Day 35

Exodus 19–20 | Romans 1:1–15 | Proverbs 3

“For whom the Lord loves He corrects, just as a father the son in whom he delights.” (Proverbs 3:12)

I owned that table saw for ten years. And I remember the day, about six years ago, when I was building a birdhouse for my then six-year-old daughter to paint. The safety guards kept binding up, making it harder to slide the cedar planks across the saw. Frustrated, I took them off. Tossed them aside.

I figured I knew what I was doing—after all, I’d used that saw a hundred times before.

Fast forward to November 2, 2024. my buddy J and I were standing at that same saw, ripping a six-foot board to build a mantel for his fireplace. He fed the board through while I held the right edge down with my right fist—because, without the guards, it had a tendency to lift.

Over the screaming motor, J kept yelling:

“Move your hand! You’re gonna cut it!”

And over the screaming motor, I kept yelling back:

“I’ve done this a thousand times! It’s fine!”

Then, in an instant, it happened.

The board kicked forward. And as the blade sucked it back in, my fist went with it.

The pain was immediate. So was the realization.

The guards had been there to protect me. And I had ignored them—just like I ignored J’s warnings.

I should have known better. I should have listened. But I didn’t. And it cost me.

How much more costly is it when we ignore the commands of God?

That’s how I think about the Ten Commandments.

So many people treat them like a prison—a set of rules meant to restrict and confine us. But God never meant for His law to take away life. He meant for His law to protect it. To lead us into it.

And yet, just like I tossed aside those safety guards, we toss aside His commands.

The people of Israel did the same. When they stood at Mount Sinai and saw the fire and smoke, they were terrified. Instead of drawing near, they told Moses, “You speak to us… but do not let God speak to us, or we will die.” (Exodus 20:19)

They misunderstood the heart of God. His laws weren’t given to destroy them but to preserve them. They weren’t prison bars—they were traffic laws, designed to keep them from wrecking their lives.

And yet, just like I ignored the warnings from J—just like Israel resisted God’s voice—we all have broken His law. Every single one of us.

But this is where the gospel floods in with hope.

Because when Jesus came, He didn’t just teach the law. He fulfilled it. Every commandment we’ve broken, He kept. Every righteous requirement we failed to meet, He met. Not one law was disregarded. Not one standard was lowered. And yet, He was the One who suffered as if He had broken them all.

We ignored the warnings. He paid the price.

We tossed aside the safety guards. He took the injury.

And on the cross, the One who had never sinned bore the punishment for every sin we’ve ever committed.

That’s grace.

I look at my still-healing scars now, and they remind me—not just of my failure, but of God’s mercy. Because I should have lost more that day. But God, in His kindness, preserved my life.

And in an even greater way, Jesus preserves ours.

His commands aren’t there to steal our joy. They’re there to protect it.

His grace isn’t an excuse to break the law. It’s the reason we run to Him when we do.

Lord, thank You for Your law and for Your grace. Help me to see Your commands not as burdens, but as gifts. And when I fail—because I will—remind me that Jesus has already fulfilled the law in my place because there’s no way I could myself. Amen.