New Day With Jesus

“ My soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” — Psalm 63:1 When David composed Psalm 63, he was not speaking in metaphors or poetic exaggeration. He was a man on the run—driven out of Jerusalem by the rebellion of his own son Absalom, as recorded in 2 Samuel 15–18. The king who once ruled from a palace now crossed the Jordan barefoot, entering the harsh Judean wilderness. This was no symbolic desert but a real one: barren, scorching, and unforgiving. The landscape around him mirrored the turmoil within him. Everything familiar had been stripped away, and the physical wilderness became a vivid picture of the spiritual and emotional upheaval he faced. Losing certainty often feels like losing oxygen. The routines we depend on, the relationships we trust, the sense of control we assume—all can collapse in a moment. David experienced this collapse with brutal clarity. His kingdom, his safety, and even the loyalty of those closest t...

 " Villagers in Israel would not fight; they held back until I, Deborah, arose, until I arose, a mother in Israel. " - Judges 5:7 Judges 5:7 captures a timeless truth: when a mother rises with love, conviction, and faith, she becomes a stabilizing force capable of restoring courage to an entire community. Deborah’s example shows that a mother’s strength is not loud or self‑promoting; it is rooted in a deep sense of responsibility for the wellbeing of others. A mother’s presence often becomes the turning point where fear gives way to hope. This is the heart of maternal leadership: leadership expressed through nurturing, teaching, protecting, guiding, and interceding. Deborah’s rise demonstrates that such leadership is not secondary; it is a force that revives communities. Judges 5:7 teaches that faith‑filled motherhood is a form of leadership that can reshape societies. Deborah did not simply inspire a few individuals—her courage revived a nation that had grown hesitant and di...

 Today is Mothers' Day.  As we remember the special place mothers occupy in our lives, I share these special tributes to mothers, biological and spiritual. You don’t seek praise You don’t ask for praise, But you deserve oceans of it. You don’t ask to be seen, But you are the center of my world. Your love is the blueprint For every good thing I know. And I carry it— Everywhere, Always. You don’t seek praise You don’t ask for praise, But you deserve oceans of it. You don’t ask to be seen, But you are the center of my world. Your love is the blueprint For every good thing I know.       And I carry it— Everywhere, Always.   My Special Mom You lift me up when life feels tough, You give your love when mine’s not enough. You’re laughter, comfort, guiding light— My heart’s safe place, my warmest night. For all you do and all you are, You shine in me like a steady star.   My Special Mom You are th...

He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.” – Psalm 91: 1-2 God as refuge and fortress is the heartbeat of Psalm 91, shaping its tone, its promises, and its vision of life with God. The psalm pulses with the conviction that those who belong to God are never left to face the world alone. They live surrounded by a Presence stronger than anything that threatens them. This is not poetic exaggeration; it is the psalmist’s lived theology. To dwell in the shelter of the Most High is to live from a place of profound security, rooted in the character of the One who protects, covers, and upholds His people. The opening lines make a bold claim—those who remain close to God experience His protection in a unique and sustaining way. This is not a promise of ease but a promise of nearness. Safety, rest, and deliverance flow from abiding in God’s presence. ...

“I reserve seven thousand in Israel—all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him.” – 1 Kings 19:18 There are seasons when faithfulness can feel lonely. You pray, you serve, you try to do what’s right, and it seems like nothing is changing. In those seasons, it’s easy to wonder whether your effort matters or whether anyone notices the quiet sacrifices you make. It’s a vulnerable place to be—caught between what you believe and what you see, between the promise and the proof. In those moments, doubt can feel like a constant whisper in the back of your mind, quietly questioning everything you’ve poured your heart into. It tells you that your efforts don’t matter, that your obedience is going unnoticed, that maybe you misheard God and are walking a path that leads nowhere. That whisper can be disorienting because it strikes at the core of your intentions—you’re trying, you’re showing up, you’re doing what you believe is right, and yet the ...