Author: Ryan Shinn

Wait – Isaiah 40:27–31

Isaiah 40:31 (NIV)
“But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

Isaiah spoke to a people who were tired of waiting. Politically threatened, spiritually worn down, and emotionally exhausted, they had begun to say—out loud—that God no longer saw them. Their complaint was simple: He’s ignoring us. Isaiah’s response that I’m paraphrasing here was just as direct: “Stop it.“

God had not forgotten them. He was not unaware of Assyria, of empires, or of their fear. But His answer was not immediate relief—it was a call to wait with faith. Strength would come. Rescue would come. But it would come in God’s time, not theirs.

Isaiah 40 has always had a way of reordering perspective. Kings, nations, and epochs rise and fall, yet God remains eternal and untouched. What feels overwhelming to us is momentary when set against God’s timelessness. That doesn’t mean our afflictions don’t matter. God sees them. He sees us walking through them. But Scripture is clear: God values faith more than fast relief.

Faith is formed while waiting. It cannot be rushed. It cannot be manufactured. It grows only when we trust God in the space between promise and fulfillment.

That waiting is hard—especially when we want God to act decisively and immediately. Faithful endurance doesn’t come naturally. But Isaiah reminds us that weariness is not the end of the story. Those who hope in the Lord do not stay depleted forever. Strength is renewed. Perspective is restored. Movement resumes—first walking, then running, and finally soaring.

God sees. God loves. And even when He seems slow, He is never absent.

Incidentally, I recently was playing with AI, and had it make a blues song based on Isaiah 40. It isn’t my singing. It’s not my guitar. Heck, it isn’t even my lyrics. But, I think it’s pretty good. Enjoy.

Wisdom – Proverbs 3:1–6

Proverbs 3:5 (NIV)
“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.”

There is a kind of wisdom that looks impressive but is ultimately self-referential. It is built on confidence in one’s own judgment, experience, and instincts. Proverbs quietly but firmly exposes that kind of wisdom as insufficient. The wisdom God calls His people to is not primarily about intelligence or strategy; it is about orientation—who or what we are relying on.

For the original audience, this passage tied wisdom to character. Loyalty and faithfulness were not abstract virtues; they shaped how a person was viewed both by God and by the community. Trusting the Lord meant rejecting the assumption that human insight was the highest authority. True wisdom began with acknowledging that God sees what we cannot and understands what we never will.

That tension still exists today. It is easy to believe that God has given us wisdom and then subtly shift into trusting our own abilities instead of Him. Even our reactions can betray that shift—responding with what seems reasonable, efficient, or self-protective rather than what reflects God’s counsel. In that sense, relying on “worldly wisdom” is not always loud or arrogant; sometimes it simply feels practical.

This passage calls for something harder: active dependence. Trusting the Lord means submitting decisions, instincts, and even our sense of competence to Him. It means admitting that wisdom is not something we possess, but something we receive. Learning to rely on God’s counsel is not automatic—it must be taught, practiced, and prayed into existence.

Fear – Joshua 10:1–15

Joshua 10:8 (NIV)
“The Lord said to Joshua, ‘Do not be afraid of them; I have given them into your hand. Not one of them will be able to withstand you.’”

Joshua 10 places us in the middle of Israel’s entrance into the land God promised them—a moment that often feels uncomfortable to modern readers. Yet the text itself makes something clear: this is not portrayed as a story of raw military conquest or strategic superiority. Joshua is badly outnumbered. The kings of the region recognize the threat not because Israel is powerful, but that they are punching far above their weight. The victories that follow are not credited to strategy, strength, or even courage, but to God’s direct intervention.

Verse 8 is the hinge point of the passage. Before swords clash or tactics unfold, God speaks. His command is not first about action, but about fear: “Do not be afraid.” That instruction is grounded in a promise already settled—“I have given them into your hand.” The outcome is spoken of as accomplished before the battle is fought. Joshua is asked to move forward in trust, not because the odds favor him, but because God has already gone ahead.

It is easy to keep this kind of passage at a distance by labeling it “ancient history.” Meanwhile, we face our own battles—smaller in scale, but no less intimidating. We often see only our limitations, our lack of leverage, or the complexity of the situation. What this passage challenges is the instinct to assume that difficulty means abandonment or defeat.

Now, not every promise given to Israel is a direct promise to us, but the pattern is unmistakable. God repeatedly calls His people to act without fear when obedience places them in impossible situations. Victory, in biblical terms, is not the absence of struggle; it is the presence of God’s faithfulness in the middle of it.

This passage invites a deliberate choice. Fear or trust. Paralysis or obedience. When God says, “Do not be afraid,” He is not minimizing the danger—He is asserting His authority over it. For us, that means learning to face overwhelming situations with confidence not in outcomes we can control, but in a God who already sees the end.

Big – Psalm 29

Psalm 29:11 (NIV)
“The LORD gives strength to his people; the LORD blesses his people with peace.”

Psalm 29 presents God in terms David’s world could grasp: crashing seas, towering mountains, mighty forests, and the memory of the Flood itself. These were not poetic exaggerations to ancient readers; they were the largest, most untamable realities they knew. By invoking them, David is not trying to make God feel comforting or relatable—he is emphasizing God’s overwhelming power and authority.

That perspective matters. We are prone to interpret life as though our immediate problems sit at the center of the universe. Psalm 29 dismantles that illusion. God’s voice thunders over oceans, strips forests bare, and shakes mountains. He remains enthroned and fully in control. Creation responds instantly to His authority, while human anxiety often assumes He is distracted or distant.

And yet, this is where the Psalm becomes deeply personal. The same God whose voice commands the waters is not indifferent to His people. David ends the Psalm by reminding us that this mighty King gives strength to His people and blesses them with peace. God’s greatness does not diminish His care; it magnifies it.

Worship, then, is not primarily about what God does for us, but about who He is. When we lift our eyes to His majesty—seen in oceans, mountains, and skies far older and larger than ourselves—our problems are rightly resized. They do not disappear, but they no longer dominate. God remains vast, sovereign, and enthroned, and somehow still attentive to the details of our lives.

That truth invites a quieter confidence: our troubles are not ultimate, but God is.

Love – Colossians 3:12–14

Colossians 3:14 (NIV)
“And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”

Paul’s opening words in this passage carry significant weight. When he refers to believers as “God’s chosen people,” he is intentionally drawing on language that Israel would have immediately recognized as covenant language. This is not a doctrinal statement, but a declaration that all who belong to Christ—Jew and Gentile alike—now stand inside God’s redemptive family. Elsewhere, Paul describes this reality as being grafted in.

From that identity flows a visible way of life. Paul lists qualities that are deeply relational: compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, and forgiveness. These are not personality traits reserved for the naturally agreeable; they are evidence of a life shaped by grace. Jesus himself tied forgiveness directly to love—those who understand how much they have been forgiven are transformed into forgiving people. These virtues are not separate achievements but expressions of a single root.

That is why Paul culminates the list with love. Love is not merely one virtue among many; it is the binding force that gives coherence and unity to them all. Without love, these qualities fragment into moral effort or religious performance. With love, they become a reflection of Christ’s own character. The Christian life, then, is not primarily about self-improvement, but about being steadily reshaped by an ever-deepening awareness of God’s love and forgiveness.

The call of this passage is straightforward but demanding: remain focused on love, and allow everything else to flow from it. As Christ continues his work of transformation, the aim is not to become impressive, but to become more like him.

Thanks – Psalm 100

Psalm 100:5 (NIV)
“For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.”

Psalm 100 is short, but it is sweeping. It does not address Israel alone. It calls all the earth to worship the Lord. That would have stood out to the original readers. Israel did have a unique covenant relationship with God, but this psalm makes it clear that God’s authority and worthiness extend far beyond one nation. He is Creator, not just of Israel, but of everyone. Because of that, everyone is invited to approach Him with thanksgiving and praise.

What is striking is what the psalm does not say. It does not tell us to praise God because He has given us prosperity, safety, or success. The reasons given are entirely God-centered. He made us. We belong to Him. He is good. His love endures. His faithfulness continues through all generations. Praise is not rooted in circumstances; it is rooted in who God is.

That exposes something in me. I am quick to praise God when I can point to visible blessings. But this psalm calls me to something deeper. Gratitude that depends on outcomes is fragile. Praise that rests on God’s character is steady. If He is worthy because He is Creator, Shepherd, good, loving, and faithful, then He is worthy whether life feels full or thin.

The proper response is simple, but not easy: praise God because He deserves it. Not as a religious obligation, and not merely as a reaction to blessings, but as a settled posture of worship. Today, that means intentionally thanking Him—not first for what He has done for me, but for who He is.

Marathon – Philippians 4:10–13

“I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” (Philippians 4:13 NIV)

Philippians 4:13 is often quoted as a declaration of strength, achievement, or victory. But in its original context, Paul is saying something quieter and far more demanding. He is not boasting about what he can accomplish. He is testifying to what he can endure.

Paul writes from a place of gratitude—not because his circumstances are comfortable, but because the Philippians’ care reminds him he is not forgotten. He then makes a powerful claim: he has learned how to live faithfully whether he has plenty or nothing at all. This is not about self-sufficiency or bravado. It is about resilience rooted in Christ.

For many of us, especially in a culture that prizes action and results, it is easy to assume that strength is for doing big things. We admire momentum. We value speed. We want progress that looks impressive. But Paul reframes strength as something God supplies not just for forward motion, but for making it through the long-haul.

Life is not a sprint. It is a long, uneven race. Some seasons feel effortless—wind at your back, ground sloping downhill. Other seasons are grinding, slow, and stripped of comfort. Those are the moments Paul has in mind. When resources are thin. When answers are delayed. When obedience requires waiting instead of acting.

Christ’s strength shows up there—not always to remove the hardship, but to carry us through it. Endurance is not weakness. It is often the most demanding form of faith. And it is precisely in those grueling stretches that reliance on Christ stops being theoretical and becomes necessary.

If you find yourself tired, stalled, or simply trying to make it through, this passage is not telling you to try harder. It is reminding you where strength actually comes from. Not for show. Not for speed. But for faithful endurance, one step at a time.

Worry – Philippians 4:6

Philippians 4:6 (NIV) “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

Paul’s instruction here is remarkably direct. He does not deny that life brings real pressures or legitimate needs. Instead, he reframes how believers are to carry them. Anxiety is not addressed by denial or self-discipline, but by intentional dependence on God through prayer. What is striking is not simply the command to pray, but the posture with which prayer is to be offered—with thanksgiving.

Thankfulness changes the nature of prayer. Rather than approaching God as though He must be convinced to act, gratitude assumes His care and willingness from the outset. It says, “I am overwhelmed, but I trust You.” Prayer becomes less about persuading God and more about aligning the heart with the reality that He is already present, attentive, and sufficient.

Paul also links this kind of prayer to peace—not the absence of difficulty, but a peace that guards the inner life. The believer may not yet see resolution, but is no longer ruled by fear or restlessness. This peace is not manufactured; it is given. It comes from entrusting what cannot be controlled by us to the One who is in control.

The challenge, of course, is expectation. It is possible to pray out of habit or obligation while quietly assuming nothing will change. Paul’s words push against that instinct. Prayer offered with thanksgiving assumes God is doing something, evenbefore the outcome is known. It is an act of faith, not resignation.

This passage calls for more than bringing concerns to God—it calls for doing so with confidence in His character. When prayer is shaped by expectation rather than desperation, peace follows, even while answers are still unfolding.

Fear – Psalm 27:1

Psalm 27:1 NIV
“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?”


David opens this psalm by asking a question that almost answers itself. If the Lord truly is his light, his salvation, and his stronghold, then fear no longer has a rightful place at the center of his life. This is not a denial that enemies exist or that danger is real. Other psalms make clear that David was well aware of threats, betrayal, and suffering. The difference here is perspective. Fear is no longer the controlling force; trust is.

The fear of the Lord that Scripture commends is not dread or panic. It is reverent trust—an acknowledgment that God alone has ultimate authority, power, and wisdom. That kind of fear actually displaces other fears. When God is seen rightly, enemies shrink to their proper size. Problems remain serious, but they are no longer ultimate.

David does not move immediately to strategy or solutions. His deeper desire is closeness with God—dwelling in His presence, worshiping Him, and finding joy there. That priority reframes everything else. Security is not found in frantic action or clever plans, but in communion with God.

For me, the temptation is often not fear itself, but self-reliance. When problems arise, it is easy to rush toward control, activity, and fixing. Yet this psalm calls for stillness before action. Trust precedes effort. Confidence flows from knowing who God is, not from how capable we believe ourselves to be.

Sometimes the most faithful response is not to grasp for answers, but to stop, re-center, and remember: the Lord is the strength of my life. Fear does not get the final word.