Day 38
Exodus 25–26 | Romans 3:1–20
“And see that you make them after the pattern for them, which is being shown you on the mountain.” (Exodus 25:40)
Last weekend, Sophia and I were curled up on the couch watching TV, blankets all over the place, perfectly content in our disarray—until Talacey walked in. Without hesitation, she grabbed the blankets, folded them neatly, and placed them back in their rightful spot.
Sophia and I exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of our mutual eye roll. “What’s the point?” we teased Talacey. “We’re just going to unfold them and use them again later.”
But that’s how God made her. Talacey likes order. She thrives in organization. She finds peace in things being exactly where they should be.
And as I read Exodus today, it struck me: She gets that from her Creator.
Because God is a God of order.
Exodus 25 and 26 are packed with instructions for building the tabernacle—detailed, meticulous, down to specific measurements and materials, even the placement of gold rings. At first glance, these chapters feel tedious. Why all the specifics? Why does it matter if the lampstand is hammered a certain way or if the curtains are made from blue and purple yarn?
But God wasn’t careless with His commands. Every inch of that tabernacle reflected something about Him. Every measurement, every thread, every carved cherubim was intentional—because God is intentional.
I see that same intentionality in myself, though in a different way.
Those who know me understand I’m obsessive about writing. I pore over every adjective, every Oxford comma, every cadence of every sentence. Writing, to me, isn’t just about getting words on a page—it’s about getting them right. It’s about crafting something that moves people, that influences, that stirs something deep in the soul. I’ve spent countless hours hunched over drafts, scribbling in red ink, reshaping phrases until they land exactly the way they should.
And I get that from my Creator.
Because He, too, is a craftsman. He, too, loves precision. He spoke the universe into existence with words—let there be light—and it was so. He measured out the dimensions of the seas, set the stars in their courses, wove together the complexity of the human body with deliberate care. And then, when He was finished, He stepped back and said: It is good.
I know that feeling.
When I build something from wood with my own (still mostly functional) hands, when I carve away the rough edges (more carefully now than I used to), when I run my fingers over the grain and step back to look at the finished piece—it is good.
When I labor over a paragraph, when I shape and refine and finally land on the perfect phrase—it is good.
That said, here’s the reality: While I love precision, I am far from perfect.
“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23—yes, I may have glanced ahead a couple of verses to tomorrow’s reading. Don’t judge me.)
All the careful work in the world can’t change the fact that I am flawed. I can pursue excellence in my craft, I can seek order in my home, but I cannot—on my own—be righteous.
That’s why the gospel is such good news.
Because while Exodus reminds me that God is a God of order, Romans reminds me that Jesus is the One who restores it.
I will never measure up to the standard of perfection. But Jesus did. Every law fulfilled. Every commandment kept. Every righteous requirement met—down to the smallest detail.
And on the cross, He took my failure and gave me His righteousness in return.
Every detail matters to God. The tabernacle mattered. The law mattered. The sacrifice of His Son mattered. And the work He is doing in me—even in my imperfect, unfinished state—matters.
So today, as I labor over my words, as Talacey folds the blankets yet again, I will remember: Our love for order and detail is a reflection of the One who designed us.
Lord, thank You for being a God of order and intention. Help me to see Your hand in the details, to trust that nothing is wasted, and to rest in the finished, perfect work of Your Son. Amen.
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