Day 56

Leviticus 22-23 | John 1:19-34

There’s a phrase in today’s reading that hits like a hammer:

“That person shall be cut off from My presence.” (Leviticus 22:3)

Not just cast out of the camp. Not just exiled from the people.

Cut off from God Himself.

And that thought isn’t just unsettling—it’s terrifying.

Because I live each day in the presence of the Lord. I wake up knowing He is near. I go about my day with the steady assurance that He sees me, knows me, leads me.

I cannot fathom what it would be like to wake up one morning and find that presence gone. To live in a world where my prayers hit the ceiling. Where my life is left to my own strength.

Where the steady undercurrent of His grace is completely removed.

And yet—that is exactly what we all deserve.

The Law Was Never the Endgame

The deeper we get into Leviticus, the easier it is to lose sight of what’s happening.

Another law. Another sacrifice. Another command to be holy.

But if you really look, you see something deeper:

God’s relentless pursuit of His people.

The offerings, the feasts, the priestly rituals—none of it was about rule-following for the sake of rule-following. It was about making a way for sinful people to dwell with a holy God.

Because sin separates. It defiles. It cuts people off.

And the law alone could never fix that.

For centuries, Israel followed these commands—yet the problem remained. Their sacrifices had to be offered again and again. Their sins had to be atoned for, year after year. The law exposed their need for a Savior—but it couldn’t provide one.

And then, in John 1, John the Baptist appears.

And everything the law pointed to is standing before him.

“Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29)

The law had required an unblemished lamb for atonement. But now, the true Lamb had come—the final, once-for-all sacrifice, the fulfillment of everything the Old Testament foreshadowed.

And John testifies:

“I have seen and testified that this is the Son of God.” (John 1:34)

That is John’s testimony.

Which makes me think about mine.

The Testimony I Thought Wasn’t Worth Telling

I had coffee last week with a brother I recently met at church.

We shared our stories—our testimonies.

He spent 15 years behind prison bars. His life before Christ was full of regret and brokenness. His redemption was almost impossible to fathom.

And then there was me.

I used to think my testimony wasn’t worth telling—because my past looked nothing like that.

I never did drugs. Never ran from the law. Never woke up in a jail cell, wondering where my life had gone wrong.

The worst I’ve done was steal $5 from my mom’s purse in fifth grade to buy a New Kids on the Block poster at the book fair for the girl I had a crush on.

It’s safe to say I’ve never known rock bottom.

My dad was a pastor. I knew about Jesus from the time I could talk. I can’t remember a day in my life when I didn’t know He died for my sins.

And because of that, I used to feel ashamed.

Not ashamed of Christ. Ashamed that my story was… boring.

I thought testimonies had to be dramatic for God to use them. That He was able to work more powerfully through people who had fallen the hardest before they were saved.

And then something clicked.

Every Salvation Story Is a Miracle

Because here’s the truth:

I was just as lost.

I was just as unworthy.

I was just as much in need of grace.

Every single one of us was dead in sin before Christ made us alive.

And there is nothing boring about being brought to life.

The Saw Blade Didn’t Change My Testimony—It Clarified It

Then came the saw blade.

And suddenly, my testimony became a little more interesting.

Now I have a fistful of scars to go with my story. Gnarly reminders of God’s mercy in sparing my life. Markers of the same grace I have always known—but now carry in a very visible way.

Here’s the thing:

God’s love for me didn’t change before or after the accident.

His grace was always there.

The only difference? I see it now in ways I never did before.

And now, like John, I can say with certainty:

“I have seen. So I testify.”

Not because of a saw blade.

Not because of a prison cell.

Not because of anything I have done.

But because He saved me.

And that alone is the only story that matters.

Lord, You are my testimony. Not my scars. Not my suffering. Not my sin. But You—Your grace, Your presence, Your salvation. Let my life tell of You, again and again. Amen.