Scars and Sovereignty

Tag: Mark

  • The Hands That Hold Us

    The Hands That Hold Us

    Day 34

    Exodus 17–18 | Mark 16

    “But Moses’ hands grew weary, so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it, while Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side. So his hands were steady until the going down of the sun.” (Exodus 17:12)

    Israel’s victory in battle wasn’t about their strength. It wasn’t even about Moses’ strength. It was about dependence—on God and on the people He provided to stand beside him.

    Moses stood on the hill, staff raised, as Israel fought below. As long as his hands were lifted, they prevailed. But when exhaustion set in and his arms dropped, the enemy gained ground. So Aaron and Hur stepped in. They didn’t take over the battle. They didn’t carry the staff for him. They simply held him up when he no longer could.

    That picture of dependence hits me hard. I’ve always prided myself on being capable, strong, independent. But then came November 2. The moment the saw met my hand, my independence was gone. I couldn’t drive. Couldn’t button my own shirt. Couldn’t even cut my own dinner at Men’s Bible study on Wednesday nights—my best friend J had to do it for me. Talacey had to wash my left armpit because my right hand had to be wrapped in a garbage bag each time I showered. My cousin Carson had to take over hosting Christmas Eve because I couldn’t cook or carve the prime rib like I do every year.

    And then there was Bob, originally my boss and now a good friend, who was chomping at the bit to board a plane the moment he heard what happened. Who called or texted every single day, making sure I knew I wasn’t forgotten. He had no obligation to do that, but he did. Because that’s what God does—He sends people to hold us up when we can’t stand on our own.

    That’s what J did. What Talacey did. What Carson, M, Andrei, Bob, and so many others did. When my hands were too weak to carry what God had given me, they stood beside me and held them up.

    Moses couldn’t sustain the battle alone. Neither can we.

    Mark 16 reminds us of the ultimate victory—the resurrection of Jesus. The moment when sin and death were defeated, not by human strength, but by divine power. The gospel itself is a story of dependence: we couldn’t save ourselves, so Christ did what we never could. And now, He calls us to do for one another what Aaron and Hur did for Moses—to stand beside the weary, to lift the burdened, to remind the broken that they are not alone.

    If you’re exhausted today—if you’re trying to hold it all together but your arms are shaking—hear this: You don’t have to do it alone. God sees you. He strengthens you. And He has placed people in your life to hold you up when you can’t stand on your own.

    Lord, thank You for the people You have placed in my life to lift me when I can’t lift myself. Teach me to rely on You, to rest in Your strength, and to be that kind of support for others. Amen.

  • Daily Bread, Eternal Provision

    Daily Bread, Eternal Provision

    Day 33

    Exodus 15–16 | Mark 15:16–47 | Psalm 15

    “Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘Behold, I am about to rain bread from heaven for you, and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day, that I may test them, whether they will walk in my law or not.’” (Exodus 16:4)

    In Exodus 16, the people of Israel are only one month removed from walking through the Red Sea on dry ground, and yet, they’re already grumbling. Hunger sets in, and nostalgia clouds their memory. They long for Egypt—the place of their slavery—because at least there, they had food. So God provides. Manna, bread from heaven, falls each morning, but there’s a condition: gather only what you need for the day. No hoarding. No storing up. Just trusting that tomorrow, He’ll do it again.

    And isn’t that where faith so often falters? Not in believing God can provide, but in trusting that He will—again and again, day after day.

    I see myself in Israel’s grumbling. Not for bread, but for control. I want to know what’s ahead. I want to store up security, gather extra just in case God doesn’t come through tomorrow. But He doesn’t work that way. He gives daily bread. Strength for today. Mercy for this moment. And He calls me to trust Him for the next.

    Then I come to Mark 15, where the One who called Himself the Bread of Life is broken. The Israelites were sustained by bread from heaven, but now, heaven’s true provision hangs on a cross, forsaken and starving. Jesus—the Son of God, the One who could turn stones into bread if He wished—receives nothing. No relief. No rescue.

    The people at the foot of the cross mocked Him: “He saved others; he cannot save himself.” (Mark 15:31) And they were right, though not in the way they thought. He didn’t save Himself because He was saving us. The Bread of Life was emptied so that we could be filled.

    Israel worried about tomorrow’s provision, but Jesus ensured our eternal one.

    Where am I still trying to gather more than what God has given for today? Where am I looking for security instead of trusting in His daily grace?

    God still provides daily bread. Some days it comes as encouragement, some days as endurance, some days as the strength to take just one more step. But always, He gives exactly what we need. And always, He is enough.

    Lord, help me trust Your daily provision. Teach me to rest in what You give and not fear what I lack. Let my heart not grumble, but believe. Amen.

  • The Long Way Around

    The Long Way Around

    Day 32

    Exodus 13–14 | Mark 14:66–15:15

    “By a strong hand the Lord brought us out of Egypt.” (Exodus 13:16)

    God didn’t take Israel on the shortest route to the Promised Land. The direct path through Philistine territory would have gotten them there quickly—but God knew their hearts. He knew that when faced with fear, they’d turn back to the slavery they had just been freed from. So instead, He led them the long way. A harder way. A way through the wilderness.

    But He never left them. The pillar of cloud went before them by day, the fire by night—constant reminders of His presence.

    Then, when Pharaoh’s army closed in, the people panicked. And Moses told them:

    “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will work for you today.” (Exodus 14:13)

    Stand firm. Watch God work.

    That hits home.

    I didn’t get the easy way out either. When I woke up in a hospital bed in San Francisco, my hand wrapped in bandages and warming blankets, my future uncertain, I would have given anything for a shortcut to healing. A way around the pain. A quick resolution to the suffering. But instead, He led me the long way—the harder way. The way through the wilderness.

    And yet, like Israel, I was never alone.

    He was there in every detail. In my cousin, the paramedic supervisor who connected me to the best possible care. In my best friend, J, who just happened to be with me when it happened—his years of training as a first responder keeping me calm, talking me through shock and blood loss. In M, who was in the right place at the right time to get my wife to me. In my friend and pastor, Andrei, who walked past hospital staff when they said visitors were impossible, just to pray over me before I was airlifted away. In my mom and sister who dropped everything and drove 600 miles through the night to take care of my daughter. In my Aunt Carol, already in San Francisco for a business trip, waiting at my side when I woke up from surgery—because my wife and daughter were still in Fresno, three hours away.

    No visible pillar of cloud. No fire in the sky. But God was just as present. Just as faithful.

    And still, He says: “Stand firm. Watch Me work.”

    Late last night, my phone rang. It was a brother whose marriage is unraveling under the weight of his pornography addiction and the broken trust his sin caused. He’s desperate for a way forward, but there’s no shortcut through this kind of healing. No quick fix for reconciliation. Just the long way. The hard way.

    But I reminded him that we believe in the God who reconciles. The One who parts seas and makes a way where there is none.

    If you’re in the wilderness today—if the way ahead feels slow, painful, uncertain—know this: The long way is still God’s way. And He never leads us where His presence won’t sustain us.

    Lord, help me trust You in the long way around. When fear and doubt creep in, remind me that You are always near, always working, always faithful. Let me stand firm and watch You move. Amen.

  • Blood on the Doorpost

    Blood on the Doorpost

    Day 31

    Exodus 11–12 | Mark 14:43–65 | Psalm 14

    “When I see the blood, I will pass over you…” (Exodus 12:13)

    The final plague was coming. Death itself would pass through Egypt, and there was only one way to escape it: the blood of the lamb. God’s instruction was clear—each household was to sacrifice a spotless lamb, paint its blood on the doorposts, and take refuge inside. The firstborn in every home without the blood would die.

    No one was exempt based on status. It didn’t matter if you were rich or poor, Egyptian or Israelite, moral or immoral—your only hope was the blood.

    And yet, how often do we convince ourselves otherwise?

    When good isn’t good enough

    I work with high-powered financial services executives who walk the streets of midtown Manhattan and downtown San Diego. They are brilliant builders—of companies, of wealth, of legacies. Many of them are good people. In fact, many of them I am proud to call friends. They donate to charities, take care of their employees, and lead with integrity. And deep down, some believe that because they’ve done good, they are good. That they’ve checked the right boxes and are set—not just in this life, but in the next.

    But when death came for the firstborn in Egypt, no amount of power, influence, or good deeds could stop it. The only thing that mattered was whether the blood was applied.

    Mark 14 paints another picture of men convinced of their own righteousness—the religious leaders who arrested Jesus. They knew the law better than anyone, yet when the Lamb of God stood before them, they rejected Him. The very men who should have recognized the fulfillment of the Passover were blind to it.

    And today? The same deception lingers. People trust in their achievements, their moral efforts, their generosity—but none of it will make them right before a holy God. When judgment comes, it won’t matter how much money you gave, how well you treated people, or what kind of reputation you built.

    The only question that matters

    The only question that will matter is the same one that mattered in Exodus 12: Is the blood applied? Because unless it is, He will not pass over your sins—no matter how much good you’ve done.

    Lord, remind me that nothing I bring to the table can save me. Only the blood of Jesus is enough. Let me never trust in my own righteousness, but in the Lamb who was slain for me. Amen.

  • The Kingdoms of This World

    The Kingdoms of This World

    Day 30

    Exodus 9–10 | Mark 14:12–42

    “For this purpose I have raised you up, to show you My power, so that My name may be proclaimed in all the earth.” (Exodus 9:16)

    My Bible study brothers and I are walking through Daniel right now, and if there’s one truth that keeps standing out, it’s this: God is sovereign over all kingdoms, all rulers, all time.

    In today’s reading, Pharaoh thought he held ultimate power, but God makes it clear—Pharaoh’s rise, his rule, even his resistance—were all under God’s authority. “For this purpose I have raised you up, to show you My power…” (Exodus 9:16)

    At the same time, I can’t stop thinking about a conversation I had with a brother last night—wrestling through the tension between God’s sovereignty and human free will. How can both be true? Scripture is clear that God decrees all things, and yet within His sovereign plan, we make real choices with real consequences. It’s a paradox my finite mind can’t fully grasp, but one I know to be true because God’s Word holds both in perfect harmony.

    And then I come to Mark 14. Jesus—God in the flesh—prays in Gethsemane. “Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Remove this cup from Me. Yet not what I will, but what You will.” (Mark 14:36) The Son of God prayed to the Father. He wrestled. He pleaded. And yet, He surrendered. If there was ever a moment to resolve the mystery of God’s will and human will, it’s here. Jesus, fully God and fully man, shows us the way. He asked, but He also yielded. He trusted that His Father’s will—though costly—was good.

    Pharaoh hardened his heart. Jesus bowed His. Two pictures of human will—one resisting God, the other surrendering to Him. And in the end, only one kingdom stands.

    I don’t have all the answers to the tension between sovereignty and free will. But I know this: God reigns. Over pharaohs and empires, over nations and history, over my life and yours. He hears our prayers, and yet His purposes never fail. My job and yours isn’t to have it all figured out—it’s to trust Him, pray with boldness, and surrender fully.

    Lord, You are sovereign over all things. Teach me to trust You, even when I don’t understand. And when my will clashes with Yours, give me the faith to surrender. Give me eyes to see that Your ways are always good. Amen.

  • Scars of Grace

    Scars of Grace

    Day 16

    Genesis 31–32 | Mark 6:45-7:13

    “And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day.” (Genesis 32:24)

    Jacob’s wrestling match with God is one of the most profound moments in Scripture. It’s not just a physical struggle—it’s the culmination of a lifetime of striving. He fought for position in the womb, deceived his father, manipulated his uncle, and now, in the dead of night, he grapples with God Himself. Jacob enters the night as a man desperate for control, but he leaves it limping, humbled, and renamed. No longer Jacob, the deceiver, but Israel—one who strives with God and prevails.

    In Mark 6, we see another struggle. The disciples, straining against the waves, see Jesus walking on water. But Jesus doesn’t immediately calm the storm. He lets them fight against the wind, watching as they wrestle with fear and exhaustion. And then, when they least expect it, He meets them there. His timing, as always, is perfect.

    I know what it is to wrestle with God’s purposes and timing. Eleven weeks ago, I lay in a hospital bed, three hours from home after a 60-minute helicopter flight and a five-hour surgery, in unbearable pain. The saw had taken two fingers, and I knew it had taken with them my sense of normalcy—typing, writing, woodworking, shaking hands, even brushing my teeth would never be the same. I was sad. But I was also angry.

    I texted J, my best friend, in those early days:

    “I hate how limited I am now. I hate needing help. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to, but healing is slow. I feel forgotten, like life moved on for everyone else but I’m still here, stuck in this mess. I’m grieving—not just for my hand, but for the life I had before this. I know God has a plan, but He’s asking more of me than I have to give.”

    Like Jacob, I wrestled. And like the disciples, I strained at the oars, wondering why Jesus hadn’t yet stepped in. But He had. I just couldn’t see it at the time.

    Now? I would give all ten fingers for what He’s done through the two I lost.

    Through this injury, God did what I never could have imagined. He restored relationships I thought were beyond repair. He rekindled conversations with people I hadn’t spoken to in decades. He used my family’s need to hem us into the body of Christ at our church. He used nightly family prayer to draw my wife, my daughter and me closer to each other than ever before. And my dad—who always loved me but rarely said it—began saying: “I love you.”

    God used my devastation to bring Himself the glory, and me the good.

    Jacob walked away from his wrestling match with a limp. I walk away from this injury with a fistful of scars I wouldn’t trade for anything, because they are permanent reminders of the transformative work God is still doing today.

    What are you wrestling with? What waves are you straining against? These passages remind us that God is not distant. He meets us in the struggle, shapes us as He guides us through it, and brings us something beautiful that will last for all eternity.

    Lord, I am prone to wrestle for control and to strive against the storms of life. Teach me to surrender to You. Transform my struggles and my scars into testimonies of Your grace. Amen.

  • The Legacy of Sin

    The Legacy of Sin

    Day 10

    Genesis 19–20 | Mark 3:22–4:9

    “And Abraham said of Sarah his wife, ‘She is my sister.’ And Abimelech king of Gerar sent and took Sarah.” (Genesis 20:2)

    Some lessons in life take time to sink in. Others, no matter how many times we’re confronted with them, we seem doomed to repeat. That’s what makes Abraham’s story here so unsettling.

    Despite everything God had already done for him—calling him out of Ur, protecting him, and even promising him descendants as numerous as the stars—Abraham falls into the same sin he committed years earlier. He once again tells a foreign king that Sarah is his sister, out of fear for his life. And years later, his son Isaac does the exact same thing with Rebekah, proving that our sins don’t just affect us—they ripple through generations.

    As a father, that terrifies me. I think about my 12-year-old daughter and the example I’m setting for her. What patterns of fear, doubt, or compromise might I be passing down? Will she learn from my faith, or will she inherit my failures?

    But Abraham’s story isn’t just a warning—it’s also a testimony to God’s grace. Despite Abraham’s repeated failure, God remains faithful, stepping in to protect Sarah and preserve His covenant. Abraham’s sin didn’t derail God’s plan. And that gives me hope.

    I know I will fail. I will fall short. But what I pray my daughter sees in me isn’t a man who never messes up—but a man who, when he does, turns back to God in repentance. A man who leans on grace, not on his own strength.

    Lord, forgive me for the ways I fail to trust You. Help me break sinful patterns so that my daughter inherits a legacy of faith, not fear. May she see Your faithfulness in my life and learn to trust You above all else. Amen.

  • When the Answer is ‘Wait’

    When the Answer is ‘Wait’

    Day 8

    Genesis 15–16 | Mark 2

    “And he believed the Lord, and He counted it to him as righteousness.” (Genesis 15:6)

    God’s promise to Abram in Genesis 15 is breathtaking—offspring as numerous as the stars. Abram believed, and God counted it to him as righteousness. But by Genesis 16, we see a different picture. Doubt creeps in. Abram and Sarai grow impatient. They take matters into their own hands, trying to force the fulfillment of God’s promise through Hagar. The result? Heartache, division, and consequences that outlasted their lifetime.

    Waiting has never been easy—not for Abram, not for me.

    Five months after Talacey and I got married, we packed up our newlywed lives and moved 200 miles away for my new job. We were excited. Young, ambitious, ready for the life we had envisioned. But we had no idea what was coming. My salary barely covered our apartment rent, car payment, and gas—forget about food or anything extra. Then the recession hit, and every year like clockwork, my employer cut salaries by another 2%. With Talacey working part time as a preschool teacher while pursuing her masters degree, we had nothing to fall back on.

    And then there was the isolation. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t seem to build community. We missed home. We missed our people. We prayed for God to open a door back to Fresno, begged for it at times. I applied for job after job. I updated my resume. I networked. And the silence from God stretched on.

    For six years.

    I would come home from work to find Talacey in the corner of our small apartment, weeping. “I just want to go home,” she’d sob. And I had no answers. No job prospects. No indication that anything would change. Like Abram and Sarai, I started wondering if I needed to make something happen—force the door open instead of waiting for God to move. But every attempt to take control ended in frustration.

    As I look back now, I see what I couldn’t see then: God’s faithfulness in the waiting.

    That season—though painful—shaped our faith, strengthened our marriage, and taught us to rely on God and each other when nothing made sense. Eventually, He did make a way. He led us home in His perfect timing, in a way we never could have orchestrated on our own.

    Mark 2 reminds me why this matters. When the paralyzed man was brought to Jesus, the crowd expected a physical healing. Instead, Jesus first forgave his sins. Why? Because his deepest need—and our deepest need—isn’t a change in circumstances, but a restored relationship with God. Sometimes God delays the answer we want because He is already working on the answer we truly need.

    Abram and Sarai rushed ahead of God, and the consequences were devastating. I’ve done the same more times than I’d like to admit. But Genesis 15 reminds me that faith—real, lasting faith—is trusting not just in God’s promises but in His timing.

    Lord, forgive me for the times I try to take control instead of trusting You. Help me rest in Your promises, remembering that Your ways are higher than mine. Teach me to trust Your perfect timing, knowing that You are always faithful. Amen.

  • When Healing Doesn’t Come

    When Healing Doesn’t Come

    Day 7

    Genesis 13–14 | Mark 1:21–45 | Psalm 4

    “Moved with pity, He stretched out His hand and touched him and said to him, ‘I will; be clean.’” (Mark 1:41)

    I want to rejoice when I read this verse—Jesus’s compassion and power on full display. But if I’m honest, it stings. I see Jesus heal the leper with a touch, and I wonder: Why hasn’t He healed me? Why hasn’t He restored my hand after all the prayers and tears?

    It reminds me of an episode from The Chosen, where Little James asks Jesus why he hasn’t been healed. Jesus responds with such love, explaining that James’s faith in the midst of suffering is a greater testimony than healing would be. That scene wrecks me because it feels so real.

    Maybe you’ve felt the same—watching others receive the miracle you’ve begged for, wondering why God hasn’t answered the way you hoped. But this passage reminds me: Jesus isn’t distant or indifferent. He is moved with compassion. His power and purposes go far beyond the physical. Sometimes the greater healing happens in our hearts, as He reshapes our pain into a testimony of His grace.

    In Psalm 4, David declares, “You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound” (v7). True joy doesn’t come from getting what we want. It comes from knowing the One who holds all things together. That joy doesn’t erase the ache, but it reframes it—pointing us to the hope we have in Christ.

    I’m still waiting. I’m still praying. And I’m learning to trust that His plan is better than my own. My scars remind me that God’s compassion is not absent, and His purposes are still at work.

    Lord, help me trust Your purposes when the answers don’t come the way I expect. Use my weakness for Your glory. Remind me that Your compassion and power are always near, even in my waiting. Amen.