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Speak through Him, Valencia (2026)

20/09/2026

Israel had just witnessed one of the greatest miracles in history.

God had parted the Red Sea, delivered His people from Pharaoh's army, and led them safely into freedom. Their songs of praise echoed through the wilderness as they celebrated the Lord's mighty victory.

It seemed as though their troubles were finally behind them.

But three days later, everything changed.

Exodus tells us,

"𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗠𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗜𝘀𝗿𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝘀𝗲𝘁 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗱 𝗦𝗲𝗮, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗦𝗵𝘂𝗿. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿. 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗵, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗵 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿; 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗵." (Exodus 15:22–23)

The name Marah literally means "𝗯𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿."

After three days without water, Israel finally found what they had been desperately searching for.

But when they reached it, they couldn't drink it.

Their hope quickly turned into disappointment.

So the people grumbled against Moses, saying,
"𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗲 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸?"(Exodus 15:24)

It's easy to wonder how Israel could complain so soon after witnessing God's mighty deliverance.

Yet before we judge them, we should remember how often we sound just like them.

Sometimes life brings us to our own Marah.

We pray for healing, but the diagnosis remains.
We work faithfully, yet the opportunity never comes.
We lose someone we dearly love and wonder why God allowed it.

We praise God when prayers are answered, yet question Him when life becomes difficult.

We remember His faithfulness in seasons of abundance but struggle to trust Him in seasons of waiting.

There are seasons when life tastes bitter.
And sometimes one bitter experience overshadows countless reminders of His goodness.

Not because we have stopped believing in God...
But because we cannot understand what He is doing.

And then we begin to question God,

"Lord, if You love me, why did You lead me here?"
"Why would You bring me this far only to leave me at bitter waters?"

Fear can cloud our memory.
Pain can distort our perspective.
And disappointment can tempt us to believe that God has forgotten us.

But here's the beautiful truth:

God already knew about Marah before Israel ever arrived there.
He had led His people there.

Not to abandon them...
But to teach them that the God who brought them out of Egypt would also sustain them in the wilderness.

Then we read,

"𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗗, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝗴, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁." (Exodus 15:25)

The God who parted the Red Sea was also the God who made bitter waters sweet.

What looked like another obstacle became another opportunity to reveal His power, His provision, and His faithfulness.

The passage then tells us,

"𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺." (Exodus 15:25)

Marah was more than a place.
It was a test of trust.

And God said:

“If you will diligently listen to the voice of the LORD your God, and do that which is right in his eyes, and give ear to his commandments and keep all his statutes...” (Exodus 15:26)

The test was not simply whether Israel believed God could give them water.

It was whether they would listen to Him and trust Him when the journey became difficult.

They had already seen what God could do at the Red Sea.
Now they were learning to trust Him in the wilderness.

And perhaps that is where many of us are today.

We know what God has done.
We have seen His faithfulness before.
We have experienced prayers answered.
We have witnessed doors open.
We have seen Him provide when we didn't know how provision would come.

But then Marah comes.

And suddenly the bitterness in front of us becomes bigger than the goodness behind us.

We forget.
We forget the prayers He answered.
We forget the doors He opened.
We forget the times He carried us.
We forget the ways He provided.
We forget the moments when we thought we wouldn't make it—and somehow, by His grace, we did.

𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻.

So perhaps when you find yourself at Marah, don't only look at the bitter water.
Look back at the Red Sea.

Remember what God has already done.
Remember His faithfulness.
Remember His character.

And then cry out to Him.
Listen to Him.
Trust Him.

Not because every bitter circumstance will immediately become sweet in the way we want.

But because 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗼𝗱.

Perhaps today you find yourself standing at your own Marah.

It may be a broken marriage.
A painful betrayal.
An empty chair at the dinner table.
A doctor's report you never expected to hear.
A prayer you've carried for years.
A dream that quietly slipped away.
Or simply the exhaustion of carrying a burden that no one else knows about.

If that's where you are, don't let today's bitterness rewrite your understanding of God's goodness.

You may not understand why this season is happening.
You may not see what God is doing.

But you can remember what He has already done.

The God who was faithful at the Red Sea is still faithful at Marah.

And Scripture points us toward a day when bitterness will not have the final word.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore.” (Revelation 21:4)

One day, God will make all things new.

Until then, there may be Red Seas and Marahs.
There may be seasons of singing and seasons of thirst.

There may be moments when God's faithfulness feels unmistakable and moments when His purposes are difficult to understand.

But don't let one bitter season make you forget how good God has been.

The water may be bitter.
The season may be painful.
The answer may still be unclear.

But God has not changed.
And His faithfulness is still greater than the bitterness in front of you.

19/09/2026

Moses had seen the burning bush.
He had stood before Pharaoh.
He had witnessed God deliver Israel from Egypt and lead them through the Red Sea.

God had entrusted him with an enormous responsibility.

And yet, one day, Moses received some unexpected advice.

Not from a prophet.
Not from one of Israel’s leaders.

But from his father-in-law, Jethro.

Jethro watched Moses sit from morning until evening, judging the people’s disputes and helping them understand God’s will.

The line was long.
The responsibility was heavy.

And Moses was trying to handle it all.

Then Jethro said something remarkably direct:

“What you are doing is not good.” (Exodus 18:17)

Imagine hearing that.

Moses was serving God’s people.
He was doing important work.
He was carrying a responsibility God had given him.

Yet someone came along and said,
“What you are doing is not good.”

Jethro wasn’t attacking Moses’ character.
He was pointing out something Moses may not have seen in himself:

“You and the people with you will certainly wear yourselves out.” (Exodus 18:18)

The problem wasn’t that Moses cared.

The problem was that he was carrying the responsibility in a way that was exhausting both himself and the people.

Jethro then offered a better way.

Moses should continue representing the people before God.
He should continue teaching them God’s statutes and showing them how they should walk. But he should also appoint capable, trustworthy, God-fearing people to share the responsibility, while the difficult cases could still be brought to him (Exodus 18:19–22).

And then comes one of the quietest but most powerful verses in the story:

“So Moses listened to the voice of his father-in-law and did all that he had said.” (Exodus 18:24)

𝗠𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱.

He didn’t need to prove that he already knew everything.
He didn’t need to defend his position.
He didn’t treat correction as an insult to his calling.

He listened.

And that humbles me.

Moses was already chosen by God.
He had already experienced God’s power.
He already carried tremendous spiritual responsibility.

Yet being chosen did not make him beyond correction.

𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲.

And perhaps that is part of spiritual maturity we don’t talk about enough.

We often think maturity means knowing more.
Having more experience.
Being more confident.
Being the person others come to for answers.

But sometimes maturity looks much simpler:
𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳.

There are things we can see in others that we cannot easily see in ourselves.

Sometimes we become so accustomed to the way we do things that we no longer recognize what is wearing us down.

Sometimes our good intentions can hide an unhealthy pattern.

Sometimes we become so convinced that we are serving faithfully that we stop asking whether we are serving wisely.

And when someone points it out, our first instinct can be defensiveness.

“That's not what I meant.”
“You don’t understand.”
“This is what God called me to do.”

But Moses gives us another response:
Listen.

Not every criticism is automatically godly counsel.
But neither is every correction an attack.

Jethro himself understood that God’s will remained the ultimate authority. He told Moses:

“If you do this, and God commands you...” (Exodus 18:23)

That matters.

Godly humility does not mean accepting every opinion without discernment.

It means being humble enough to bring correction before God and honestly ask:
“Lord, is there something here You are trying to show me?”

Because sometimes God answers our prayer for wisdom by using another person to reveal what we could not see for ourselves.

So when someone gives you wise, loving, and truthful correction, don’t be too quick to become defensive.

Pause.
Listen.
Pray.
Examine your heart.

You may discover that the correction wasn’t meant to tear you down.
𝗜𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄.

Moses was not less of a leader because he listened.
His willingness to listen showed that he was teachable.

And perhaps that is the lesson:
𝗦𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝘀𝗻’𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.
𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝘁.

You can be chosen by God and still need counsel.
You can be faithful and still need adjustment.
You can be experienced and still have something to learn.

Because the goal isn’t to become someone who never needs correction.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘂𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝘀.

17/09/2026

Israel's thirst was real.

After leaving Egypt, they journeyed through the wilderness according to the LORD's command. But when they arrived at Rephidim, there was no water for the people to drink (Exodus 17:1).

Their need was genuine.

𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗺 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁.

Think about what they had already seen.

They had witnessed the plagues in Egypt.
They had watched God deliver them from Pharaoh.
They had stood before the Red Sea with nowhere to escape and God opened a way through it.
And every morning, God was providing manna from heaven.

𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗛𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺.

Yet at Rephidim, there was no water.

And somehow, 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗼𝗱'𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀.

They quarreled with Moses:

“Why did you bring us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?” (Exodus 17:3)

Notice what fear had done.

They were no longer remembering the God who had delivered them.

They were interpreting their present circumstances as evidence that God had abandoned them.

Then came the question:

“Is the LORD among us or not? (Exodus 17:7)

That question reveals the deeper issue.

Their problem was not simply that they needed water.
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗱𝗼𝘂𝗯𝘁 𝗚𝗼𝗱'𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲.

And isn't that what hardship can do to us?

One unanswered prayer.
One financial burden.
One broken relationship.
One painful loss.
One uncertain future.

And suddenly, what is happening now becomes so loud that we forget what God has already done.

We don't always doubt because we have no evidence of God's faithfulness.

Sometimes we doubt because our present pain has become bigger in our minds than our memory of His faithfulness.

The wilderness has a way of doing that.

It can make today's lack feel more real than yesterday's provision.
It can make God's silence feel louder than His promises.
It can make one unanswered question overshadow a lifetime of answered prayers.

But notice how God responds.

Despite Israel's grumbling and testing, God provided.

He told Moses to strike the rock at Horeb, and water flowed out for the people to drink.

In a place that looked completely barren, God revealed His provision.

And Paul later gives this event a deeper significance:

“For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ.” (1 Corinthians 10:4)

The One who sustained Israel in the wilderness was Christ.

And that brings the story close to us.

We may never stand in a desert without water.

But we all know what it feels like to be in a season where something essential seems missing.

We pray.
We wait.
We wonder.

And eventually we ask:
“Lord, are You really with me?”

If you are there today, don't pretend your thirst isn't real.
Israel's thirst was real.

But don't allow today's crisis to rewrite what you already know about God.

Remember.

Remember what He has already done.
Remember how He provided when you couldn't see how.
Remember how He carried you through what you thought you couldn't survive.

One present crisis may be loud.
But it does not erase God's past faithfulness.

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗶𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗺𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲.
𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘄.

16/09/2026

Have you ever prayed something like that?

“Lord, I obeyed You.
I followed where You led me.
I did what You asked.
So why does everything seem to be getting worse?”

Moses knew that feeling.

God had told him to go to Egypt.
He was to stand before Pharaoh and declare,

“Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, ‘Let my people go.’”

So Moses went.
He obeyed.

But Pharaoh did not listen.

Instead, Pharaoh made Israel's suffering worse.

The Israelites would no longer be given straw to make bricks. They had to gather the straw themselves, while still producing the same number of bricks.

The workload increased.
The pressure intensified.
The suffering became heavier.

And then they blamed Moses.

They told him,

“May the LORD look on you and judge, because you have made us stink in the sight of Pharaoh...” (Exodus 5:21)

Imagine that.

Moses had come because God sent him.
He had spoken because God told him to speak.

Yet the very people he wanted to help were now suffering more and they were blaming him.

Can you imagine what was happening inside Moses?

Perhaps he was asking:

“God, You sent me here.
I came.
I obeyed.
I spoke in Your name.
So why is everything getting worse?”

So Moses went back to God and asked:

“O Lord, why have You brought trouble on this people? Why did You ever send me?” (Exodus 5:22)

Then he said,

“For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has done evil to this people, and you have not delivered your people at all.” (Exodus 5:22–23)

There it is.

“I came because You sent me.
I spoke because You commanded me.
And now things are worse.”

This is one of the most honest moments in Moses' journey.

Because sometimes the hardest test of faith is not suffering itself.
It is when you did what you believed God wanted and the result looks completely opposite from what you expected.

You thought obedience would bring relief.
Instead, it brought resistance.

You thought following God would make the path clearer.
Instead, it became more confusing.

You thought you were finally moving toward the promise.
Instead, it felt like you were moving farther away from it.

And you begin to ask:

“Lord, if this is Your plan, WHY IS EVERYTHING GETTING WORSE?”

But now notice God's response.

This is where the story becomes profound.

God does not begin by explaining everything.
He doesn't give Moses a complete explanation of Pharaoh's behavior.
He doesn't give him a detailed timeline of how everything will unfold.
He doesn't answer every “why” in the way Moses probably wanted.

Instead, God begins with something greater:

“𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗗.” (Exodus 6:2)

Then God repeated His promises.

“I have heard.”
“I have remembered.”
“I will bring you out.”
“I will deliver you.”
“I will redeem you.”
“I will take you to be My people.”

God did not give Moses every detail of the plan.

He gave Moses something more fundamental:
𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗛𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀.

Moses was looking at the worsening circumstances.
God was reminding him of His unchanging covenant.

And that matters.

Because when we are in the middle of a difficult season, we see the chapter we are living in. God sees the whole story.

And perhaps that is what you need to hear today.

Things getting worse does not automatically mean God has left you.

A difficult circumstance does not automatically mean you misunderstood God's leading.

A delayed answer does not mean God has forgotten His promise.

And obedience does not come with a guarantee that the road will immediately become easier.

Sometimes you can be exactly where God has called you to be and still find yourself in a very difficult place.

Moses teaches us something important:

Faith is not the absence of questions.

Moses had questions.
Moses was confused.
Moses was discouraged.

And yet he brought all of it to God.

Maybe you're standing in your own Exodus 5 today.

You obeyed.
You prayed.
You trusted.
You followed where God led.

Yet you're still asking:
“Lord, if this is Your plan, why is everything getting worse?”

You may not have the answer yet.
You may not understand why this season had to unfold this way.
You may not see how God could possibly bring good out of what you're facing.

But don't let what you cannot yet see make you forget what you already know about God.

He hears.
He remembers.
He delivers.
He redeems.
He keeps His promises.

Your circumstances may change.
His character does not.

Moses could not yet see the deliverance.
But God could.

And sometimes faith is simply saying:

“Lord, I don't understand what You are doing.
But I still know who You are.”

15/09/2026

We often pray to experience God's love for ourselves.
When we are hurting, we ask Him to comfort us.
When we fail, we ask Him to forgive us.
When we feel alone, we ask Him to come near.

And He does.

But perhaps there is another question we don't ask often enough:

What happens when God's love reaches us?
Does it stop with us?

Jesus once encountered a lawyer who asked,

“Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” (Luke 10:25)

Jesus pointed him back to the Law.

The lawyer answered correctly:

Love God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind.
And love your neighbor as yourself.

But then came the question that revealed his heart:

“And who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29)

Luke tells us that he asked this “desiring to justify himself.”

He wanted to define the limits of his responsibility.

Who counts?
Who doesn't?
Who deserves my love?
Where can I draw the line?

Sometimes, if we are honest, we do the same.

We don't always ask,
“How can I love?”

Sometimes we ask,
“Who do I actually have to love?”

So Jesus tells a story.

A man is beaten, robbed, and left half dead on the road.

A priest comes.
He sees him.
And passes by.

A Levite comes.
He sees him.
And passes by.

Then a Samaritan comes.

Someone the audience would not have expected to become the example of mercy.

He sees the wounded man.
But unlike the others, he does not walk away.

Instead, love becomes visible through action.

And notice what the Samaritan sacrifices:

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗮𝗳𝗲𝘁𝘆
He approaches a man who had just been attacked by robbers.

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲𝘀
He uses oil and wine.

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
He places the wounded man on his own animal.

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲
He personally cares for him.

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁
He walks while the wounded man rides.

This is not convenient kindness.
It is costly mercy.

And that is where the story begins to reach us.

Because it is easy to love when love costs us nothing.

It is easy to care when caring fits our schedule.

It is easy to help when the person is someone we know, someone we like, or someone we believe deserves it.

But what happens when love becomes inconvenient?

What happens when someone's pain interrupts our plans?
When helping means giving something up?
When compassion asks us to stop instead of continuing on our way?

The Samaritan could have kept walking.
But he didn't.

Someone else's suffering interrupted his journey, and he allowed compassion to interrupt his plans.

And perhaps this is where the gospel reaches deeper into our hearts.

We want to experience God's love.
But do we allow that love to change the way we see others?

We want God's mercy when we are wounded.
But are we willing to show mercy when someone else is wounded?

We want Christ to come near to us in our brokenness.
But are we willing to come near to someone else's brokenness?

And Jesus does not leave us there.

He turns the lawyer's question around.

“Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” (Luke 10:36)

The lawyer asked:
“Who is my neighbor?”

Jesus asked:
“Will you become a neighbor?”

The question is no longer about finding the boundaries of our love.

It is about becoming people through whom love can reach others.

And this is where Christ must remain at the center.

We do not show mercy to earn salvation.
We do not love others so God will finally love us.
We love because He first loved us. (1 John 4:19)

Before we were able to reach for God, His grace reached for us.
Before we could offer mercy, we received mercy.
Before we could love Him, He loved us.

And when that love reaches our hearts, it should not remain there.

Grace begins to change what we see.

It changes who we notice.
It changes how we respond.
It teaches us to stop.

To listen.
To help.
To forgive.
To give.
To stay.

Not because we are earning God's favor,
but because we have already encountered His grace.

𝗚𝗼𝗱'𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘂𝘀.
𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝘂𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗯𝗲𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝘂𝘀.

What we receive from Christ can become what someone else experiences through us.

And Jesus still says:

“You go, and do likewise.” (Luke 10:37)

14/09/2026

Israel was fighting Amalek in the valley.

Meanwhile, Moses stood on the hill with the staff of God in his hand.

As long as Moses held up his hands, Israel prevailed. But whenever his hands fell, Amalek gained the advantage.

Then the story quietly tells us something we can all relate to.

"𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗠𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘀’ 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘆." ( Exodus 17:12)

Those five words remind us that even God's most faithful servants grow tired.

Not because he had stopped trusting God.
Not because he had become unfaithful.
But because He was simply human.

The same Moses who had stood before Pharaoh.
The same Moses who had stretched out his staff over the Red Sea.
The same Moses who had witnessed God's mighty power.

Even Moses had a point where his hands became too heavy to hold up.

And perhaps that is one of the most comforting truths in this story.

𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘆.

Sometimes we think that if our faith is strong enough, we should be able to carry everything without help.

But Moses teaches us otherwise.

God could have miraculously renewed Moses’ strength.
He had already done far greater miracles.
He could have made Moses’ arms strong enough to remain raised until sunset.

But He didn’t.

Instead, God provided something just as intentional:
He sent people.

God did not remove Moses from the hill.
He did not remove the responsibility from him.
He simply made sure Moses would not have to carry it alone.

So Aaron and Hur came.

They placed a stone beneath Moses so he could sit.
Then they stood beside him, one on one side and one on the other and held his hands up until sunset.

Notice something beautiful.

They did not take Moses’ place.
They did not grab the staff and say, “Let us do this for you.”
They did not try to become Moses.

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗠𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗼.

And maybe that is a ministry we don't talk about enough.

Not everyone is called to stand in front.
Some are called to stand beside.

Not everyone will be in the valley fighting the visible battle.
Some will be on the hill, quietly holding up the hands of someone who is growing weary.

And both matter.

Because sometimes the person everyone sees standing strong is only standing because someone unseen refused to let them fall.

Think about that.

The battle was happening in the valley.

Joshua was fighting.

Moses was praying and holding up his hands.
But Aaron and Hur were holding up Moses.

Everyone was carrying something.

And that is often how God works.

We ask Him to remove the weight.
Sometimes He does.

But sometimes His answer is different.
𝗛𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘂𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘁.

A friend who stays when everyone else leaves.
A family member who quietly shows up.
A church member who keeps praying for you.

Someone who sends a message at exactly the moment you needed it.
Someone who listens without trying to fix everything.
Someone who sits beside you when you no longer have the strength to explain what you're feeling.

We often look for God's provision in the form of changed circumstances.
But sometimes 𝗚𝗼𝗱'𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻.

Sometimes the miracle is not that the weight disappears.
Sometimes the miracle is that you don't have to carry it alone.

And perhaps there is someone in your life right now whose hands are growing weary.

They may still be showing up.
Still serving.
Still praying.
Still smiling.
Still encouraging everyone else.

But their hands are tired.
Their heart is tired.
Their strength is running low.

And they may not have the courage to say, “I need help.”

Be their Aaron.
Be their Hur.

Don't always ask them what they need.

Sometimes just stand beside them.
Give them a place to rest.
Pray when they cannot find the words.
Hold them up when they can no longer hold themselves up.

Because you may never know how much your presence is helping someone remain faithful.

And if you are the one whose hands are growing weary today, remember this:

Your weariness does not mean God has abandoned you.
Your weakness does not mean you have failed.
You do not have to pretend to be strong every moment.
You were never designed to carry every burden alone.

God knows when your hands are tired.

And sometimes, instead of removing the weight,
He sends an Aaron and a Hur.

So receive the help.

Let someone stand beside you.
Let someone pray for you.
Let someone carry part of the burden.

And when God restores your strength, remember the lesson.

One day, you may be the person standing on the hill.
And someone else may be the one whose hands are beginning to fall.

Then hold them up.

Because some of the greatest acts of faith are never seen from the valley.
They happen quietly on the hill—

when someone chooses to stand beside the weary,
when someone refuses to let another person fall,
when someone becomes God's answer to another person's prayer.

Sometimes, God doesn't remove the weight.
𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗛𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘁.

And sometimes,
𝗛𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿𝘀.

14/09/2026

There is a difference between surrendering and giving up.

Surrender says,
“Lord, I cannot carry this anymore. I surrender it to You.”

Giving up says,
“There is no reason to keep going.”

Sometimes, when we are exhausted, we mistake our weariness for God's instruction to stop.

We begin to say:

Maybe this isn't where God wants me.
Maybe I should let this go.
Maybe I should stop trying.

But remember Elijah.

After witnessing God's mighty power, Elijah eventually found himself beneath a tree, exhausted and asking God to take his life.

And what did God do?

He let him sleep.
He gave him food.
He gave him rest.

God did not shame Elijah for being weary.
He restored him.

Because rest is not quitting.
𝗜𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗻𝗲𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘆.

You can love God and still become tired.
You can trust Him and still have days when your heart feels heavy.
You can believe in His calling and still need to stop, breathe, and recover.

So if you are tired today, you do not have to pretend before God.

Come to Him honestly:

“Lord, I'm tired.”
“Lord, I'm afraid.”
“Lord, I don't know how much longer I can do this.”

Because sometimes faith does not look like standing triumphantly on a mountain.

Sometimes it is a weary soul whispering,
“Jesus, I cannot take another step without You.”

And that is enough for today.

You do not have to see the whole road.
You only need grace for the next step.

Rest when you need to.
Breathe.
Be still.
Bring your exhaustion to Christ.
Let Him restore what the journey has drained from you.

And when Christ gives you enough strength to begin again,
get up and keep walking.

You may need a pause.
You may need healing.
You may need to begin again.

and that's okay.

Jesus is still with you.
His grace is still sufficient.
And the road is still ahead.

𝗥𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗲.
𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁.

Not because you are strong enough,
but because Christ is strong enough to carry you.

13/09/2026

People may love you deeply, faithfully, and beautifully.

They may stay when life is difficult.
They may choose you when you feel unworthy.
They may remind you that you matter when you have forgotten it yourself.

And yet, even the purest human love is only a faint reflection of His.

Perhaps that is why even the sweetest love this world can give sometimes leaves something in us still aching.

We were made for a love deeper than human hearts can fully give.

But then there is Jesus.

He loved you before you ever thought to love Him.

He knew every failure you would commit, every weakness you would hide, every moment you would wander—and He loved you anyway.

He stayed when you ran.
He sought you when you were lost.
He forgave the sins you could hardly forgive yourself for.

And when the cost of loving you was revealed in full,
He stepped toward the cross.

At Calvary, Jesus was not loving an ideal version of you.
𝗛𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲.

The sinful you.
The broken you.
The wandering you.
The you who sometimes loves Him poorly.

And He gave Himself anyway.

That is the mystery that humbles us:

The One who knew us most completely loved us most completely.

His love is what calls you out of your brokenness.
His grace is what teaches you to return.
His mercy is what keeps the door open when shame tells you to stay away.

There is a love you will spend your whole life trying to understand—

𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗵𝗶𝗴𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝘁,
𝘀𝗼 𝗱𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗼𝗺,
𝘀𝗼 𝘄𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵.

And perhaps we were never meant to comprehend it completely.

Perhaps we were meant to behold it, receive it, and be changed by it.

Because the wonder of Christ's love is not simply that He died for sinners.
It is that He knew exactly whom He was dying for.

And He still chose to love.
He still chose the cross.

So if today you are wondering whether you are loved,

look no further than Jesus.

The cross has already answered you.

You are not forgotten.
You are not abandoned.
You are not beyond the reach of His grace.

When you feel unworthy, look to the cross.

When you wonder whether your failures have exhausted His patience,
remember: His love does not become smaller when you stumble.

You do not have to become lovable before Christ will love you.

There may be people who love you deeply.
There may be people who would give much for you.

But there is only One who loved you enough to give everything.

And this is the comfort our hearts can rest in:

You will spend your lifetime discovering the depths of His love,
but you will never find anyone who loves you more than 𝗝𝗲𝘀𝘂𝘀.

Speak through Him

20/09/2026

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