Opening Scripture “For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.” (Hosea 6:6; cf. Matthew 9:13)
The Tension Between Legalism and Mercy
Legalism has always been uncomfortable with mercy. It clings tightly to rules, even when God Himself shows that mercy is the deeper law. Yet the New Testament does not erase the Law—it reveals its heart. Jesus does not come to dismantle what God established; He fulfills it (Matthew 5:17), uncovering what the Law was always pointing toward: the mercy of God extended to His people through relationship, not mere regulation. Mercy Woven Throughout the Old Testament
All throughout Scripture, we see that mercy was never an afterthought—it was always central. David, fleeing for his life, ate the consecrated bread reserved for priests, and God did not condemn him (1 Samuel 21:1–6). The Hebrew midwives disobeyed Pharaoh’s command to kill the male infants, preserving life instead of submitting to wicked authority, and Scripture says God blessed them (Exodus 1:17–21). Rahab hid the spies, defying her king and risking her life, and rather than being judged, she was redeemed and woven into the very lineage of Christ (Joshua 2; Matthew 1:5). Again and again, mercy did not break God’s will—it fulfilled it.
Jesus Reveals the Fullness of the Law
Jesus brings this truth into full light. When He walks among the people, He heals on the Sabbath (Mark 3:1–5). He reaches for those labeled “unclean” and restores them (Mark 1:40–42). He sits with sinners and calls them into new life (Luke 5:30–32). And He declares plainly, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (Matthew 9:13). In every act, Jesus shows us that the Law was never meant to burden or crush—it was meant to guide hearts toward God, to open the way for redemption, and to reflect His compassion.
The Law Points to Christ
So here is the truth we must hold onto: if a law does not point us to Christ, if it does not reflect His mercy, if it does not move people toward redemption, then it is no longer functioning as God intended. The Law is a signpost—and every signpost must point to Jesus. When we cling to rules without mercy, we miss the destination. But when we walk in mercy, we step into the very heart of God.
Closing Prayer Heavenly Father, thank You for revealing the true heart of Your Law through Jesus. Forgive us for the times we have clung to rules without reflecting Your mercy. Teach us to see people the way You see them—with compassion, grace, and a desire for their redemption. Help us to walk in truth without losing love, and to uphold Your Word in a way that points others to Christ. Let our lives be signposts that lead others to You as we share mercy and Your Truth.
I’ve been scribing the Gospels lately—just twenty verses into Mark chapter 1—and I finally decided it was time. I needed to call Mark into the Writing Center. Yes, that Mark. The one who wrote the shortest, fastest, most breathless Gospel in the New Testament. The one who can’t seem to write a paragraph without sprinting.
So I sat him down, slid the manuscript across the table, and said, “Mark, we need to talk about your grammar.”
He blinked at me, probably wondering how he got here and why a woman from the 21st century was holding a red pen over his sacred text. But I pressed on.
“Mark, About These Sentences…”
“Listen,” I told him, “I know this is translated from your original language. I know Koine Greek doesn’t follow modern English rules. I know your Gospel was meant to be read aloud, fast-paced, urgent, breathless. But let’s not make excuses here.”
I tapped the page.
“You have sentences that run on for half a mile. You start half your paragraphs with ‘And.’ You leave out verbs. You splice commas like you’re trying to knit with punctuation. And honestly, Mark… I love it.”
He looked relieved.
Because the truth is, Mark’s grammar may be chaotic, but his message is not. His Gospel moves like a wildfire—quick, bright, unstoppable. It reads like someone who cannot wait another second to tell you about Jesus. And maybe that’s why his grammar feels like it’s sprinting. His heart is sprinting.
The Gospel That Changed Lives
I leaned back in my chair and said, “Mark, your grammar may give English teachers heart palpitations, but your Gospel has changed the world.”
He nodded, because he knows.
His Gospel has:
called sinners to repentance
revealed Jesus as the Son of God
shown demons fleeing at His voice
displayed the heavens torn open
carried the cross to the center of history
proclaimed resurrection with trembling joy
Mark didn’t write to impress scholars. He wrote to save souls. He wrote so the church—then and now—could hear the good news with urgency and clarity.
And maybe that’s why his grammar feels like a man running out of breath. He wasn’t polishing sentences. He was proclaiming salvation.
Why I Love Mark’s “Bad Grammar”
So I told him, “Mark, your grammar may be questionable, but your theology is flawless.”
He grinned.
Because the Gospel of Mark is not a literary masterpiece—it is a spiritual earthquake. It shakes the ground under our feet. It tears open the heavens. It drives Jesus into the wilderness and drives demons out of people. It calls fishermen from their boats and calls us from our old lives.
Mark writes like a man who has seen the kingdom of God break in and cannot slow down long enough to breathe, much less diagram a sentence.
And honestly? I love it!
Father, Thank You for the gift of Your Word—perfect in truth even when our grammar isn’t. Thank You for inspiring Mark to write with urgency, passion, and Holy Spirit fire, reminding us that the Gospel is not about polished sentences but about a Savior who changes lives. As we read, study, and even laugh our way through these verses, let Your Spirit open our eyes to see Jesus more clearly. Give us hearts that respond as quickly as Mark writes—immediately, joyfully, and obediently. May Your Word run swiftly through our lives, accomplishing everything You send it to do. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
“God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and in truth.” — John 4:24
Worship begins where Jesus begins—with the Spirit. Before we ever lift a song, raise a hand, or open a hymnal, Jesus sets the foundation: true worship is Spirit‑led. It is not confined to a building, a style, or a tradition. It flows from hearts shaped by the Holy Spirit and anchored in the truth of God’s Word. When we start here, every act of worship becomes more than sound; it becomes surrender.
Why Hymns Matter More Than We Realize
For generations, hymns have been the church’s way of teaching the faith. They were the catechism of the common believer, the seminary of the shepherd and the seamstress, the farmer and the fisherman. When people could not read Scripture, they sang Scripture. When they could not articulate doctrine, they memorized doctrine through melody.
Hymns are not just music; they are memory. They are not just poetry; they are proclamation. They are not just tradition; they are testimony. And when we sing them with hearts yielded to the Holy Spirit, they become a lifeline—carrying truth into places our minds may forget but our spirits remember.
The Cross Teaches Us to Sing
At the cross, sorrow becomes song. At the cross, suffering becomes strength. At the cross, theology becomes doxology.
This is why the church has always sung—not because life is easy, but because Christ is worthy. Not because we have all the answers, but because we know the One who does. When we sing, we preach to ourselves, we preach to one another, and we preach to the watching world. And in that preaching, hope rises.
Paul echoes this when he writes, “Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:19). Spirit‑led worship is not performance; it is participation in the life of God.
A New Song for a New People
Psalm 40:3 declares, “He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.” That means the song is not self‑generated—it is Spirit‑given. The melody of redemption is placed in us by the One who redeemed us. When God rescues us, He doesn’t just change our circumstances—He changes our song.
This is why hymns endure. They are not merely human creativity; they are human response to divine revelation. They become Scripture in the heart, shaping us long after the final note fades.
Closing Reflection
Worship is not only something we study—it is something we sing. And every time we lift our voices, we join the great cloud of witnesses who have sung their way through suffering, through joy, through doubt, through faith, and always toward the cross. May every song we sing be Spirit‑breathed, Scripture‑rooted, and Christ‑centered.
Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father, Thank You for giving us a new song—one shaped by Your Spirit and anchored in Your truth. Teach us to worship as Jesus commanded: in spirit and in truth. Let every hymn, every melody, and every whispered prayer draw us closer to the cross. Fill our hearts with gratitude, our mouths with praise, and our lives with the sound of redemption. May our worship honor You and bear witness to Your hope in a world that desperately needs it. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.
Beginning with the vision cast by Maestro David Cho in his program notes, Bernie and I found ourselves leaning forward before a single note was played. He had so beautifully prepared the journey that by the time we looked up, it felt as if the entire concert hall had quietly shifted—like someone had tilted the room just enough that we were all perched on the edge of expectation, waiting for the downbeat. This concert, celebrating the 250th birthday of the United States, gathered together a rich tapestry of American sound—music filled with spirit, remembrance, and heartfelt meaning
A Journey Through American Sound
The opening half carried us through familiar melodies and historic voices. Folk tunes like “Johnny Comes Marching Home” stirred something deep and collective, while Charles Ives’ unmistakable American voice added texture and originality. And then came Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer,” which for me was not just a performance—it was a return home. I could hear it as I once did in my mother’s piano studio, where Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and Schumann were the steady companions of my childhood. She taught the classics faithfully—but every now and then, she allowed this lively piece to slip in. Perhaps it was because of my dad. When he sat down at that same piano, those well-trained classical keys suddenly found themselves swept into something freer. He played jazz by ear, and when he “tickled the ivories,” the music came alive in a completely different way. It felt like a parade bursting through our living room—I would almost expect to see Macy’s balloons floating overhead. That same spark flickered again as the orchestra brought Joplin to life. Gershwin’s An American in Paris followed, and somehow the sounds of Paris traveled all the way to Lubbock. The taxi horns, the carefree motion, the blending of American energy with European charm—it was all there, alive and vibrant.
Wide-Open Spaces and a Patriotic Finale
The second half opened wide with Aaron Copland, whose music seemed to stretch across vast American landscapes. You could almost see the open plains, feel the dust, and hear the joyful energy of a hoedown that resonates so naturally with West Texas. From there, the program moved into beloved works by Tchaikovsky, Lowden, and Sousa, building toward a celebratory close—complete with triumphant chimes, thunderous cannon blasts, sparkling piccolo lines, and a heartfelt recognition of our veterans. When the audience joined together in “Stars and Stripes Forever,” it wasn’t just a performance—it became a shared voice, honoring 250 years of history.
The Music Comes Alive
And yet, as magnificent as the program was, it was the movement of the music—the life within it—that took my breath away. The bows did not simply move; they caressed the strings, drawing the sound out gently, as if awakening something already alive within the instrument. The violins seemed to breathe under their touch, their voices rising like soft sighs, coaxed into the light. The flutes shimmered, catching the glow of the stage lights like tiny prisms. Their tones danced in the air, as if sunlight itself had been scattered into sound—flickering, sparkling, alive. Behind them, the percussionists waited—not idly, but attentively—as though the music itself were calling to them. You could feel the pull, like a tide rising, until at just the right moment, they stepped in, answering with precision and power. The brass and woodwinds stood like pillars, framing the stage in sound—rich, resonant, and steady. They created a kind of living architecture, surrounding the orchestra with depth and strength. And then there was the harp… It did not simply play; it whispered. Each note fell like a drop of water, like light slipping through something sacred. Time itself seemed to pause and listen.
The Maestro as Artist
At the center stood Maestro Cho—not merely conducting, but painting. In the first half, dressed in bold red, he moved like an artist before a canvas. His hands became brushstrokes, sweeping color into the air. In the second half, with red still grounding him, he appeared in a blue coat adorned with stars and a striped tie. The music itself became a living flag—unfurling, waving, dancing. His movements rippled through the orchestra like wind through fabric, lifting the sound into something you could almost see.
A Sweet Gift for Two Musicians
For Bernie and me, there was an added sweetness to the evening. These were not unfamiliar works—we had taught many of them to our UIL Music Memory students and even performed some with the Plainview Symphony. To sit side by side without a score, without rehearsal notes, simply listening—it was a gift. We could hear the passion of the musicians not as performers preparing, but as listeners receiving. And what a joy that was.
A Divine Encounter in the Lobby
And as if the evening itself were not already a gift, there was one more moment waiting for us. In the lobby, we didn’t just cross paths—we collided in rhythm with Maestro David Cho, as if our steps had been quietly orchestrated. We congratulated him on a beautiful evening, and then I shared that I will be joining the Teaching Artist program this fall. His face didn’t just smile—it lit with delight. There was a genuine joy, a spark that revealed how deeply he loves children and believes in this work. He immediately began asking about the schools, the students, the possibilities. It felt like one of those meetings heaven arranges—unexpected, perfectly timed, and deeply encouraging. And I walked away even more excited, more inspired, and more grateful to be part of what the Lubbock Symphony is doing in our community.
Looking Ahead
As the final notes faded, we found ourselves already looking forward. The next concert—perhaps right around Bernie’s birthday on September 3—will open the Lubbock Symphony Orchestra’s 80th season, featuring Cliburn Laureate pianist Clayton Stephenson. And we will be there…ready once again, should the room tilt ever so slightly, drawing us to the edge of our seats.
by Dee Ann Loving-Tackitt, Liberty University Online Writing Center Tutor (Host)
House of Prayer Ministry
My mission: To teach with clear purpose and light, Through grammar and structure done right, With witness through art, And Christ at the heart, Helping students grow as Champions for Christ.
When Writing Becomes Part of Discipleship
We often think of writing as something reserved for teachers, authors, or students, but it can also be a faithful part of the Christian life. The words we write can encourage, teach, comfort, and point people toward truth. Whether we are tutoring a student, sending a note of encouragement, or reflecting on what God is teaching us, writing can become one more way we serve Him. Scripture connects writing and teaching. Habakkuk 2:2 says to “write the vision” and make it plain, and 2 Timothy 2:2 emphasizes passing truth on so that others can teach it as well. Writing can be part of discipleship because it teaches us to reflect prayerfully, speak truthfully, and serve patiently.
What Mike Rose Helped Me See About Teaching Writing
This reflection grows out of my preparation to tutor university students. As I step into that work, I want to do so with humility, wisdom, and a real desire to serve. One article that has helped me think more carefully about that calling is Mike Rose’s Remedial Writing Courses: A Critique and a Proposal. His ideas challenge some common assumptions about teaching writing, and they also remind me that students need more than correction. They need guidance, dignity, and room to grow.
Rose argues that remedial writing courses often fail students because they are too disconnected from actual university writing. Rather than preparing students for college-level work, these courses may rely on simple, personal assignments that do not reflect the kind of reading, analysis, and argument students will eventually be expected to do. As a result, students may complete remedial courses without developing the skills they need for authentic academic writing.
More Than Simple Topics and Grammar Fixes
Rose also criticizes the common use of simple topics and the heavy emphasis on error correction. He argues that easier topics do not necessarily motivate students, nor do they prepare them for more demanding writing tasks. In the same way, an overemphasis on grammar can cause students to think writing is only about avoiding mistakes rather than developing ideas, communicating clearly, and engaging thoughtfully with an audience.
Writing, Reading, and Thinking Belong Together
Another important point in the article is that writing should not be separated from reading and thinking. Academic writing depends on all three. Students must interact with texts, process ideas, and organize their thoughts in meaningful ways. Rose suggests that remedial instruction is most effective when it treats writing as an integrated process rather than as a collection of isolated skills.
Structure Can Support Growth
Finally, Rose argues that academic writing should not be seen as restrictive or lifeless. Students need to learn structures such as analysis, comparison, and argument, but those structures are not meant to limit thought. Instead, they can help students think more clearly and communicate more effectively. For Rose, remedial writers are not deficient; they are capable learners who need meaningful practice, thoughtful guidance, and gradual exposure to authentic academic work.
What This Means for Serving Students Well
This matters to me as I prepare to tutor university students. Rose’s article reminds me that tutoring should involve more than correcting errors. It should help students grow in confidence, think more clearly, and approach academic writing as a meaningful form of communication. Good tutoring should treat students with dignity, patience, and hope, helping them grow rather than simply fixing sentences.
Why This Matters for Christian Service
In that sense, tutoring writing can also be an act of discipleship. It is a way of helping others grow through truth, patience, and instruction. Discipleship involves learning, teaching, and building others up, and writing can participate in that holy work. As Matthew 28:19–20 shows, disciples are called to teach, and Psalm 102:18 reminds us that what is written can serve future generations. Writing, tutoring, and discipleship come together when words are used with care to guide, strengthen, and bless others.
Ways Christians Can Use Writing as Witness
Writing can be a form of witness because it helps us teach, encourage, and preserve truth. It gives us a way to slow down, pay attention, and put into words what God may be teaching us. It can also bless the people around us. Some research suggests that writing can support reflection, well-being, and emotional processing, and studies on expressive writing have found that practices such as gratitude writing and reflective writing may support positive affect and personal growth. That does not make writing a cure-all, but it does remind us that thoughtful writing can do real good.
That is one reason writing can be such a meaningful part of discipleship. I recently joined a group that has pledged to write out the Bible from Genesis to Revelation, and even that simple act feels like a way of lingering over God’s Word with greater attention. Others blog, write letters to shut-ins, help those who are ill record memories for loved ones, create children’s books, write devotionals, or compose hymns. The opportunities are endless, and each one can become a quiet offering of service.
The encouraging part is that getting started is easier than ever. Writing methods, prompts, and guides are widely available online and in bookstores, and self-publishing has become far more accessible through print-on-demand and e-book platforms. Writing is no longer only for professional authors. It is something ordinary believers can use in extraordinary ways. If God has given you something to say, writing may be one of the ways He invites you to serve. A few faithful words, offered to the Lord, can become a source of witness, comfort, and encouragement to someone else.
For Adults Who Want to Improve Writing
Zinsser, William. On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction. New York: HarperCollins, 2016.
Lamott, Anne. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. New York: Anchor Books, 1995.
Strunk, William Jr., and E. B. White. The Elements of Style. 4th ed. New York: Longman, 1999.
Pink, Daniel H. A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future. New York: Riverhead Books, 2006.
Clark, Roy Peter. Writing Tools: 55 Essential Strategies for Every Writer. New York: Little, Brown, 2006.
Graff, Gerald, and Cathy Birkenstein. They Say / I Say: The Moves That Matter in Academic Writing. 4th ed. New York: W. W. Norton, 2018.
For Children & Young Writers
Cleary, Beverly. Dear Mr. Henshaw. New York: HarperCollins, 1990.
Cummings, Troy. The Notebook of Doom Series. New York: Scholastic, 2013–.
Gutman, Dan. My Weird School Series. New York: HarperCollins, 2004–.
Scieszka, Jon. The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales. New York: Viking, 1992.
Arnold, Tedd. Fly Guy Series. New York: Cartwheel Books, 2005–.
DiCamillo, Kate. Because of Winn-Dixie. Cambridge, MA: Candlewick Press, 2000.
These resources encourage writers at every stage—from early readers to adult learners—to grow in clarity, confidence, and voice. Whether writing devotionals, testimonies, or academic reflections, the goal is the same: to communicate truth with grace, purpose, and understanding so that others may hear and respond.
Resource
Rose, Mike. “Remedial Writing Courses: A Critique and a Proposal.” College English 45, no. 2 (February 1983): 109–128.
A Grandma, Boethius, and Saturday Morning Theology
“For I the Lord do not change.” — Malachi 3:6
I know. I’m a grandma who retired and took up theology. While some people spend Saturday mornings gardening, I spend mine studying Boethius (c.480-524 CE). He was an early Christian philosopher whose writings on God, time, and eternity have deepened my Bible study and helped me think about what it means to say that God does not change.
Boethius is often associated with the image of the “Wheel of Fortune.” He pictured life as a spinning wheel—one moment we may feel on top, and the next, everything can shift. Circumstances rise and fall, and very little in this world stays steady for long. (His personal story behind this is powerful, but that’s a story for another blog.) His insight is simple but lasting: if we place our trust in changing circumstances, we will always feel unstable. But if we trust God, who never changes, we can remain steady no matter where we are on the wheel.
That matters to me because everything in my life changes. My thoughts shift, my body ages, and my understanding grows. But God is not like me. God does not grow older, learn something new, or move from one state to another. God simply is.
What I find so helpful is the idea that God is eternal, not just in the sense that He lives forever, but in the sense that He exists beyond time altogether. I live in the past, present, and future. God does not. So when I think about God knowing the future, I do not picture Him waiting for tomorrow to arrive. What is future to me is not future to God. He sees all of time at once. That means God can know everything without changing.
What Does “Timeless” Really Mean?
“From everlasting to everlasting you are God.” — Psalm 90:2
When theologians say God is timeless, they do not mean He has a very long life. They mean He is not stretched out across moments at all. My life is lived in before-and-after. I live after the flood and read about it as something that happened long ago. But God’s life is not before the flood, during the flood, or after the flood. God does not move through events the way I do.
That raises an obvious question: how can a timeless God relate to people like me who live one moment at a time? I experience life as a sequence. One thing happens, then another. From my point of view, events unfold little by little. From God’s point of view, all moments are present. So, the question is whether He can know what happens in time without being bound by time as I am.
What helps me here is realizing that knowledge is more than a list of facts. To know something fully is not just to know true statements about it, but to know the thing itself. So, if God is omniscient, His knowledge cannot be reduced to a giant collection of correct information. He knows reality itself fully and perfectly.
Patrick’s Game Helped Me See It
“O Lord, you have searched me and known me.” — Psalm 139:1
Last weekend I watched my grandson Patrick play baseball, and his team won. I knew that game from my own limited perspective. I saw what happened from the stands, felt the excitement, and remembered certain moments more than others. But God’s knowledge would be different. He would know every player, every motion, and every moment all at once and perfectly. My knowledge is partial and unfolds in time. God’s knowledge is full and perfect.
Do Changes in the World Mean Changes in God?
“…with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” — James 1:17
Here comes Nicholas Wolterstorff, another theologian keeping me company on these Saturday mornings, with a fair question: if God knows a changing world, must God change too? I understand the concern because when I learn something new, my knowledge changes. I find out the bread is ready or hear that Patrick’s team won. But there is a difference between coming to know something and simply knowing it. I learn bit by bit. God does not. He does not “find out” what is happening in the world. So, changes in the world do not mean changes in God.
So where does all of this leave me on a Saturday morning with Boethius, Patrick’s baseball game, and bread rising in my kitchen? It leaves me convinced that God can know a changing world without being a changing God. I learn a little at a time. God does not. He knows the world as its Creator, not as a spectator trying to catch up.
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” — Hebrews 13:8
And that is why this matters for discipleship. Because God does not change, His love does not waver, His wisdom does not fail, and His promises do not weaken. I can follow Christ even when I do not understand what He is doing in my life. In the end, all my Saturday morning theology brings me here: I can trust the God who sees the whole story when I can barely see the next step.
Prayer:
Heavenly Father,
Thank You that You do not change. When my life feels uncertain and my understanding feels small, help me trust Your steady love, wisdom, and faithfulness. Teach me to follow Christ one step at a time, resting in the truth that You see the whole story and hold me in Your care. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.
Scriptures for Further Reading
Malachi 3:6 — “For I the Lord do not change.”
Hebrews 13:8 — “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”
James 1:17 — with God there is “no variation or shadow due to change.”
Psalm 90:1–2 — God’s eternal nature
Isaiah 46:9–10 — God’s knowledge and purposes
Psalm 139:1–6 — God’s perfect knowledge of us
Lamentations 3:22–23 — God’s faithfulness
Numbers 23:19 — God does not change like human beings do
Resource
Brown, Graham. “God’s Unchanging Knowledge of the World.” Sophia 28, no. 2 (1989): 2–12.
At the heart of Psalm 27 is a tender and anchoring desire—one that speaks deeply to the heart of every woman who longs for peace in the middle of responsibility and spiritual weight. David writes, “One thing have I asked of the Lord… that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life” (Psalm 27:4). This is not a request for escape, but for nearness.
So often we believe we need solutions, clarity, or control. Yet Scripture gently redirects us. What we truly need is Him. His presence becomes the place where our hearts are steadied, our identity is restored, and our burdens are quieted. In a world that pulls us in many directions, worship becomes our way of returning—again and again—to the One thing that matters most.
Worship in the Middle of the Battle
Psalm 27 does not ignore hardship. It acknowledges fear, opposition, and real spiritual conflict. But instead of retreating, David engages the battle through worship. He lifts both praise and prayer like a two-edged sword, reminding us that worship is not passive—it is powerful.
For us, this is a beautiful reframe. Worship is not reserved for peaceful seasons; it is essential in difficult ones. When we worship, we are not pretending everything is fine. We are declaring that God is greater than what we face. Our voices, our prayers, and even our quiet surrender become acts of spiritual strength.
As women, we carry love deeply, but we also carry concerns. Psalm 27 shows us that love for God and reverence for God belong together. We draw near with intimacy, yet we honor Him with awe. This balance keeps our hearts grounded and our worship rich with meaning.
His Presence in the Darkness
One of the most comforting truths of this psalm is that God’s presence is not dependent on our circumstances. Even when life feels clouded and unclear, He is near. In fact, Scripture often shows that it is in those very moments of uncertainty that His presence becomes most real.
What feels like darkness to us is never darkness to Him. The “clouds” we walk through can become the place where His goodness quietly surrounds us. Many of us can look back and see that the seasons we least understood were the ones where He held us closest.
Dear sister, if today feels heavy or uncertain, take heart. God has not stepped away. His presence is steady, faithful, and unshaken. Even when you cannot see clearly, you are still being covered by His mercy.
A Faith That Waits
The closing verses of Psalm 27 offer a gentle but powerful instruction: “Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord.” (Psalm 27:14).
Waiting is not easy, especially for women who are used to caring, planning, and responding quickly to needs around them. Yet waiting in God’s presence is not inactivity—it is trust at its deepest level. It is choosing to remain with Him when answers feel delayed and outcomes are uncertain.
Waiting becomes an act of worship when we refuse to rush ahead of Him. It is where courage is formed, and where God strengthens our inner life in ways the outside world may never see. He meets us in that stillness and quietly renews our hearts.
An Invitation for Today
Psalm 27 extends a beautiful invitation—to remain in the presence of the Lord through worship. Not just during a set devotional time, but throughout the ordinary rhythms of the day. In your home, in your thoughts, in your quiet moments, He is there.
You do not have to strive to earn His nearness. You are invited to dwell in it. As you turn your heart toward Him, even in small ways, you will find strength rising, peace settling, and courage growing.
Stay close, dear friend. Worship gently. Wait faithfully. And rest in the assurance that His presence is enough for everything you face today.
A Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father, Teach us to remain in Your presence. Draw our hearts back to You in the middle of all we carry. Let our lives become an offering of worship—steady, sincere, and full of trust. Strengthen our hearts as we wait on You, and remind us again and again that You are near.
As I take my final remaining class in my doctoral studies at Liberty University and step into a new season of tutoring students there, I find myself in a moment of transition before beginning dissertation work. In the middle of all of that, what feels most like a gift is this—being invited into a circle of women right here in Lubbock. And what a gift! Also, we recently joined First Baptist Lubbock and have found fellowship in a Sunday School Class; Wednesday Prime Timers Choir,lunch, & Bible study; and Sunday Morning Choir! God is good! Bernie and I are joyful and blessed!
We were never meant to walk this journey of faith alone. God created us for fellowship, for encouragement, and for shared purpose. So to sit at a table surrounded by women who love the Lord and desire to share Him with others feels like a true blessing. And I can already tell—I am going to love being part of this group. It truly was a privilege to sit at a Stonecroft planning table—right beside Joyful Gwen (and if you know her, you know that name fits). There was laughter, purpose, and something deeper stirring underneath it all—the unmistakable sense that God is moving through women who are simply willing to say yes. I didn’t just leave encouraged; I left curious.
So I did what I tend to do. I came straight home, opened my laptop, poured myself a cup of coffee, and started digging. Tomorrow I’ll step into their Evangelism Bootcamp, and soon after that I’ll be teaching the “I Believe” Bible study. One of the sweet gifts of this journey is that I won’t be stepping into it alone. Sherry, who serves so faithfully in the prayer ministry of our local Stonecroft group, will get off work at five and come over to my home. Together, we’ll settle into the podcast room from 6:00 to 7:30 as we watch the Bootcamp, asking the Lord not only to prepare us for the work ahead, but to fill this home with His peace and presence. My prayer is that even in that quiet evening, He will meet us, steady us, and gently bless Sherry with peace after her workday.
I don’t walk into things casually anymore. I walk in prayerfully, thoughtfully, and grounded in Scripture, so I needed to understand clearly: who is Stonecroft, really?
A Movement, Not Just a Ministry
What I discovered is that Stonecroft is not just a program or a Bible study—it truly is a movement. For over 85 years, God has used this ministry to reach women in quiet but powerful ways, not through grand platforms but through tables, conversations, and relationships.
Hundreds of thousands of women have been equipped to share Jesus right where they are, and each year more than 1,700 women make decisions to follow Christ. Those are simply the numbers we know. That’s the beauty of how the Kingdom often works—not loudly or visibly to the world, but steadily and deeply fruitful in the lives of people.
What Anchors Stonecroft Ministries
As I read through their core values, I realized I wasn’t just learning about an organization; I was recognizing alignment with what God has already placed on my heart.
Stonecroft is Christ-centered, keeping Jesus at the center of everything. Their commitment to biblical authority reflects a deep trust that the Word of God is not just informative but transformative through the work of the Holy Spirit. Their emphasis on prayer reminds me that nothing of eternal value happens apart from dependence on God. Their call to evangelism is joyful and intentional, not forced but obedient to Christ’s command to share the Gospel. Their relational focus reflects how ministry truly grows—through grace-filled connection—and their commitment to integrity ensures that everything they do reflects the character of Christ.
Reading this, I found myself quietly saying, “Yes, Lord.” This is the kind of ministry that doesn’t just gather women; it equips them to go.
From Sitting to Sharing
Stonecroft gently bridges a gap, giving women opportunities to serve. They don’t simply teach women the Gospel; they train women to share it. They create spaces where women can invite friends who may have never opened a Bible before, making the message of Jesus accessible and welcoming. It is simple, relational, and intentional, and it reflects the very heart of the Gospel itself.
Around Tables… Just Like the Beginning
What moved me deeply is how Stonecroft began—not in a building or a pulpit, but around a table. A small group gathered with a simple question about how to get to heaven, and that conversation sparked something that multiplied.
From that one moment, prayer groups grew, communities formed, and lives were changed. It feels familiar because it mirrors the way Jesus ministered. So much of His work happened in homes, at tables, and in personal conversation. That same pattern is still alive today.
Rooted in Scripture: This Is Not New
“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer… Every day they continued to meet together… They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.” — Acts 2:42, 46
As I sat and reflected, I realized something both comforting and powerful—what Stonecroft is doing is not new. It is deeply biblical. The early church met in homes, around tables, sharing meals, opening Scripture, and praying together. Their faith was not distant or formal; it was woven into everyday life and relationships.
This same pattern stretches even further back. In Deuteronomy 6:6–7, God’s people are instructed to talk about His Word in the rhythms of daily living—while sitting at home, walking along the road, lying down, and rising up. Faith was never meant to stay inside a structured setting. It was meant to be lived out and shared naturally in the spaces of everyday life. That is exactly what I see in the heart of Stonecroft—women inviting other women into conversations where the Word of God becomes real and personal.
Called to Go: The Heart of Evangelism
Jesus gives us a clear and compelling call in Matthew 28:19–20 to “go and make disciples.” Not just to learn, but to go. Not just to receive, but to share. Stonecroft lives in that calling, equipping women to confidently and lovingly share the Gospel, trusting the Holy Spirit to do the transforming work in hearts.
Paul reinforces this in 2 Timothy 2:2, where he speaks of entrusting the truth to faithful people who will then teach others. This is discipleship that multiplies. It is truth passed from life to life, generation to generation. That is exactly what happens when women gather in small groups, study Scripture together, and begin to grow—not just for themselves, but for the sake of others.
Ministry Through Relationship: The Example of Jesus
Additionally, Stonecroft’s relational nature reflects the ministry of Jesus Himself. He often taught in small settings, through conversation, through questions, and around shared meals. He met people right where they were, and through relationships, He gently led them to the truth.
In the same way, when women open their homes, set a table, and create a welcoming space, something powerful happens. Walls come down, hearts open, and the Gospel is no longer distant—it becomes personal. This kind of ministry reminds me that God does not require a stage; He asks for willingness. He does not require perfection; He calls for obedience.
A Quiet Prayer Before Tomorrow
As I closed my laptop tonight, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. I am grateful that God is still calling women, still using ordinary conversations for eternal purposes, and still inviting us to be part of what He is doing.
My prayer tonight is simple. Lord, keep me grounded in Your Word, dependent in prayer, and bold in love. Let every conversation point back to You, and let every woman who walks through my door feel seen, known, and invited into Your grace. Amen.
Resonance, purity, and the call to continue the music of Christ.
“The women fled from the tomb, trembling and bewildered, and they said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.” Mark 16:8
Resonance and Truth
When a crystal goblet is struck, it sings only one pure note. That clarity comes from the way it was created: every goblet has a natural frequency, a pitch woven into its very shape, and the purity of the crystal allows the sound to linger long after the touch is gone. Its rim vibrates in delicate standing waves, and when a wet finger circles the edge, each tiny slip adds just enough energy to awaken the goblet’s true voice. It reminds me of the way our barbershop chorus, The Pride of West Texas Show Chorus, begins every song with the soft, steady tone of the electronic pitch pipe — the single note that gathers scattered voices and tunes us into one purpose.
Mark opens his Gospel in the same way. His first words strike the pitch that sets everything else in motion, and John the Baptist becomes that first vibration in the wilderness — the clear, resonant sound preparing us to hear the Good News of Jesus.
The Pure Note of the Gospel
Jesus Christ serves and suffers, and He is the Son of God, our Savior who lives and gives life. This truth is the truest and purest note of grace the world has ever known. Even in the “plunk” of crosses dropping into the ground, there is beautiful music: the voices of believers who refuse to give up the faith. From the dreariest Roman dungeons, the night air once came alive with hymns. Mark is telling us that if we listen closely, we can still hear the sound of that music.
The Men Behind the Message
And then there are the two men behind this Gospel — Peter and Mark. One a denier, the other a dropout. Yet together, carried by the wind of the Holy Spirit, they give us a Gospel written with compassion, precision, urgency, and hope. Mark did not know he was writing Scripture for the ages; he only knew he was writing “the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”
The Unfinished Gospel
Some theologians call Mark “The Unfinished Gospel,” because the most ancient manuscripts end at 16:8:
“The women fled from the tomb, trembling and bewildered, and they said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.”
The chord is not resolved. It is as if the Composer set down His pen and the Holy Spirit carried the melody into our hearts to complete. Mark gives us the beginning — the opening pitch, the first vibration, the pure note of truth — and then hands the song to us.
The ending is up to us.
A Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father,
tune our hearts to Your truth. Let Your Gospel be the pure note that steadies our steps, aligns our desires, and calls us into harmony with Your Spirit. As Mark handed the unfinished melody to the early church, help us carry it faithfully in our own generation. Give us courage like John, humility like Peter, and clarity like Mark. May our lives ring with the sound of Your grace, resonating in every place You send us. In Jesus name we pray,
Amen.
Reflection Question
Where is the Holy Spirit inviting you to continue the “unfinished Gospel” this week — through your words, your worship, or your witness?
Resource
Wessel, Walter W. The Communicator’s Commentary: Mark. Vol. 2. Waco, TX: Word, 1982.
Further Reading
If you’d like to meditate further on the themes in this post, spend time with these passages from Mark’s Gospel:
Mark 1:1–8 — The beginning of the Good News and the voice in the wilderness
Mark 8:27–30 — Peter’s confession of Christ
Mark 10:45 — The Son of Man who came to serve and give His life
Mark 14:27–31 — Peter’s denial foretold
Mark 15:33–39 — The crucifixion and the centurion’s confession
Mark 16:1–8 — The “unfinished” ending that invites us to continue the story
I imagine Mark showing up at the Writing Center again this week—scroll tucked under his arm, sandals dusty, eyes bright with that same urgency he had last time. He sits down across from me, unrolls his parchment, and says, “I’ve added the next part. Can you look at it?”
Of course I can.
So I read:
“As it is written in Isaiah the prophet, ‘Behold, I send my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way, the voice of one crying in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord, make His paths straight.’” (Mark 1:2–3)
Back at the Writing Center
And once again, I slip right into tutor mode.
“Mark,” I say, “we talked about this last time. You wrote ἐν τῷ Ἠσαΐᾳ τῷ προφήτῃ—‘in Isaiah the prophet’—but your first line is from Malachi. I know why you did it. In your world, you name the major prophet even when you blend texts. That’s normal. That’s expected. That’s how your people cite Scripture.”
He nods, as if to say, Of course. Everyone knows that.
“But modern readers don’t,” I continue. “They’ll think you made a mistake. So if you were turning this in for an English class, I’d suggest something like: ‘As the Scriptures say—first in Malachi, then in Isaiah…’”
He raises an eyebrow. I shrug. “Different century. Different expectations.”
The Voice in the Wilderness
Then we move on to verse 3.
“Now this part,” I say, tapping the line with my finger, “this is where your heart shows. φωνὴ βοῶντος ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ—‘a voice crying in the wilderness.’ You didn’t soften it. You didn’t polish it. You didn’t modernize it. You let Isaiah thunder straight through your pen.”
Mark grins. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
What Mark Emphasizes
“And look at what you emphasize,” I continue. “Not the wilderness. Not the voice. Not even the messenger. You emphasize the Lord.
Prepare the way of the Lord. Make His paths straight.”
I lean back in my chair.
Not Just a Story—An Announcement
“Mark, you’re not just writing a biography. You’re announcing an arrival. You’re telling your readers that the God who spoke through the prophets is stepping onto the stage of history. No wonder your Greek feels urgent. No wonder your sentences run like they’re out of breath. You’re not trying to impress us—you’re trying to wake us up.”
He smiles again, and I realize something:
Mark doesn’t need my help with grammar. He needs my help with translation—not of words, but of worlds.
The Gospel Doesn’t Whisper
Because Mark writes like a man standing on tiptoe, shouting across centuries, “He’s here! The Lord is here!”
And sometimes, in our careful, polished, modern world, we forget that the gospel didn’t arrive quietly. It arrived like a voice in the wilderness—loud, raw, unignorable.
Walking the Prayer Path
Maybe that’s the deeper lesson for us on this prayer path. We don’t prepare the way of the Lord by perfecting our sentences. We prepare it by opening our hearts. By clearing the clutter. By making straight the paths where He wants to walk.
What a Beginning
Mark reminds us that the gospel is not a literary exercise. It is an announcement. A summons. A beginning.
And what a beginning it is.
A Prayer
Heavenly Father, You are the One we prepare for—and yet You are the One who prepares us.
Clear the paths of our hearts where they have become cluttered and crooked. Remove the fear, the pride, and the distractions that keep us from seeing You clearly. Teach us to listen for Your voice, even when it comes like a whisper—or like a cry in the wilderness.
Help us not to polish our lives for appearance, but to open them fully to Your presence. Make us ready—not just in word, but in spirit—to receive You and to follow where You lead.
And when You call, give us courage to respond quickly, just as Mark wrote—with urgency, with joy, and with the certainty that the Lord has come.
We love You, Jesus. Prepare us for Your work.
Amen.
A Resource for Going Deeper
If you find yourself curious about Mark’s urgency, his use of Scripture, or even the texture of his Greek, here are a few trusted resources that open up his Gospel in meaningful ways:
For understanding Mark as a whole:
James R. Edwards, The Gospel According to Mark (Pillar Commentary) This is a wonderful, readable commentary that explains the flow of Mark’s story and highlights his urgency and theological focus. It helps you see exactly what Mark is emphasizing—and why it matters for us today.
R.T. France, The Gospel of Mark (New International Greek Testament Commentary) This one goes deeper, especially into how Mark uses Scripture (like Isaiah and Malachi in Mark 1:2–3). It’s especially helpful for understanding why Mark blends passages and how his original audience would have heard it.
Suggested Scripture Readings
To understand the fuller story behind Mark’s opening, these passages connect beautifully:
Isaiah 40:3–5 — The original “voice in the wilderness”
Malachi 3:1 — The promise of the messenger
Luke 3:1–6 — Another account of John preparing the way
