Today’s Always Uplifting Verse and Devotional to start your day off right!

The Little Red Nosed Love Story

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1 Corinthians 13:4-5 — Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged.

If you listen closely, you can almost hear it—the soft chime of sleigh bells drifting across time. Before Rudolph ever blinked his bright red nose on television screens, there was a man who needed a bit of light himself.

It was the winter of 1939 in Chicago. Outside, carolers sang, department store windows were dressed with tinsel, and a million hopes were hung on the idea that this Christmas would feel different.

Inside Montgomery Ward, Robert L. May sat at his cluttered desk, staring at the falling snow. His wife was ill, and his daughter, little Barbara, watched him fight to stay cheerful.

When his boss asked him to write a holiday storybook for the store’s giveaway, he sighed.

What story could he possibly tell?

But that’s the funny thing about Christmas—it tends to show up right when you’ve nearly given up on it.

He thought about what it meant to be different, to stand out in a world that doesn’t quite understand you. And then, like a snowflake landing on his sleeve, an idea appeared—a reindeer with a glowing red nose.

He wrote late into the nights, describing that little reindeer who was laughed at, left out, and yet chosen to lead the sleigh through the darkest storm. He didn’t know it yet, but he was writing about himself—and maybe about all of us who have ever felt like we didn’t quite fit.

When his daughter heard it, she clapped her hands and said, “Daddy, that’s wonderful!” That year, Montgomery Ward printed more than two million copies. Families read the story aloud by the fire, and children’s laughter mingled with the crackle of the radio.

Fast forward twenty-five years: Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass brought the tale to life on television with stop-motion “Animagic.” In a little studio in Tokyo, animators moved tiny puppets, one frame at a time, for months.

Rudolph’s nose glowed for real. The Island of Misfit Toys, the Bumble, even Hermey the elf who wanted to be a dentist—all reminded us that God’s kingdom values those who feel different, overlooked, or broken. Every misfit is loved and has a place in His plan.

And isn’t that exactly what we read in scripture? Love walks with the lost, lifts the lonely, and turns what others call weakness into light.

So, this Christmas, maybe you can be a little like Rudolph.

Notice the person others pass by, struggling. Speak a word of kindness, offer a seat at the table, or shine your light for someone walking through the dark. Love has a way of glowing brightest when the world is dim. It has a way of guiding people home.

1 Corinthians 13:4-5 teaches us “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”

That’s the kind of love Rudolph’s story reflects—not flashy or self-seeking, but patient, kind, and willing to shine for someone else’s sake.

And most importantly, love is what keeps Christmas shining all year long.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When have you felt like a “misfit” or overlooked—and how did someone’s kindness make a difference?
  • Which part of love described in 1 Corinthians 13 do you find most challenging right now: patience, kindness, or not insisting on your own way?
  • Who in your life might need you to notice them more intentionally this season?
  • What does it look like for you to “shine your light” in a simple, everyday way?
  • How could choosing love—over convenience or comfort—help guide someone else toward hope?
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Sharing Jesus on the Journey

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2 Timothy 4:5 — But you should keep a clear mind in every situation. Don’t be afraid of suffering for the Lord. Work at telling others the Good News, and fully carry out the ministry God has given you.

Some memories stay vivid even after decades. When I think back to my childhood, I see those December days when my mom would take my sister and me to the mall, not to shop, but for something called Journey to Bethlehem.

She would guide us past the food court, the kiosks, and the holiday crowds until we reached a corner display that felt worlds away. A local church hosted it each year, and the moment we stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. It was like stepping back in time.

I remember the cool feel of clay jars beneath my fingers and the earthy scent of hay. People in long robes greeted us with words like “Shalom” that sounded ancient yet comforting, and we got to pet so many animals.

I loved every second of it.

It was there that the story of Jesus’ birth would stir inside me in a way no words could capture.

Years later, I found myself walking that same path with my own girls. They moved slowly, reaching out to touch the baskets, asking questions about how families lived so long ago without cars or warm beds. I talked about the miles people walked, the hardships mothers endured, and the courage it took to survive in a world that offered so little comfort.

Halfway through, I felt the weight of what I needed to pass on. I had no formal gospel lesson prepared. I only had the walk, my childhood memories, and the chance to let them feel it for themselves.

So, as we wandered through the recreated streets, I narrated the story of the Nativity as best as I knew how. I noticed something shift in their eyes. They were beginning to understand the lengths God went to as He chose to enter a world so ordinary and hard, just to meet us where we are.

I thought of the words from 2 Timothy 4:5: “Keep a clear mind in every situation, do the work of an evangelist… fully carry out the ministry God has given you.”

Walking this path reminded me that ministry often looks like this—staying present, even when it’s imperfect. Telling the story as best you can. Walking with people you love and helping them experience the same Jesus you know and love for themselves.

Now it is our tradition. Every year, my husband and I look for ways like this to help our girls discover the story in fresh new ways. And each time, I am reminded that the length’s God goes for us. His love is always so immense and intentional.

If He would come all that way, maybe the small steps we take can help someone else find their way toward Him. Because, truth be told, this is one story that is never too old, too simple, or too small to change a heart.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What moments from your own childhood helped shape your understanding of faith or the story of Jesus?
  • Where has God given you opportunities to share the Good News in simple, everyday ways—without a script or a plan?
  • What does “fully carrying out the ministry God has given you” look like in your current season of life?
  • How can you help others—especially the next generation—experience Jesus, not just hear about Him?
  • Where might God be inviting you to take a small, faithful step, trusting Him to do the larger work in someone’s heart?
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Don’t Miss The Gift

Titus 2:14 — He gave his life to free us from every kind of sin, to cleanse us, and to make us his very own people, totally committed to doing good deeds.

This happened when she was very young and newly married. One December afternoon, while her husband was out, she spotted a silver box perched on the top shelf of his closet. It shimmered in a way that made self-control feel optional. She told herself to walk away, but…she didn’t.

She lifted the box like someone who had mastered the art of “just peeking.” The paper came off in perfect strips. Inside lay a plush robe.

Her excitement fizzled immediately. It was so thoughtful, but that color? She hated it. She slipped the robe back into the box, drove to the store, exchanged it for a shade she preferred, returned home, and wrapped it with meticulous care. She placed it exactly where she had found it.

By the next morning, guilt settled over her like a damp fog. Questions kept circling her head. What kind of woman does this? What would he think when she opened it on Christmas Day?

She worried herself sick for days.

Then Christmas morning arrived. They sat together in a cheerful mess of ribbon and discarded paper, coffee warming their hands, and when he noticed the one remaining package. He asked, “Do you want to open your last gift?”

Hesitantly, she lifted the silver box and began to unravel. She cried through the ribbon. She stained the paper with tears. As she held up the robe, she apologized again and again from the depths of her soul.

He blinked. “What? It’s a robe. I thought you’d like it.”

And right there, her remorse curdled.

Men! Do they even notice anything?

“How could you?” she cried. She was so offended, she avoided him for the rest of the day.

That’s how the story goes, and it still makes me laugh. Not at her—but at how familiar her reaction feels. I know what it’s like to leap to conclusions, assume disappointment, and miss the tenderness behind someone’s good intentions.

This story highlights something very human: we are tempted, fickle, and quick to judge. But even when we sin, have regrets, or harbor offenses, Christ came at Christmas to teach us a better way.

“He (Christ) gave His life to free us from every kind of sin, to cleanse us, and to make us His very own people, totally committed to doing good deeds” (Titus 2:14).

It tells of a love that offers itself before we earn it or understand it. It is love given without hesitation, even when we misjudge it, mishandle it, or try to trade it for something more comfortable.

So let that story about a simple robe uncover what we often miss. Let be an invitation to remember that Christ already gave the perfect gift. It’s already there, for all of us, waiting for us to simply open, appreciate, and welcome in our hearts.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where do you see yourself in this story? Have there been moments when you assumed disappointment, offense, or rejection—only to later realize you misunderstood someone’s heart?
  • In what ways do we sometimes “re-wrap” God’s gifts? Are there areas where you’ve tried to reshape God’s grace, timing, or plans into something that feels more comfortable or familiar to you?
  • Titus 2:14 says Christ came to free and cleanse us. What guilt, regret, or self-condemnation might you still be carrying that Jesus has already offered to take away?
  • How does knowing you are God’s “very own” change the way you see yourself? What would it look like to live today from a place of belonging instead of shame or fear?
  • Where might God be inviting you to trust His good intentions more fully? Is there a situation, relationship, or season where you need to pause, assume grace, and let love lead instead of offense?
  • Titus 2:14 connects grace to action. How could receiving Christ’s gift more deeply shape the way you live, love, or serve others this week?
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Love That Came Low

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Philippians 2:6-8 — Though he was in the form of God, (He) did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

The stable smelled of straw and the faint warmth of animals. In Mary’s arms lay a newborn—small, fragile, and yet impossibly weighty in the gravity of His presence.

His breathing was soft and rhythmic, anchoring the room in a stillness Mary had never known. She laid Him gently in the manger, adjusting the swaddling as Joseph watched, eyes wide with a kind of awe that left him steadying himself against the wood.

Everything about Him felt ordinary and extraordinary all at once.

The animals shifted closer, curious and calm. Mary’s mind struggled to hold the paradox before her: this tiny, vulnerable child was the promised Messiah—the Son of God—choosing straw over a throne. She brushed her fingers across His delicate hand, and the truth settled in her chest like a weight and a wonder all at once.

Love had chosen humility.

Joseph leaned in, one hand braced against the manger. Mary watched Jesus curl His fingers the way newborns do—reaching for nothing, and yet somehow reaching for everything. Each small movement felt like a quiet declaration: heaven had entered the world without spectacle, without force, without defense.

Outside, the world slept on, unaware. But inside this simple shelter, love had lowered itself so completely that even a young mother could cradle Him without fear.

This was what the words would later try to capture:

“Though He was in the form of God, He did not consider equality with God something to be grasped. Instead, He emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant… humbling Himself to the point of death.” (Philippians 2:6–8)

But before those words were written, they were lived—first in a manger.

Mary exhaled slowly, as though her heart was finally catching up to what her hands were holding.

And somewhere in that quiet, a question began to rise.

If God Himself was willing to come this low for the sake of love…
what might that mean for us?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What part of Jesus’ humility stands out to you most in this scene?
  • Why do you think God chose to enter the world quietly rather than with power and spectacle?
  • Where in your own life might God be inviting you to release status, control, or self-protection?
  • How does understanding Jesus’ willingness to “empty Himself” shape the way you see love?
  • What would it look like for you to reflect Christ’s humility in one small, intentional way today?
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Finding Joy in Life’s Unexpected Gifts

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Proverbs 3:5-6 – Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.

When I heard the news that we were expecting our third daughter… I nearly passed out.

There is no poetic way to say it. I was stunned. We were not trying. We were not planning. We were not even vaguely thinking about starting over. We already had two beautiful daughters, Ashlyn and Madison. Our world was full, and honestly, we were just starting to find a rhythm again. Nights were quiet, diapers were a memory, and the laundry pile was almost manageable.

So, yes. Shock. Real, physical, sit-down-before-you-fall-over shock.

But over the next few days, something in me softened. The disbelief did not disappear, but it made room for a different kind of feeling.

I started remembering all the small, sacred things from when our girls were babies. The slow sway of rocking them to sleep. The weight of their tiny heads tucked under my chin. The feeling that the rest of the world could wait—because in that moment, I was their whole world. Those memories came back like old songs I had not heard in a while, and they settled in my chest with a warmth I had not expected.

And now? Now I find myself getting excited. Truly, tenderly, deeply excited.

Fittingly, this baby is due to arrive at Christmas. And the timing does not feel random. It feels… personal. Intentional. Like something only God could orchestrate.

It has made me think a lot about Joseph. The one from Scripture. The carpenter. The man who had plans of his own—plans that were disrupted overnight by news he could not have seen coming. I imagine he asked a lot of the same questions I have asked.

How do I love this child well? Will I have what it takes to provide for this family? What kind of man do I need to become for this child?

Joseph did not get all the answers upfront. But he trusted. He obeyed. He stood by Mary, and he raised a child that changed the world.

And that part—that quiet, steady willingness to lean into the unexpected—that is what gets me.

Because here is what I am learning: some of God’s greatest gifts do not come wrapped in the timing we expect. They show up unannounced, inconvenient, and completely out of sync with our plans.

But that does not make them any less beautiful.

This surprise has reminded me that God’s fingerprints are often clearest on the things we never saw coming. And if I had stayed locked in my fear, I might have missed the joy buried inside this unexpected gift.

It reminds me so much of what scripture says in Proverbs 5, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.”

So, if your life just took a turn you did not plan for—if you are staring down something that makes your knees weak—do not rush to fix it. Do not run from it. Lean in. Let it sit with you long enough for the joy to rise.

You never know what goodness God has tucked inside the surprise.

— Chris Tomlin

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What unexpected turn has God allowed in your life that you’re still trying to understand?
  • Where are you tempted to lean on your own understanding instead of trusting God fully?
  • How has God shown His faithfulness to you in past situations you didn’t plan for?
  • What might it look like to acknowledge God in this current season—even without clarity?
  • Is there a hidden joy or gift you might discover if you released fear and leaned into trust?
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Tiny Gifts, Big Riches

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Colossians 3:16 — Let the message about Christ, in all its richness, fill your lives. Teach and counsel each other with all the wisdom he gives. Sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs to God with thankful hearts.

I remember the story Penny shared about a Christmas when money was scarce, and she had three daughters counting on her. She prayed openly, asking God for a way to make the morning feel like a celebration, even if the gifts were small.

Her solution was simple but perfect. Instead of gifts, she spent less than fifty dollars on little trinkets, wrapped them, and hid them throughout the house. She wrote clues on index cards and turned her home into a treasure hunt.

On Christmas morning, she handed the first clue to her daughters. The house erupted with sound. Feet hit floors. Voices bounced off walls. Each small treasure found became a prize. Each discovery turned into a shared favorite memory.

Penny watched her daughters and realized that joy can arrive in small packages. Laughter and excitement filled the holes in their family’s hearts that riches could not reach.

Later, Penny reflected on the lessons those lean years taught her daughters and herself — lessons that stayed with them long after the gifts were gone:

  • Creativity blooms when the cupboards are bare.
  • Laughter carries farther than money ever could.
  • Giving does not have to cost anything; it can be time or a kind act.
  • Family presence outweighs possessions.
  • Discontentment shrinks as appreciation grows.
  • Hard times teach lessons that last a lifetime.

Toward the end of the story, she shared a verse with me, the one she had read to her girls each Christmas: Colossians 3:16. “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God.” That moment tied everything together.

It reminded her—and me—that they were never poor. Not then. Not now. Every Advent season, I return to that line. If the Word dwells in us, if gratitude fills our homes, and if He is already here celebrating with us, who among us could ever not call ourselves rich?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When have you experienced joy that didn’t depend on money or material things? What made that moment meaningful?
  • Colossians 3:16 speaks of letting Christ’s message “dwell richly” in us. What fills your home most often during this season — stress, comparison, or gratitude?
  • How might creativity and thankfulness grow when circumstances feel limited?
  • What simple traditions or shared moments have shaped your faith more than gifts ever could?
  • In what ways might God be reminding you this season that you are already rich in what matters most?
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Joy That Survives the Fall

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1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 – Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

I climbed the snowy hill with more curiosity than confidence. Sitting on the slick rubber tube, I shifted slightly to see how it would respond beneath me. The snow crunched under my boots, and the cold nipped at my fingers as I adjusted my grip.

My hair whipped across my face, tangling against the wind. My friends lingered behind, part cheerleaders, part mischief-makers.

Then came the shove that sent me sliding.

For a moment, it felt amazing. The tube glided over the packed snow, carrying me faster and faster. My laugh burst out before I could catch it. The hill seemed bigger than all my problems as if the world transformed just for me. Every worry felt distant like the slope itself had stripped them away.

Then the bump came.

A hidden root flipped the tube, and suddenly I was rolling, arms and legs flailing, snow filling every pocket of my jacket. When I finally stopped, I lay on my back, gasping, and laughing at myself. My friends arrived, faces concerned. I waved them off. I was fine. I was more than fine—I felt alive in a way that smooth rides never achieve.

Later, as I rubbed snow from my coat and shook my boots, I thought about how important it is to feel joy like that. I thought about that verse that says, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” Those words had always meant something to me, but now they felt alive.

Joy is not the smooth ride. It is what endures the tumbles, what stays when the unexpected spins you around. Gratitude is a choice, and laughter is proof it can stick, even in the mess.

So when the next surprise comes—and it will—don’t let the fall write the story. No, let God do it. Keep riding and keep trusting that the One who steadies you will never let you go.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When life feels unpredictable or messy, how easy is it for you to hold on to joy? What helps you return to it?
  • Which part of this verse is hardest for you right now — rejoicing, praying continually, or giving thanks? Why?
  • How have unexpected “tumbles” in your life shaped your faith rather than diminished it?
  • What would it look like to choose gratitude even when circumstances aren’t smooth or comfortable?
  • How might trusting God with the ride — not just the outcome — change the way you face what’s ahead?
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Home Alone but Not Abandoned

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Psalm 91:2 — This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; He is my God, and I trust Him.

Before there was Kevin McCallister, there was a man with a notebook full of half-baked Christmas ideas and a flight to catch.

John Hughes had been writing one hit after another, but something about Christmas kept tugging at him. He loved the noise of it—the clatter of dishes, the stampede of family, the sweaters that made everyone itchy and happy all at once. And on one chilly morning, he started thinking about the chaos of leaving for a holiday trip. Bags everywhere. Kids shouting. Someone always forgetting their toothbrush.

Then it hit him: what if they forgot a kid?

The idea was ridiculous—and that’s exactly why he loved it.

So he sat down and started writing. Snow fell outside his Chicago window, and his office glowed with the light of a small Christmas tree in the corner. As he typed, something beautiful began to emerge—not just comedy and clever traps, but a story about wonder and courage and joy.

Then came the hunt for the kid who could carry the whole sleigh.

Enter Macaulay Culkin.

There was something in the way he looked at the camera—a mixture of innocence, mischief, and that unspoken “watch this” confidence. It was perfect. He was Kevin McCallister.

When Home Alone finally hit theaters in 1990, no one expected what would happen next. The movie didn’t just make people laugh—it made them feel.

Families saw themselves in that noisy house. Parents remembered the panic of holiday travel. Kids felt the thrill of being clever and brave. And in the middle of all the slapstick and silliness, one simple truth appeared. Even when Kevin was left behind, he was never truly alone.

There was the kindly neighbor keeping an eye from across the street, the world outside that noticed when he needed help, and the little acts of care that surrounded him. In his moment of greatest independence—and greatest fear—he had protection, unseen by him at times but there, nonetheless.

And maybe that’s the lesson that lingers. Like Kevin, we are never truly alone. Psalm 91:2 puts it simply: “This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; He is my God, and I trust Him.”

Just as Kevin had someone watching out for him in small, tangible ways, we, too, have a refuge in Christ — a place of safety where we are never unprotected, unseen, or without care.

I think, perhaps, that is why John Hughes’ Home Alone still feels magical every Christmas. It’s not just for the laughs or the clever tricks, but for the simple reminder that we are never truly abandoned or forgotten.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When have you felt alone or forgotten, only to later realize you were being cared for all along?
  • Psalm 91:2 calls God our refuge and place of safety. What does that look like in your everyday life right now?
  • Where do you tend to look for security first when things feel uncertain — and how might God be inviting you to trust Him more fully?
  • How does remembering that you are never truly alone change the way you face fear or responsibility?
  • Who around you might need a reminder this season that they are seen, protected, and not forgotten?
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Celebrating Christmas in the Kitchen

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Luke 2:11 — For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

“What are we baking?” I asked, eyes wide.

I stood by the counter, wooden spoon in hand, trying not to make a total disaster of the kitchen. It smelled incredible—vanilla, butter, all the good stuff—and the sunlight made the mess of flour I’d created look almost artistic.

Mom laughed under her breath. “We’re making a birthday cake.”

“Okay, but who for this time?” I asked. “Someone at church?”

She shook her head. “For Jesus.”

I stared at her. “Like… Jesus Jesus?”

She nodded, completely calm about it.

I wasn’t sure what baking a cake for someone I’d never actually met was supposed to feel like, but as I stirred the batter, something about it felt oddly meaningful—like we were doing more than just following a recipe.

I did not know it yet, but this little tradition would stay with me, long after the flour had been swept from the floor. Each year we followed the same recipe, and each year my sister and I argued over who would lick the spoon first and who would sprinkle the sugar.

Mom never rushed my sister and me. She let us spread the icing and carefully place the candles on top. She wanted us to know, deep down, that this celebration was about more than a cake. It was about joy that came to the world and hope that would not let go.

As I grew, and faith became my own, I finally understood. The coming of Jesus is worth throwing a party over year after year. His birth was not a story in a dusty book. It was a rescue. A beginning.

Now in my own kitchen, flour and sugar lined the counter. My daughters peeked around the corner.

“What are you doing?” they asked.

I motioned them in and told them we were about to bake a birthday cake for Jesus. Soon there was laughter, batter on the floor, and three spoons too many in the bowl.

As we stirred, I leaned in to tell them what my mom once told me, reading softly from the Bible: “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:11. I hoped they would carry this moment with them, the way it stayed with me.

After all, if anything is worth celebrating, is it not the birth that changed the world?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What Christmas tradition has helped shape your faith or understanding of Jesus over the years?
  • How does remembering Jesus’ birth as a rescue — not just a story — change the way you celebrate Christmas?
  • Who in your life might God be inviting you to pass faith along to through simple, meaningful moments?
  • When was the last time you paused to truly celebrate what Jesus’ coming means for you personally?
  • How can you make space this season — through tradition, conversation, or worship — to honor the Savior who changed everything?
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Hand Picked by God

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John 15:16 — You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.

A few years ago, Bri and I went Christmas shopping for the radio station. We started the morning with coffee in hand and a mission in mind. We were going to make a lot of kids’ Christmas mornings brighter.

We both knew it would take hours, and we were ready for it. We mapped out our route, and started a friendly competition: who could spot the best toys at the best prices first?

We moved down the aisles like treasure hunters, testing buttons, reading labels, and shaking boxes just to see if a toy might survive rough little hands. I held up a puzzle and said, “This could be good, but will they like it?”

Bri held up a stuffed animal and declared, “Maybe, but how about this instead?”

By the third store, our carts were overflowing, energies were draining, and our imaginations were fading. We were working hard just to stay intentional for each kid because, still, we wanted to make each child’s Christmas Wish possible.

We pictured kids opening these gifts, surprised and squealing. We remembered the generosity of each and every listener of 88.7 The Cross whose generosity made this possible. It mattered deeply, so we pressed on.

When we came to the end of our day’s labor of love, I stood there in the self-checkout line and a thought struck me. It was something like this.

We were being intentional on behalf of strangers and thinking through each choice with care. If we could do that for people we would never meet, how considerate must God be in choosing us?

John 15:16 came to mind: “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give you.”

God does not pick us at random. He chooses with purpose. He knows us completely and loves us. And just like Jesus says in John 15, He chooses us so that our lives would bear fruit — the kind that lasts.

By the time the final bags were loaded into the car, my feet were sore but my heart felt so full because I hadn’t thought of it quite like that before.

I am Hand-picked. And so are you. I hope you will remember that today.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When was the last time you felt truly chosen or seen? How did that change the way you showed up?
  • John 15:16 says God chose you with purpose. Where might He be inviting you to bear fruit right now — in your family, workplace, or community?
  • How does remembering that you are “hand-picked” challenge the doubts or insecurities you carry?
  • What gifts or callings has God placed in your life that are meant to last beyond this season?
  • How might believing you are chosen affect the way you treat others today?
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