Devotional: My Redeemer Lives

"I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth." 

-Job 19:25

There is a profound difference between believing in a historical figure and knowing a living Savior. When Job uttered these famous words, he wasn't speaking from a place of comfort or prosperity. He was sitting in the ashes of his former life, stripped of his health, his wealth, and his children. His friends had turned into accusers, and his body was failing him.

Yet, in the middle of the darkest corridor of human suffering, Job didn't look at his circumstances to define his God. Instead, he looked past the "now" and anchored his soul in an eternal certainty: "I know that my redeemer lives."

The title "Redeemer" (Go'el in Hebrew) originally referred to a family protector, someone who would step in to advocate for a relative, pay their debts, or vindicate them when they were wronged. Job was declaring that despite his current isolation, he had a Living Advocate.

To say He lives "even to this day" changes everything about how we face our modern struggles. We do not serve a God who is trapped in the pages of ancient history or a Creator who set the world in motion only to walk away. We serve a Redeemer who is active, present, and vibrantly alive in this very second.

Job’s second realization was that this Redeemer would "stand on the earth." This is a promise of ultimate victory. It means that no matter how loud the chaos of the world becomes, or how heavy the weight of personal loss feels, the final word does not belong to death, debt, or despair. The final word belongs to the One who conquered the grave.

Because He lives today:

Your past is covered: He has already paid the price for your redemption.

Your present is held: He is a "very present help" in times of trouble.

Your future is secure: He is already standing at the finish line, waiting to welcome you home.

When you feel like the world is crumbling, remember Job’s grit. Faith isn't the absence of pain; it is the stubborn confidence that the One who redeemed you is alive, active, and moving on your behalf, even when you can't see the next step.

Lord God,

I praise You because You are the Living God. You are not a memory or a philosophy; You are my Living Redeemer. Thank You that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead is available to me today, breathing life into my weary spirit and hope into my tired heart.

Forgive me for the times I live as if You are distant or silent. Strengthen my faith so that I can say, like Job, "I know that my Redeemer lives." When the world feels uncertain and my strength feels small, remind me that You are standing firm.

I ask for Your vitality to flood my life today. Help me to live with the joy and the boldness that comes from knowing I am spoken for, fought for, and deeply loved by a Savior who is alive forevermore.

In the mighty name of Jesus,

Amen.

 

You are Light

 Why You Weren’t Made to be Hidden

Devotional: Love as an Action

"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him."

— 1 John 4:9

Love is often treated as a feeling or a fleeting emotion, but in this verse, John reminds us that God’s love is a demonstrated action. God didn't just tell us He loved us from a distance; He proved it by stepping into our world.

The depth of this verse lies in the word "sent." It implies a deliberate choice and a significant sacrifice. By sending Jesus, God provided the only bridge for us to move from spiritual death into true, vibrant life. We don’t have to "earn" this affection or strive to be worthy of it; the evidence of His devotion is already hanging on the cross and standing at the empty tomb.

Today, if you feel forgotten or wonder if you matter, look back at 1 John 4:9. You are so deeply valued that the Creator of the universe chose to give His best so that you could have His life.

Lord,

Thank You for the overwhelming evidence of Your love. In moments when I feel overwhelmed or disconnected, remind me that You have already gone to the greatest lengths to reach me. Thank You for sending Your Son, Jesus, so that I don't have to just "get by," but can truly live through Him.

Strengthen my heart today reminding me that I am wanted and redeemed. Let the life of Christ flow through my thoughts, my words, and my actions. When I am weak, be my life and my breath. Help me to walk in the confidence of a child who is perfectly loved.

Amen.

The Price of Love

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." 

Joshua 1:9

 

The Price of Love: A Farewell to My Anchor

Jimmy Carr one said in one of his serious moments in his comedy, "Grief is the price we pay for love." I’ve heard those words before, but I never truly understood them until now. Love is the greatest feeling in the world; to be accepted by someone so completely makes you feel invincible. But there is a math to it that I’m only just learning: the deeper the love, the more the grief is going to hurt.

I am dealing with that debt right now.

The Warrior and the Infection

My mom wasn’t just my mother; she was my friend. She was a "crazy warrior woman", the kind of person who obtains a black belt after having both knees replaced (I still have never heard of this happening by anyone else, let me know if you know someone). She was powerful, a pillar, and a constant in my life. Because of that strength, I never truly believed this would be the end. I thought God would heal her here and let her live a long, healthy life. I wasn't ready to live in a world without her.

I was angry about it. I am still angry about it. I'm angry that an infection could bring down someone so powerful. I am angry the doctors couldn't have done more. I’m angry that God let it happen, and I’m angry that she isn't here when I want her most. I’m not ready to be the "adult" in everything yet. I just want my mom.

The Stabs in the Chest

Grief is a language no one can teach you. It’s found in the strangest places. The other day, I walked by one of those phone mounts that sits high in a cup holder. My mom had one, and it was always in the way when I was her passenger. I used to complain about how "stupid" it was all the time. When I saw it in the store, I felt a physical stab in my chest because I realized I can’t complain to her about it anymore. I just want to tell her I love her one more time and give her a hug.

Even during a recent trip to Brazil with my wife, which was a much-needed reprieve from life, I saw mom there everywhere. I’d see things and think, She would have loved to see a picture of this or I wish i could bring this home for mom. Then, coming back to a house filled with her things and her memory... it is so hard on my heart. Now three months later, having been working on cleaning the house, donating her good clothes to people that need them, knowing the weather is getting warmer and she would want to drive her convertible with the top down in the warm sun., it is hurting just the same. Like the knife has never left my heart.

The Changing Tides

I’ve talked to others who have lost people. They say it gets easier, but I don't think that's the right word. The pain doesn't change; it stays the same. It never actually gets easier. What changes is the "trough" between the highs and the lows. Right now, the pain swells up and overtakes everything I’m doing. In time, I know the space where I can function normally will get longer and longer. But I will miss her every single day until we are reunited in heaven. 

I see that same grief in my family. I think of my sister, who called her nearly every day after work to talk about life and family. I think of my dad, who lost his best friend and his wife of forty-five years. She was more than half of his life. I know I am not alone in the pain, but everyone's pain is unique to them, because mom was something different to each of us. Each of our relationships were unique, sure my sister and I were both her children, but our lives, our experiences, our pain, is unique to us. But we share the same longing, the same pain of losing our mother.

Easter is upon us this year. I don't want to celebrate. I don't want to go to church or do all the things I should do. I don't feel it in my heart because my heart is mourning still. But I will go, because of the empty tomb. It is a promise now, of a resurrection for all of us at the end. I will see mom again, in heaven, the new earth, where she will be playing with her dogs, waiting for me. 

A Future Recalibrated

I had a specific vision of the future. My wife would soon be here, we would have our own home, not far from mom and dad. Mom would take my wife shopping on the days when I had to work, and I would come home and have to unload the car of the things they bought that day. Mom and my wife would cruise around in mom's convertible hair blowing in the drive. My wife and I want to have a daughter, and I wanted my mom there to spoil her, to buy her beautiful dresses, and to be the grandmother she was meant to be. I knew I’d need her help navigating life as I moved into this new chapter of marriage.

Everything changed in the course of a couple of weeks. Some people lose themselves in this kind of change, becoming shadows of who they were. I don't know exactly what the future holds now, but I know I will keep going. I have to. My mom worried about me a lot. About how I would handle her not being here. I told her I would be fine. I know I will see her again. But if I had to tell her how I am doing now, I would tell her not good. I am managing, I am moving forward because I have to, but so much of me wants to give up and disappear. But I will keep going, always forward. 

I will cling to my wife, who is my new anchor, and my life. And I will hold on to the rest of my family, because I’ve learned how limited our time is. And if I am blessed with a daughter, she will grow up knowing the stories of her amazing grandmother, the most wonderful, amazing person in the world. She will read the stories of my mother. Of her love of animals, her love of God, how she could find ways to make everyone she met feel loved and special. 

Heavenly Father, thank You for the gift of my mother’s life and the fierce, warrior spirit she shared with us. Though my heart is heavy with the price of this love, I find peace knowing she is resting in Your arms. Please give me the strength to navigate the quiet spaces between the waves of grief, and help me to honor her legacy by loving my family as deeply as she loved us. Until we are reunited, keep her memory bright in my heart. Amen.