November 24 — "When Jesus Spoke Through the Phone"

Today's Reading: John 14:1-14

The words floated through the phone line like they were coming from another world. I remember gripping the receiver, knuckles white, breath shallow. It was late, and my life felt like it was collapsing in on itself. Panic was tightening its grip. Hope felt like a rumor I’d never personally experienced. And then the counselor on the other end of the line gently spoke those words, “let not your heart be troubled.” I had never heard them before. I didn’t know they came from Jesus Himself. All I knew was that something inside me stilled, as if the room exhaled.

I told him my fears, the ones I’d never said out loud. He didn’t rush me. Didn’t preach. He simply brought me back to that sentence, repeating it slowly, like handing a cup of water to a man dying of thirst: “Let not your heart be troubled.” I could almost sense someone else in the room—Someone who wasn’t put off by the mess, Someone who wasn’t pacing with worry over who I’d become. This wasn’t a pep talk. It wasn’t therapy. It was an invitation.

The counselor told me those words came from Jesus on the night before He went to the cross, spoken to disciples who were terrified. It stunned me. If Jesus could speak peace into a night like that, into a room full of fear, dread, and confusion, maybe—just maybe—He could speak peace into my life as well.

And then came the moment. Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just me, a trembling voice on a phone, whispering that I wanted this Jesus—the One who speaks calm into chaos, the One who tells troubled hearts to come home—to take my life. The weight didn’t lift instantly, but something shifted. A spark. A beginning. A Savior stepping into the wreckage without hesitation.

Looking back, I know exactly what happened. The voice through the phone wasn’t just a counselor’s. It was Jesus Himself calling my name, steadying my soul, and planting peace where panic had lived for far too long.

Since that night, everything has changed—not in a flash, and not without valleys, but unmistakably. The same Jesus who spoke to me through a phone line has become my constant Companion, the Shepherd of my soul, the Friend who never walks away. He has steadied me in storms that should have undone me and lifted me when I had no strength of my own. He has patiently shaped my heart, corrected my steps, and filled empty places I didn’t know how to name.

He has been my peace when anxiety pressed in, my wisdom when confusion clouded the path, my comfort when sorrow lingered, and my joy in seasons where joy made no sense. He has guided me through Scripture, guarded me in spiritual battles, and grown in me a confidence that rests not in myself but in His unfailing presence. And now the same voice that rescued me continues to lead me, day after day, whispering the invitation that changed everything: “Let not your heart be troubled.” 

November 23 — "Cross-Shaped Love"

Today's Reading: John 13:18-38

Jesus didn’t deliver this “new” command from a mountaintop or a pulpit. No thunder, no crowd. Just a quiet upper room, still scented with roasted lamb, where sandals shuffled and hearts wrestled with what had just happened. Moments earlier, the King of Glory had knelt like a servant and washed the grime from His disciples’ feet. Then He stood, met their eyes, and said something no rabbi had ever dared: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you.”

Now, loving wasn’t new. That command had echoed since Moses. There are several Old Testament passages that either directly command love for others or clearly establish the heart posture God expects His people to show toward one another.  Take Leviticus 19:18 for example: “But you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.”

The command to love wasn’t new—but the model was new. The degree. The measure. The standard. “Just as I have loved you.” It’s as if Jesus said, “Don’t measure love by culture, comfort, personality, or what others do. Measure it by Me—by what I’m about to do at the cross.” The standard isn’t compatibility. It’s Calvary.

Picture the disciples glancing around, remembering their petty rivalries, their debates over who was greatest, their impatience with each other’s quirks. Then imagine Jesus’ words settling over them like warm oil: “Love each other the way I’ve loved you.” Suddenly, love felt impossible. And that was the point. Only the life of Jesus flowing through them could produce that kind of love—love that stoops to wash feet, absorbs offense, stays present when misunderstood, and endures agony for the sake of others. The love that is like Jesus is love that doesn’t flinch when it’s inconvenient. Love that doesn’t quit when it’s costly. Love that doesn’t wait to be deserved.

What if the real miracle of that room wasn’t the foot washing—but the supernatural love Jesus offers to every follower? The world can mimic kindness, affection, tolerance and respect. But only Spirit-born people can love with cruciform love—love shaped like a cross.

And this, Jesus said, is how the world will know who we are. Not by our podcasts, Bible apps, playlists, or perfect theology. He didn’t say, “They’ll know you’re Mine by your doctrine.” He said, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love—agapé love—for one another.” Fierce, foot-washing, cross-shaped love.

So may Jesus fill your heart today with His stubborn, surprising, self-giving love. May He empower you to love those closest to you with the same mercy He’s lavished on you. And may His love in you become the loudest sermon you ever preach. 

November 22 — "When Humility and Glory Collide"

Today's Reading: John 13:1-17

Jesus didn’t lecture the disciples into humility—He knelt it into them. John 13:5 paints a scene so tender and so disruptive that if we really saw it, it would undo us. The eternal Word, the One who spun galaxies into existence, is now on His knees with a basin of water and a towel around His waist. No halo. No thunder. Just water quietly lapping against calloused feet. This is the sound of the King of Glory redefining greatness.

Imagine the awkward silence. The room smells of roasted lamb and dust from a long day’s walk. No one moves. No one volunteers. Everyone knows that washing feet is the job for the servant at the bottom of the ladder—the one whose name no one remembers. Yet Jesus gets up from the table, lays aside His outer garment, and chooses the lowest place in the room as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The Greek word translated “washed” (niptō) means more than rinsing; it speaks of intentional cleansing—hands-on, up close, no distance. The Son of God gets close enough to feel the dirt between their toes.

And here’s the part we often forget: He washed Judas’ feet too. The one already plotting His betrayal. Jesus doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t skip the basin. He doesn’t recoil. He kneels before His enemy and loves him to the end. If you want to know what God is like, look there. Divine love isn’t naïve—it’s intentional. It chooses humility not because people deserve it but because the Father delights in it.

Every time you let go of pride, every time you bend instead of break, every time you serve without applause, you’re entering that upper room again. You’re dipping your hands into the same basin He used. You’re saying, “Lord, make me like You.” You’re walking in a greatness this world will never understand. Maybe for you the basin looks like forgiving someone who wounded you, or caring for someone who can’t repay you, or serving in a place no one sees. Whatever it is, Jesus meets you there—towel on, sleeves rolled up, teaching by doing.

May the Lord Jesus, who stooped to wash the feet of His friends and His betrayer, fill you today with His humility, His gentleness, and His servant-hearted strength. May He wash away every trace of pride, and may you walk in His joy as you serve in His name. 

November 21 — "Lighting Up a Dark World"

Today's Reading: John 12:27-50

Light is never neutral in Scripture. From the first divine “Let there be” to the final blaze of eternity, light is God’s unmistakable signature—His order, His truth, His presence, His Son, and now (brace yourself)... His people. The Bible doesn’t just sprinkle “light” here and there—it beams it across every page to reveal deep, radiant truth. Let’s explore five brilliant ways the Bible uses light:

(1) Physical Light – In the opening scene of creation (Genesis 1:3–4), God speaks light into existence before there’s even a sun or star in sight. He calls it “good” and separates it from darkness. This isn’t just photons—it’s a blazing declaration of divine order, life, and goodness. Light becomes the first symbol of God’s sovereign power pushing back chaos.

(2) Guidance – Psalm 119:105 paints a vivid picture: God’s Word is “a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Think ancient oil lamp—not a floodlight—just enough glow for the next faithful step. Scripture turns on the spiritual light and reveals truth, exposes sin, and leads us through moral and spiritual fog with steady, practical wisdom.

(3) God Himself – “God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5). That’s not poetic fluff—it’s a thunderous truth. Light is the essence of who He is—His holiness, purity, and truth. From the pillar of fire guiding Israel to the glory lighting up the eternal city, God’s presence is a radiant force that drives out every shadow of evil.

(4) Jesus – When Jesus declares, “I have come as light into the world,” He’s fulfilling Isaiah’s vivid prophecy: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:2). Jesus is that Light—life-giving, sin-exposing, hope-igniting, enlightenment-giving. As the incarnate Word, He doesn’t just teach light—He is the Light, bringing spiritual life to all who follow Him.

(5) Christ’s Followers – Here’s where it gets personal. In Matthew 5:14–16, Jesus calls you and me “the light of the world.” That’s not a metaphor to tuck away—it’s our mission and calling. Once in darkness ourselves, we now shine as children of light (Ephesians 5:8), reflecting His glory through righteous living and faithful works that point others to God.

The promise in John 12:46—that whoever believes in Him won’t remain in darkness—liberated first-century hearts from Roman oppression, religious legalism, and pagan despair. And today? It still breaks chains. It frees us from anxiety, compromise, and hopelessness, empowering us to reject the shadows and radiate Christ’s light through integrity, hope-filled words, and bold Gospel witness in a fractured world.

So today, may the God who once thundered, “Let there be light,” shine in your heart. May His Word guide your every step, His Son fill your soul with joy, and His Spirit make you a bold, blazing reflector of His glory—until faith becomes sight and we walk forever in the light of the Lamb. 

November 20 — "When the Victor Rides In"

Today's Reading: John 12:1-26

In the ancient world, when a conquering king rolled into town, it was the event of the year. Picture it: generals strutting in on majestic warhorses, soldiers puffed up with pride, trophies gleaming, and prisoners trailing behind in chains of shame. The streets were electric—cheers erupted, intensity filled the air, and the people roared their praises to the hero who had crushed their enemies.

Every nation had its version of this spectacle, but Rome? Oh, Rome turned it into an art form with its “triumphal processions.” The conqueror’s arrival was the living proof of victory. But one day, in Jerusalem, a different kind of King made His entrance—and He didn’t come proudly galloping on a warhorse. He came humbly riding a donkey.

The crowd lining that dusty road shouted the same kind of praise usually reserved for military legends. “Hosanna!”—“Save us now!”—was their cry. Palm branches waved like national flags in a royal parade. They believed their Deliverer had arrived to snap Rome’s chains and restore Israel’s throne. But Jesus had a far greater victory in mind—not over Caesar, but over sin, death, and the grave. His crown would be thorns. His throne? A rugged cross.

This wasn’t random. It was prophetic. Jesus was fulfilling Zechariah 9:9: “Behold, your King is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is He, humble and mounted on a donkey.” This was no accident—it was a bold declaration. In that moment, Jesus revealed Himself as Israel’s long-awaited Messiah—but not the kind they were expecting. The Hebrew word for “salvation” is yeshua—the very name of Jesus. So when the crowd cried “Yeshua, save us!” they were unknowingly shouting His mission. Their plea and prophecy collided in one glorious moment.

Here’s the twist: most kings rode in after the battle was won. But Jesus? He rode in before His. He wasn’t headed for a celebration—He was marching toward Calvary. And in doing so, He declared a triumph far greater than any Roman parade. Colossians 2:15 tells us that by His death, He “disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, triumphing over them.” The irony is divine: the Lamb of God entered Jerusalem like a conquering Lion—His battlefield was a hill called Golgotha.

Now, every believer stands in that victory procession. Christ’s cross became His chariot, and His resurrection the trumpet blast of triumph. Those palm branches waved on that dusty road? They were just a preview of Revelation 7:9 & 10,  “Behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!’”  Oh, just picture that day!

So today, may the Lord Jesus Christ—our conquering King—ride triumphantly into your heart. And may His soon-coming victory parade be the anticipation of your heart—the joy you live for, the hope you carry, and the triumph you await. 

November 19 — "Unbound to Walk in Freedom"

Today's Reading: John 11:30-57

Picture it: the air still thick with the scent of death, the crowd frozen in disbelief as Jesus shouts, “Lazarus, come out!” And then—out of the tomb’s shadow—shuffles a man who was supposed to be long gone. Lazarus. Wrapped head to toe in grave clothes, blinking into the blinding light of day, he hears the unmistakable voice of Jesus speaking life into a place ruled by death. It’s one of the most jaw-dropping moments in Scripture—and one of the most intimate. Because this isn’t just Lazarus’ story. It’s ours.

Here’s the big idea: when Jesus calls you out of death into life, He doesn’t just resurrect you—He releases you. Salvation is instant, but sanctification? That’s a journey. The moment you respond to the Gospel, your spirit is made alive. But let’s be honest—your hands, feet, and face might still be tangled in old habits, fears, and thought patterns. You’re breathing—but still bound. That’s why Jesus turned to the crowd and said, “Unbind him, and let him go.” His desire isn’t just that you live—it’s that you live free.

The Greek word for “unbind” (luo) means to loosen, release, or dissolve what confines. Jesus didn’t just snap the chains of death—He ordered every last shred of restriction to be removed. That’s exactly what the Holy Spirit is still doing in believers today. Paul nailed it in Galatians 5:1: “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” God wants us unwrapped from every spiritual hindrance that keeps us from running the race He’s marked out for us.

I once counseled a man who had come to Christ but still wore the “grave clothes” of bitterness. Though forgiven, he wasn’t free. Only when he chose to forgive others—just as Christ forgave him—did the stench of the tomb finally fade. Resurrection life isn’t meant to be hidden under the bandages of the past—it’s meant to shine with glory.

When Jesus calls your name, He doesn’t stop at resurrection. He keeps unwrapping you—day by day, year by year—through the power of His Spirit, until not a single thread of the old life remains. Often, He does this gently, through the Word of God, the work of His Spirit, and the love of others who help you walk in freedom. Christ has truly set us free. Now make sure that you stay free, and don’t get tied up again in the binding clothes of the world, the flesh, and the devil.

Today, may the Lord unwrap every lingering remnant of your old life. May His Spirit dissolve every chain of fear, shame, sin, and self. And may you walk—fully alive, fully free—into the radiant light of His new creation power.

 

November 18 — "From Future Hope to Present Power"

Today's Reading: John 11:1-29

Picture the moment: grief is thick in the air. Martha’s brother Lazarus has died, and her heart is in pieces. Then Jesus arrives—not with a box of tissues or a sympathy card, but with a declaration so seismic it splits history in two—a turning point in human history, a moment so monumental that everything before it and everything after it would never be the same.

Imagine Martha—grief still raw, heart torn between sorrow and hope. She’s just told Jesus He arrived too late… and now He’s telling her He is the very thing she thought she lost. Her mind races. Her soul stirs. Could it be true? Could resurrection be standing right in front of her—not as a future event, but as a living Person?

In that moment, everything shifts. Her theology becomes reality. Her mourning meets Majesty. And her shattered heart begins to pulse with resurrection power.

Here’s the breathtaking truth: Jesus isn’t just promising resurrection someday—He is resurrection right now. He doesn’t merely hand out life; He is life. The Greek word for “life” (zōē) is a powerhouse in John’s Gospel. It’s not about heartbeats or biological life—it’s about divine vitality. Zōē is the eternal, spiritual life that flows straight from God and is gifted to every believer in Jesus Christ.

For the believer, eternal life doesn’t begin after the funeral—it begins the moment you believe in Jesus. And that flips everything. Death is no longer a period at the end of your story; it’s just a comma.

When you stand at the graveside of someone who followed the Lord, something extraordinary happens. The tears may fall, but the songs rise higher. Because this isn’t “goodbye”—it’s “see you soon.” That’s what faith in the risen Christ does: it rewires reality. The person who believes in resurrection doesn’t tremble at the grave.

That’s exactly what Jesus wanted Martha to grasp: faith doesn’t just wait for future hope—it pulls resurrection power into the present moment. When Jesus called Lazarus out of that tomb, it wasn’t just a miracle—it was a sneak peek, a holy preview of what would soon happen to His own human body and what will someday happen for every follower of Christ.

Even when life feels like a sealed tomb—trapped, silent, and suffocating—resurrection power is already at work. The same voice that shattered death’s grip with “Lazarus, come forth” still speaks today. And when He calls your name, it’s not just for someday—it’s for this day. That voice revives dead dreams, restores broken hearts, and breathes life into what you thought was over. That’s not just future hope—that’s present power.

May the Lord flood your heart with resurrection hope today. May He breathe fresh life into every dead and dusty corner of your soul. And may you remember—because He lives, you truly live… now and forever.