love not just in emotion, but in action—in deed and in truth.

So as we marvel at the wonder of God’s love, let’s be moved by the WAY He loves. May we reflect that love in our own lives—reaching out with compassion, kindness, and a willingness to sacrifice for others. Because when we love like He loves, we don’t just honor God—we step into the deep, soul-satisfying joy of living the Gospel out loud. 

October 31 — "He Knows What is in Man"

Today's Reading: John 2

Jesus had just turned water into wine and flipped tables in the temple—a startling kickoff to His ministry! Crowds were surging toward Him. Faith was bubbling up like morning mist. But then John drops this chilling line: “Jesus didn’t trust them, because he knew all about people. No one needed to tell him about human nature, for he knew what was in each person’s heart.” (NLT)

Wait—what?! That’s a strange thing to say about the One who came to save! You’d expect the Messiah to embrace their faith with open arms. But Jesus saw past the cheers—He saw something flimsy, something fleeting. He knew that “faith” sparked by spectacle fizzles when the fireworks fade. He didn’t need a briefing on human nature. He could see straight through the smiles, past the stirred-up admiration, into hearts already wavering—excited by miracles but untouched by surrender. And here’s the zinger: Jesus doesn’t entrust Himself to fans. He only entrusts Himself to followers. Crowd-faith is cheap. Surrender-faith costs everything.

Our Lord loves people deeply—but He’s no pushover. He’s not swayed by hype or fooled by flattery. He doesn’t gauge devotion by noise or numbers, but by quiet obedience when no one’s watching. The same Jesus who knew what was in man knows exactly what’s in you. He sees your motives, your fears, your secret battles, and—here’s the amazing thing—He loves you still. His all-knowing gaze isn’t cold surveillance—it’s tender understanding. When He looks at you, He doesn’t see your mask. He sees your true self. And even better—He sees who you can become when you surrender to His love.

Maybe that’s why He sometimes holds back certain blessings or opportunities. Not because He’s stingy, but because He won’t hand over holy treasures to hearts not yet ready to carry them. The truth is, Jesus won’t entrust Himself to us until we entrust ourselves to Him.

May the Lord—who knows you better than you know yourself—purify your motives, deepen your faith, and make you trustworthy for His glory. May your love for Him grow beyond the thrill of the moment into unwavering surrender. 

October 30 — "Just Look: See the Lamb"

Today's Reading: John 1:29-51

Imagine standing on the banks of the Jordan that day. The air thick with dust, the murmur of the crowd swirling, the prophet in camel hair pointing at a man quietly approaching through the throng. Then John’s voice pierces the moment: “Behold!” That word isn’t a passing glance—it’s an invitation to gaze, to lock eyes, to let what you see change you.

We rush past words like “behold,” but in Scripture, it’s a divine command to stop scrolling, still your soul, and see—really see. In the original Greek, it means “to stare at and discern clearly.” When John said, “Behold the Lamb of God,” he wasn’t just identifying Jesus; he was instructing Israel—and us—to fix our gaze on the One who would carry away the world’s sin.

To behold is not to glance—but to gaze. When you behold the Lamb, you’re not examining doctrine; you’re encountering a Person. The sacrificial imagery runs deep. Every lamb slain since Abel’s offering pointed to this moment. Every Passover shadowed this reality. And now, standing in the flesh, is the final Lamb—God’s own provision for sin.

When we “behold” Jesus rightly, sin shrinks, pride bows, and the noise of life fades. Worship becomes the natural reflex of revelation. To behold Him is to become like Him. “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” (2 Corinthians 3:18). That’s the transformation that comes when you look long enough until your heart mirrors His.

Maybe you’ve seen Jesus before—but have you beheld Him lately? Have you lingered at the cross until gratitude burned hot again? Have you stared into His Word until the Lamb filled your horizon and every lesser thing blurred out of focus? The power of your faith is not in how much you understand—but in how deeply you behold.

Today, may your eyes be opened to truly behold the Lamb—not in passing, but in wonder. May your heart slow down long enough to see Him as Heaven sees Him—radiant, sufficient, and near. And as you gaze upon His beauty, may the clutter of life fade, your faith deepen, and your soul reflect His light. 

October 29 — "The Glory That Walked Among Us"

Today's Reading: John 1:1-28

Today we begin our journey through the Gospel According to John—and oh, what a journey it is! This is the same John (Iōannēs in Greek) who met Jesus on a sandy Galilean beach, clueless that his life was about to be flipped upside down. He saw miracles that bent the laws of nature, love that broke every barrier, and glory that revealed God wrapped in human skin.

John leaned on Jesus at the Last Supper, stood firm at the cross when others scattered, and sprinted to the empty tomb. Decades later, this once fiery “Son of Thunder” has mellowed into the tender “Apostle of Love,” writing to tell us what he knows firsthand: Jesus isn’t just a teacher or prophet—He’s the eternal Creator and Sustainer of all things—full of grace and truth.

When John declares, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14), he’s describing the greatest miracle in history. The infinite became an infant. The Creator stepped into His creation. Heaven moved into the neighborhood—and nothing was ever the same.

“The Word became flesh” isn’t poetic fluff—it’s a thunderclap of truth. The eternal Logos, through whom all things were made (John 1:3), didn’t just look human or wear a human disguise. He became flesh. The Greek word egeneto means “to come into being.” This is the miracle of the Incarnation: the eternal Son of God took on our humanity without losing His divinity.

And “dwelt among us”? That’s tent talk. Literally, it means He “pitched His tent” among us—just like God’s glory once filled the Tabernacle (“Tent”) in the wilderness, now it filled a person: Jesus Christ. Through Him, the invisible God became visible, touchable, knowable. He didn’t shout truth from the clouds—He walked it out in sandals.

So how do we respond? By making room for Him to “tabernacle” inside of us. The same Word who walked among on Earth so long ago, now wants to live within us through His Spirit. “Don’t you know that you yourselves are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in your midst?” (1 Corinthians 3:16) This truth is blazing through Scripture: God doesn’t just visit—He moves in. He pitches His tent, fills us as His temple, and makes our hearts His home.

May Jesus—God made flesh—fill your heart with wonder today. May His nearness comfort you, His Word guide you, and His Spirit dwell richly within you. And may His glory shine through you, so others may see and believe. 

October 28 — "Ditch the Itch: Beware the Sham Influencers"

Today's Reading: 2 Timothy 4

There’s a peculiar irony in today’s verse—an itch for truth that refuses to be scratched by it. There’s a craving in the human heart that truth alone can address—but many would rather “scratch” it with something that feels good.

In Paul’s time, “itching ears” was a figure of speech describing people who craved novelty and excitement—listeners who wanted their ears tickled, not their hearts convicted. It was a craving for stimulation, pleasure, and affirmation—an appetite for words that entertain the mind, soothe the ego, but avoid the truth about sin and the cross.

The danger isn’t that people don’t hear truth—it’s that they won’t put up with it. Sound doctrine requires persistence. Commitment. Diligence. It demands that we sit still long enough for the Holy Spirit’s conviction to do its work. But when our spiritual appetites are trained on entertainment, truth feels abrasive. So we listen to influencers that affirm our opinions and mute the ones that don’t. The Greek word Paul used here for “accumulate” means to pile up—a heap of teachers and influencers, all saying what the flesh wants to hear.

In every generation, people have been tempted by what’s new—new ideas, new “truths,” new takes on old doctrines. But the Gospel isn’t a product to be reinvented; it’s a revelation to be received. The saying is true: “If it’s truth, it’s not new. And if it’s new, it’s not truth.” God’s truth is eternal—it doesn’t evolve with culture or bend to trends.

Today, this ailment has gone digital. Our feeds, podcasts, and playlists can become echo chambers where our desires are disguised as doctrines. We scroll for affirmation, not transformation. Myths—Paul calls them. Pleasant words that replace truth with pleasing lies. They’re not always wild fables or obvious falsehoods; sometimes they’re half-truths that sound holy but subtly dethrone Christ from the center. They’re nothing but shams, charades, imitations.

But Paul’s solution is stunningly simple: Preach the Word (verse 2). When the world is itching, only God’s truth can truly scratch and soothe. The Word doesn’t cater—it cuts, cleanses, and heals. It confronts falsehood not with volume, but with clarity. In an age of noise, the steady voice of Scripture becomes the true lifeline of sanity.

So check your spiritual appetite. Do you crave comfort more than correction? Popularity more than purity? Jesus didn’t promise easy truth—but He did promise freedom to those who hold fast to God’s genuine truth (John 8:31–32).

May the Spirit of Truth guard your heart from counterfeit gospels and reawaken your appetite for the living Word. May your ears find delight not in what flatters, but in what frees. And may God’s voice become the one sound you delight in more than any other.