​This morning I’ve been sitting with 1 Samuel again, reading about King Saul. The words hit hard. His rebellion is called witchcraft, and his arrogance is equated with idolatry. Then the Lord tells Samuel outright that He regrets making Saul king over Israel. I can almost hear the grief in those words.

I’m no king. I wasn’t chosen to lead God’s people like he was. Yet the mirror is still there. I see how easily I rebel in small ways, how quickly my eyes drift from the Lord to the shiny idols of this world. The thought that my stubbornness and self-will could cause God pain… that He might even feel regret over choices He’s made concerning me… it’s devastating. It literally breaks something inside me.

Lord, I’m so sorry. Forgive this messed-up heart of mine. I keep asking You to soften it, to make it pliable, to mold it like clay in Your hands. Please don’t give up on me. Keep teaching me. Draw me closer. Pull my wandering heart back to You every single time it strays.

I don’t want to end up like Saul. I want to be like David—a person after Your own heart. That’s what I long for more than anything.
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Help me, Lord. I need You.

Once again there are two men — two different stories.

1 Samuel 14 isn’t just about two leaders—it’s about two ways of living. Jonathan shows us what it looks like to step out in simple, bold trust, even when you don’t have all the answers. Saul shows us how easy it is to use spiritual language while actually operating in fear, control, and self-protection.

Knowing that Jonathan stepped forward with a quiet confidence in God—even saying “perhaps the Lord will act”—shows me that faith doesn’t require certainty, just willingness. He didn’t need a full plan… just a heart ready to trust.

Saul, on the other hand, reminds me how easy it is to look spiritual on the outside while missing God on the inside. His vow sounded holy, but it weighed people down instead of lifting them up.

I see two paths in this chapter: one that releases life, and one that drains it.

Lord, help us to walk like Jonathan—quick to trust You, willing to move, and careful not to put burdens on others that You never asked for.

As I’ve been tracing the line of the priesthood from Aaron through Eleazar to Phinehas, and then into the time of Eli, I’m struck by how something so holy can slowly drift.

God established the priesthood through Aaron—it was sacred, set apart, intentional. It wasn’t just a role; it was a calling to carry His presence before the people. And as that calling passed to Eleazar and then to Phinehas, I see faithfulness. I see zeal. I see a man who cared deeply about honoring God, so much so that God made a covenant of peace with him and promised a lasting priesthood through his line. But then I turn the page and arrive at Eli and his sons, and it feels like a completely different story.

They still hold the same position. They still carry the title of priest. But something is missing. Their hearts are not aligned with God. They treat holy things casually. They take what belongs to Him. They go through the motions, but the reverence is gone.

And it makes me pause. How does a line that begins with such faithfulness end up here? I think the answer is both simple and sobering—the calling can be passed down… but the heart cannot. Each generation has to choose it. Each person has to choose it.

What really stands out to me is that there are two men named Phinehas in this story. One is remembered for his boldness and zeal for God. The other is remembered as part of a generation that dishonored Him. Same name. Same priesthood. Completely different response.

That alone is such a reminder to me--

It’s not enough to be close to holy things. It’s not enough to have a history of faith around me. It’s not enough to know what it’s supposed to look like. I don’t want to just carry the name or the appearance of faith. I want to live it. I want to walk in it. I want my heart to stay soft and responsive to Him. And God is after my heart—right now, today.​

This week Pastor Joby preached on Matthew 9:1-8. There were so many lessons in this short passage. 

First, Jesus looked at the paralytic and chose to forgive his sins before healing his body. It must have really confused everyone watching when Jesus said, “Your sins are forgiven”. I am sure they were expecting a physical miracle. But Jesus was doing something deeper—something eternal. He was addressing the man’s greatest need first. That makes me wonder how often I focus on the temporary when Jesus is working on something eternal. It makes me stop and reconsider what I often bring to Him first. If I’m honest, I usually come to God wanting relief—fix this situation, remove this burden, heal what feels broken on the outside. But in this moment, Jesus shows me that my deepest need isn’t always what I can see or feel… it’s what’s going on within my heart.

Second, the paralytic couldn’t get to Jesus on his own. He was completely dependent on others to carry him. There are seasons where I feel just like that—unable to move forward, needing others to carry me in faith when I don’t have the strength. Pastor Joby calls these people mat carriers—people that are willing to be truthful with us and willing to walk through hard times with us. Can I list my mat carriers? Or better yet—whose mat am I carrying?

Third, Jesus then tells the man to get up—and he does. I love that the man simply got up and went home. No hesitation. No questioning. Just obedience. There’s something so simple and beautiful in that response.

Lord, I want to trust You like that. And help me to come to You not just for what I want fixed on the outside, but for what needs healing on the inside. Remind me that forgiveness is the greater miracle. And when You speak, give me a heart that responds immediately—walking in the freedom You’ve already given.


And thank You… that You see me fully—both the parts I show and the parts I try to hide—and You still say, “Take heart.

Knowing God is always weaving a greater story—one of restoration, belonging, and unwavering love—shows me I can trust His perfect wisdom and follow wherever He leads, free from fear and apprehension.

Knowing that God is working in ways I don’t always recognize — aligning things, moving pieces, even using creation itself if needed — shows me that what I see is not the whole story and challenges me to say yes when He calls — even when I don’t fully see what He is doing.