Day 153

1 Chronicles 16–17 | 1 Corinthians 10:23–11:16 | Psalm 65

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Freedom is a funny thing. It’s easy to idolize. Hard to steward.

We say we want it. Crave it. Chase it. But rarely know what to do with it.

And when we say we want freedom, what we often mean is, “I want to do what I want.”

Which is why 1 Corinthians 10 feels so offensive… and so freeing.

“‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things are helpful.

‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things build up.” (vv. 23–24)

Paul isn’t writing to legalists here.

He’s writing to people who are free.

And he’s reminding them: freedom isn’t the goal—love is.

What’s Lawful Isn’t Always Loving

This one hits close to home.

Because I can make a lot of things sound holy.

I can defend my rights. Justify my tone. Frame my preferences as convictions.

And I’ve learned how to use truth like a sword instead of a scaffold.

I don’t always mean to.

But sometimes I just… want to be right.

To win. To be heard. To be justified.

And in those moments, I can forget that the highest use of freedom isn’t self-expression.

It’s self-emptying.

That’s what Paul is trying to show us: Just because you can… doesn’t mean you should.

Not if love won’t be served.

Not if someone else might stumble.

Not if it’s more about self than the Savior.

David Understood That Too

In 1 Chronicles 16, the ark has finally come to Jerusalem the right way—on the shoulders of consecrated men. And what does David do?

He appoints worship leaders. He writes a psalm. He throws a feast.

But the spotlight isn’t on him.

It’s on God.

“Ascribe to the Lord the glory due His name…” (v. 29)

“Worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness…” (v. 29)

David doesn’t use his kingship to showcase his power.

He uses it to magnify God’s presence.

Because that’s what real freedom does: it bows.

It doesn’t demand the spotlight. It deflects it.

It gives, not grabs. It bends, not brags.

That’s What I’m Learning

God’s been peeling back layers in me lately.

Showing me the places where I still want to be impressive.

Still want to be understood.

Still want to control how people perceive me.

And here’s the ugly truth:

I’ve used my strengths to serve myself.

My words to make a point.

My freedom to protect what I didn’t want to surrender.

But He’s not leaving me there.

He’s re-teaching me what freedom is actually for.

Not to posture or perform.

But to pour out.

To build up.

To bend low.

To love someone else enough to let go of what I “could” do—for the sake of what He wants to do.

Psalm 65 Says It Best

It’s this cascading hymn of abundance.

But the source of that abundance isn’t the worshiper—it’s the God being worshiped.

“You silence the roar of the seas… You visit the earth and water it… You crown the year with Your bounty…” (vv. 7, 9, 11)

He does the silencing.

He does the watering.

He does the crowning.

Our job isn’t to get the glory. It’s to give it.

That’s freedom.

So What Now?

Maybe you’re free to speak—but love says stay silent.

Maybe you’re allowed to move—but love says stay put.

Maybe it’s perfectly lawful… but love still whispers, “Don’t.”

Not because it’s wrong.

But because it’s not best.

Because in the kingdom of God, freedom isn’t the absence of limits.

It’s the presence of love.

That’s the freedom Christ modeled—and the one He bought for us.

And that love? That love will cost you.

But it will build others.

And it will glorify Him.

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Lord, thank You for setting me free—but even more, thank You for teaching me what freedom is for. Forgive me for using my rights to serve myself. For confusing liberty with license. Teach me to ask not “Can I do this?” but “Will this glorify You and bless someone else?” Show me how to lay down what’s lawful for the sake of what’s loving. And let my freedom be a place of worship—not for control, but for surrender. You’re the One who crowns the year with goodness. So let me live like it’s Yours.

Amen.