Jeremiah 26:1-3
There is something uncomfortable about a man who keeps saying the same thing no matter how you respond to him. You can ignore him, argue with him, threaten him, and he just keeps saying it. Jeremiah was that kind of man. Not because he was stubborn, but because the word he carried wasn’t his own.
Continue reading “What Voice Are You Listening To?”
(Jeremiah 23:23-24, ESV)
Most of us have said it at one time or another. The day gets full, the demands pile up, and somewhere in the middle of it all we mutter, “I wish there were two of me.” It’s a familiar feeling. We’re bound by where we are. We can only be in one place at a time, and the older we get, the more we feel the weight of that. There’s simply never enough of us to go around.
God had something to say about that in Jeremiah 23. In the middle of a passage addressing false prophets who were living double lives, he asked a pair of questions no one could answer. “Am I a God at hand, declares the LORD, and not a God far away? Can a man hide himself in secret places so that I cannot see him? declares the LORD. Do I not fill heaven and earth? declares the LORD” (Jer. 23:23-24, ESV).
The implied answer is obvious. He fills heaven and earth. He is not confined to one place, not bound by geography or distance. While we struggle to be fully present even where we are, God is fully present everywhere, all at once. Psalm 139:8 puts it plainly — there is nowhere we can go that is outside his reach. Not the highest height, not the lowest depth.
We’re also limited by time in a way God simply is not. We feel it constantly. There aren’t enough hours. We lose track of days. Seasons come and go faster than we expect. But the God who spoke to Jeremiah exists outside of all that. He has no beginning and no end. He is the Alpha and the Omega (Rev. 1:8, ESV). What looks to us like history unfolding is, from his vantage point, already known, already held.
The fact that God has no boundaries is genuinely hard to take in. Everything in our experience has limits. Every person, every relationship, every resource runs out eventually. And then there is God, for whom none of that is true. It’s the kind of thing worth sitting with quietly rather than rushing past.
What strikes me about this passage is not just the theology of it. It’s what that theology means for the rest of life. We serve a God who can be with the grieving mother and the wandering prodigal at the same moment. He is not stretched thin. He is not having to choose. His presence with one person in no way reduces his presence with another.
And this God — unlimited, everywhere, outside of time — is the one who has moved toward us. He can do anything, including forgive us and bring us into his own family. That is not a small thing. The God who fills heaven and earth has made room for us.
We may spend our days wishing there were more of us to go around. But the One who is actually unlimited has given us his full attention. That ought to change how we walk through an ordinary day.
Jeremiah 20:9 (ESV)
A man I know spoke up at work about something he saw that wasn’t right. Not loudly. Not publicly at first. Just to the right people, quietly. What followed was professional isolation. Conversations that stopped when he entered a room. Opportunities that somehow went to others. The message was clear: keep your mouth shut, and this stops.
Continue reading “The Fire in His Bones”
John 20:19–29
Every scar has a story. The one on my finger is from a knife I was told to leave alone. I didn’t listen. The one on my leg is from a bicycle crash I’d rather forget. And the one on my stomach is from a piece of metal that chipped off a steel chisel at exactly the wrong moment.
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 10”
John 20:11–18
A man I read about was adopted at birth and grew up with no knowledge of his biological family. In his forties, a DNA service connected him with a half-sister he had never known. They exchanged careful, tentative messages for weeks. Then one afternoon she called him, and the moment he heard her voice, something unexpected happened. She said his name, and he wept.
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 9”
1 Corinthians 15:12–24
A historian I read about spent two years trying to disprove the resurrection. He was not a believer, he was a skeptic, and he approached the accounts of Easter the way a detective approaches a crime scene: looking for inconsistencies, alternate explanations, reasons to dismiss. He catalogued the evidence on both sides. He interviewed scholars. He traced the manuscript traditions.
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 8”
Exodus 2:23–25
For eighteen months, a woman I know wrote weekly letters to her estranged adult daughter who refused all contact. She never knew if the letters were read, returned, or thrown away. The silence was total. She kept writing anyway, because the love didn’t stop just because the replies did.
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 6”
John 14:1–10
Maybe you’ve been there. You’re hiking a trail, the fog rolls in thick, and suddenly you can barely see five feet ahead. Your map is useless, all the landmarks you’d been following have disappeared. You’re standing at a fork in the trail, genuinely unsure which way leads back to the trailhead and which leads deeper into the backcountry.
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 5”
John 13:6–20
A master woodworker once described the most discouraging phase of any project: the middle. “The beginning is exciting,” he said. “You have vision, you have energy. The end is satisfying, you can see the finished piece. But the middle? The middle just looks like a mess of sawdust and mistakes. That’s when most people quit.”
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 4”
Romans 8:18–27
A cellist I once heard interviewed said something that has stayed with me for years. She was asked which pieces she found most moving to perform. Without hesitation, she said the slow, mournful ones, the adagios, the elegies, the laments. “There’s something in sadness,” she explained, “that reaches for what beauty is supposed to be. Joy tells you it exists. Longing tells you where to look.”
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 3”
Romans 5:1–11
I read about a woman who spent three years training for a marathon she never ran. A stress fracture sidelined her two weeks before race day. She said later that the hardest part wasn’t the physical pain, it was the quiet, creeping question that followed her for months: What’s the point of all this effort if it can be taken away so easily?
Continue reading “The Hope of Easter: Day 2”
Isaiah 50:10
There are stretches in life when you do everything right and still feel lost. You read your Bible. You pray. You show up on Sunday. And yet the fog stays. The confusion lingers. Some of us are walking through one of those stretches right now, and the hardest part isn’t the darkness itself. It’s wondering whether we did something wrong to end up in it.
Continue reading “When the Dark Won’t Lift”
“Then Hezekiah said to Isaiah, ‘The word of the LORD you have spoken is good.’ For he thought, ‘There will be peace and security in my lifetime.’” (Isaiah 39:8, NIV)
Life can feel like a roller coaster. One moment we’re celebrating a victory; the next we’re facing a crisis that shakes us to the core. King Hezekiah knew this reality well. His life reads like a dramatic story—miraculous healing followed by foolish pride, divine favor followed by sobering consequences. Yet in his journey, we find wisdom for navigating our own ups and downs.
Continue reading “Lessons from a Roller Coaster Life”
There’s something honest about calling this past year what it really was for many of us: a collection of failures and disappointments that culminated in something we didn’t expect. The ancient Israelites knew this feeling intimately. Their disobedience and rebellion led them into Babylonian captivity, where they watched their beloved Jerusalem reduced to literal ruins. The temple destroyed. The walls crumbled. Everything they had known and trusted lay in rubble around them. It wasn’t just bad luck or unfortunate circumstances; their own choices had contributed to the devastation. And now they sat among the wreckage of what used to be, wondering if restoration was even possible. If that’s where you are as this year ends, you’re not alone in the rubble.
Continue reading “What God Does With Ruins”
The lights are up. The carols are playing. Everyone around you seems wrapped in warmth and wonder. And maybe you’re just trying to make it through.
Maybe this is your first Christmas without someone you love. Maybe your family is fractured, and the empty chair at the table feels like an accusation. Maybe you’re alone, not by choice, but by circumstance, and the world’s insistence on togetherness only amplifies the ache. Maybe your home isn’t the haven the Christmas cards promise, and you’re bracing yourself for tension instead of peace.
Continue reading “When Christmas Feels Heavy”
Central Haywood Church of Christ 