Scars and Sovereignty

Tag: Psalms

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Walking with God

    Walking with God

    Day 3

    Genesis 5–6 | Psalm 2 | Philippians 2:12–30

    “Enoch walked with God…” (Genesis 5:24)

    There’s something about this verse that stirs a quiet longing in me—to live a life defined not by accomplishments, but by communion with God. Not a faith that’s sporadic or compartmentalized, but one marked by daily, constant closeness with the One who sustains all things.

    What strikes me about Enoch’s story is its simplicity. The Bible doesn’t list his achievements. There are no dramatic miracles, no recorded sermons, no accounts of battles won. It simply says, he walked with God. And that was enough.

    That challenges me. Because if I’m honest, I can so easily slip into measuring my faith by what I do—the prayers I pray, the knowledge I gain, the things I accomplish. But Enoch’s story reminds me that faith isn’t about performance. It’s about presence. It’s about a steady, faithful, step-by-step journey with God, even when no one is watching.

    I hope that one day it might be said of me that I “walked with God.” That despite my failures, my faltering steps, and the countless ways I fall short, my life could still point others to Him. That my legacy wouldn’t be about what I built, but about Who I followed.

    Philippians 2 echoes this reality. Paul calls us to “work out [our] own salvation with fear and trembling”—not because salvation depends on us, but because “it is God who works in [us], both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Philippians 2:12–13). Walking with God isn’t about striving in our own strength. It’s about surrendering, daily, to the One who works in us.

    I don’t know what walking with God looks like for you today. Maybe it’s trusting Him in a season of uncertainty. Maybe it’s finding joy in simple obedience. Maybe it’s just getting up and choosing to follow Him, even when you don’t feel like it.

    But I do know this—if we walk with Him, He will lead us exactly where we need to go.

    Lord, teach me to walk with You. Not just in the big moments, but in the ordinary ones. Shape my heart to desire You more than anything else, and let my life reflect Your glory in every season. Amen.