Day 4

Genesis 7–8 | Philippians 3

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:14)
“But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like His glorious body.” (Philippians 3:20–21)

Paul’s words in Philippians 3 remind me that life in Christ is a journey—one that moves forward, not backward. The “upward call” isn’t some vague idea of progress; it’s a fixed destination. A promise. A reality that shapes everything about how we live right now.

But how easily do I forget where I belong? How often do I let my focus shift to what’s temporary—my plans, my comforts, my worries—when I was never meant to set my roots here?

Paul reminds us that our citizenship is in heaven. That’s not just a theological statement. It’s an identity. It means that no matter how much this world demands my attention, it’s not my home. My Savior is coming, and when He does, He will transform this broken, frail body into one that is glorious like His. No more sin. No more suffering. No more death.

That changes everything. It changes how I handle hardship, knowing that every trial is temporary. It changes how I pursue success, knowing that what truly matters can’t be measured in earthly terms. It changes how I endure loss, knowing that Christ Himself is my greatest gain.

So today, I have to ask myself: Am I pressing on toward what lasts? Or am I clinging to what won’t?

Lord, help me press on toward the prize. When I lose sight of eternity, remind me that my true citizenship is in heaven. Strengthen my resolve to live each day for Your glory, walking by faith in the promise of what is to come. Amen.

Day 2

Genesis 3–4 | Philippians 1:19–2:11

“But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:13–14)

The weight of the past can be heavy.

Genesis 3 is a turning point in history—humanity’s fall, where sin fractures the world and leaves us grasping at fig leaves, scrambling to fix what we’ve broken. Adam and Eve lose Eden, lose their innocence, lose their unhindered communion with God. And yet—even in judgment—God moves them forward. He clothes them. He protects them. He doesn’t erase the consequences of their sin, but He also doesn’t leave them hopeless.

Fast forward to Philippians, and Paul’s words take on even more weight. If anyone had a past to regret, it was Paul. A former persecutor of the church, he could have been paralyzed by shame. But instead, he declares: One thing I do—forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead. He isn’t saying the past is irrelevant—he’s saying it can’t hold him captive.

I know that battle. I’ve spent nights replaying mistakes, running through scenarios of what if? and if only—especially about the woodworking accident that scarred me for life. But faith is forward motion. Sanctification and discipleship aren’t passive; they require pressing on, even when the way ahead feels unclear.

And yet, forward motion doesn’t mean forgetting God’s grace in the past—it means using it as fuel. Just as He clothed Adam and Eve, just as He redeemed Paul, He meets us today, clothing us in His righteousness and calling us forward.

Lord, help me leave behind what hinders and press on toward You. Teach me to trust Your purposes, even when I can’t see the full picture, and to live with hope in the prize awaiting me in Christ. Amen.

Day 1

Genesis 1-2 | Philippians 1:1-18 | Psalm 1

“And most of the brothers, having become confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, are much more bold to speak the word without fear.”
—Philippians 1:14

Pain confines. Loss restricts. Suffering isolates.

That’s how my injury has often felt—like a prison, locking me into limitations I never asked for. Some days, it’s the physical pain. Other days, it’s the weight of knowing life will never fully go back to “normal.” Either way, it’s easy to let hardship shrink my world down to what I can’t do, what I’ve lost.

And then I read this verse.

Paul’s imprisonment wasn’t a roadblock to ministry—it was the very thing God used to embolden others to speak the gospel with courage. The chains that should have silenced him became the pulpit that amplified his testimony.

It makes me wonder: What if my suffering isn’t just something to endure? What if God is using it, right now, in ways I can’t yet see?

I’ve already seen glimpses of it. The conversations I’ve had with people who never would have opened up to me before. The way my family has drawn closer through this trial. The prayers from friends I didn’t even know were praying. My “imprisonment”—this season of pain and limitation—hasn’t been wasted.

I don’t always feel strong enough to endure what He’s asking of me. And the truth is, I’m not. But that’s the point. His power is made perfect in weakness (2 Cor. 12:9). What I see as confinement, He sees as an opportunity to display His strength.

So instead of asking why this happened, I’m learning to ask, “How is God using this?” How is He shaping me? How is He sanctifying me? How is He speaking through my scars?

Lord, help me to stop dwelling on what I’ve lost and start trusting in what You’re doing. Use my pain, my limitations, and even my doubts to display Your faithfulness. Teach me to see every trial as part of Your purpose. Amen.