1. The Restless Spring
Bless Thou the words of my lips and the meditations of our hearts that they may be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer.
I don’t know if it’s just me, but lately everyone I meet seems to be running on empty.
Some say, “It’s the busiest season of my life.” Others nod in exhausted agreement. And truthfully, I’ve felt it too—this spring rush, this quickening tempo that seems to have seized our calendars and our hearts.
Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the economy. Maybe it’s the way the world spins now—faster every year.
Whatever the reason, we fall into bed at night worn out, our minds still running even as our bodies shut down. The sap’s running faster, the grass is greener, and everything—including us—is sprinting to keep up.
And yet, I fear that what’s true of our schedules can quietly become true of our souls. We treat even faith as another obligation to be managed. One more thing on the to-do list. One more meeting, one more reading plan, one more spiritual habit to “keep up.”
And so the very thing that was meant to give rest begins to feel like another race.
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2. When Faith Feels Like a Job
I pray you don’t experience your Christian life the same way you experience your daily grind—another box to check, another weight to carry.
Because, dear friends, when religion starts to feel like work, we’ve likely lost sight of the One whose work finished it all.
Unfortunately, many of us have been taught, subtly or directly, that following Jesus is mainly about what we must do—how often we read, how faithfully we attend, how much we give, how strongly we believe.
Preachers—yes, including people like me—sometimes pile on expectations until grace feels like another performance review.
We say things like,
“You should pray more.”
“You should witness more.”
“You should care more.”
All good things. But if you notice, every sentence starts with you.
The danger is that the gospel, which begins with God, becomes a story about us.
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3. The Gospel We Lose
Whenever salvation is linked to our activity instead of God’s, we lose the gospel.
Whenever the story of grace becomes a manual of self-improvement, we’ve traded good news for good advice.
Now don’t misunderstand me: there’s merit in caring, giving, serving.
But the engine that powers those things must be God’s love, not guilt or fear.
I’ve seen it on both sides of the church aisle.
In the so-called liberal churches, people are told, “A real Christian must care for refugees, protect creation, feed the hungry, fight for justice.”
Those are holy callings. But sometimes the emphasis tilts so hard toward what we do for the world that we forget what God does for us.
Then, in the so-called conservative churches, the list sounds different but feels the same:
“Tithe faithfully. Attend every prayer meeting. Read your Bible daily. Join every ministry team.”
All noble goals. Yet even there, the suggestion can creep in that unless we check every box, God’s arms stay folded.
Either way, grace gets lost.
And when grace is lost, joy is lost.
And when joy is lost, the church becomes tired, judgmental, or both.
Friends, the gospel is not the story of how we climbed up to God.
It’s the story of how God came down to us.
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4. The Trial of Peter and John
That truth rings through the Book of Acts.
Peter and John heal a crippled man outside the temple. They aren’t running a program; they’re simply moved by compassion and empowered by the Spirit. But when the miracle draws a crowd, the religious authorities arrest them.
The next morning, the rulers demand an explanation:
“By what power or what name did you do this?”
Peter answers with holy boldness:
“It is by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead. Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”
Notice what he doesn’t say.
He doesn’t say, “By our fasting and prayer we healed this man.”
He doesn’t say, “By our superior faith or doctrine.”
He says, “By the name of Jesus.”
That’s the heartbeat of the gospel: God acts first.
Everything good that flows from us flows from Him.
Peter had learned the hard way. He’d promised loyalty, then denied his Lord. But Jesus didn’t disown him; He restored him. Peter knew the relief of being known by God even when he didn’t know himself.
That’s the kind of knowing that saves.
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5. The Fox and the Tiger
There’s an old Chinese proverb that illustrates this beautifully.
A fox once got caught by a tiger. Facing certain death, the fox declared,
“You can’t eat me—the gods have made me ruler of all animals!”
The tiger laughed, but the fox said, “Follow me and you’ll see that every creature fears me.”
So the tiger followed behind the fox through the forest.
Every animal they passed fled in terror—not because of the fox, of course, but because of the tiger walking right behind him.
After a while the tiger nodded, convinced. The fox, grinning, walked away free.
It’s easy to be brave when a tiger walks behind you.
That, my friends, is what it means to live under the shadow of the Almighty.
When the presence of God follows close, even the fiercest obstacle turns tame.
Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the awareness of who’s standing behind you.
Peter faced down the Sanhedrin not because he had learned new debating techniques, but because the Lion of Judah stood at his back.
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6. The Shepherd Who Knows His Sheep
Psalm 23 reminds us that “The Lord is my Shepherd.”
Jesus later personalizes it in John 10: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.”
Those words sound simple until you realize what “knowing” means in Scripture. It’s not casual acquaintance—it’s deep recognition, personal attachment, covenant love.
The ancient shepherd knew each sheep by sight, sometimes even by name.
Sheep weren’t raised for quick slaughter but for years of companionship. The shepherd slept near them, spoke to them, defended them from thieves. He led them—not drove them. The rod protected; the staff rescued.
The relationship was mutual. The sheep recognized the shepherd’s voice and would not respond to another’s.
H. V. Morton once told of watching two shepherds in a cave near Bethlehem. They had mingled their flocks overnight. At dawn one shepherd stood outside and gave his peculiar call. Instantly his own sheep separated from the rest and trotted out to him; the others stayed where they were. No branding, no fence—just the voice.
Jesus said, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.”
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7. When We Forget the Voice
But what happens when we stop listening?
What about those seasons when we drift, when prayer dries up and Scripture feels like static?
Here’s the good news: even when we forget His voice, He never forgets ours.
Even when we fail to know God, God continues to know us.
He keeps calling. He tracks us through valleys we thought were dead ends.
He leaves the ninety-nine to find the one who wandered off in distraction, in despair, or in shame.
We often quote “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me,” but the Hebrew verb radaph literally means “to pursue.”
God’s goodness doesn’t stroll politely behind us; it chases us down.
That’s who your Shepherd is—the Pursuer of runaways, the Finder of the lost, the One who knows your voice even when you’ve forgotten how to pray.
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8. Grace in the Grind
Let’s be honest. The demands of life don’t vanish when we believe.
But when grace powers the engine, the same tasks that used to drain us begin to feed us.
If service for God wears you down instead of lifting you up, maybe it’s time to step back and let Him carry the weight again.
The yoke of Jesus is easy not because life is easy but because He’s in it with you.
Some of you serve faithfully in every committee, every outreach, every ministry—and you’re exhausted.
Others feel guilty for not doing enough.
Both groups need the same reminder: Christ is the Shepherd, not you.
The church already has a Savior. You don’t need to audition for the role.
The invitation of grace is not Do more! but Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
That rest is not inactivity; it’s renewed activity born of peace.
It’s the difference between rowing frantically and sailing with the wind of the Spirit at your back.
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9. What a Friend We Have
There’s an old hymn that captures this:
Are you weak and heavy laden? Cumbered with a load of care?
Precious Savior, still our refuge—take it to the Lord in prayer.
It’s not a call to quit caring; it’s a call to remember Who carries you.
Imagine Jesus walking beside you through your week—the deadlines, the family stress, the uncertainty. He doesn’t lecture first; He listens. He doesn’t hand you a heavier pack; He shoulders yours.
That’s why worship matters—not as a duty but as oxygen.
It’s the moment each week when the Shepherd gathers His flock and whispers again, “I know you. You are mine.”
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10. Known, Not Just Knowing
Sometimes we ask, “Do you know the Lord?” It’s a fair question.
But perhaps the better question is, Does the Lord know you?
Not in the sense of information—He knows everything—but in the sense of relationship.
Jesus said to some who did miracles in His name, “I never knew you.”
They had mastered the forms of religion but missed the friendship.
They were busy for God but not bonded to God.
What an irony—to know all about Him and still not be known by Him.
Faith isn’t a résumé we hand God; it’s a relationship He initiates.
So maybe instead of striving to prove how much we know, we could rest in being fully known—weakness, wounds, wandering and all.
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11. The Power Behind You
Remember the fox and the tiger.
We walk into Monday meetings, family tensions, medical reports, cultural chaos—sometimes feeling like the fox: small, clever, pretending confidence.
But look again. The Lion walks behind you.
No wonder the enemy flees.
When Peter spoke before the Sanhedrin, he wasn’t the same man who once denied Christ by a campfire. The difference wasn’t resolve—it was Presence. Pentecost had happened. The Spirit now stood at his back like the tiger behind the fox.
The same Spirit stands behind you.
He knows where you’re headed. He knows what threatens you.
And He’s not going anywhere.
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12. A Gentle Invitation
So maybe the question isn’t, “How busy have you been for God?” but “How open have you been to God?”
Maybe the most spiritual thing you could do this week is not add another task, but stop long enough to listen.
Picture the Shepherd’s call echoing across your crowded day:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
And then hear the whisper that follows:
“I still know you.”
He knows the fatigue behind your smile, the questions behind your prayers, the failures you hide from others.
And still He calls you His own.
That’s grace.
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13. All the Way
When Fanny Crosby wrote, All the Way My Saviour Leads Me, she was blind—but not lost.
She once said, “If I had a choice, I would still choose blindness, for when I die, the first face I will ever see will be the face of my Savior.”
She didn’t say, “All the way I followed perfectly.”
She said, “All the way He leads me.”
There’s a difference.
Following depends on our steps.
Leading depends on His faithfulness.
So when you walk out those doors today into the swirl of duties and deadlines, remember: you’re not the fox strutting alone; you’re the sheep watched over by a Shepherd who never slumbers.
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14. Closing Reflection
When life accelerates, slow down long enough to feel the rod and staff that comfort you.
When faith feels like one more obligation, return to the simple miracle that you are known and loved.
When you’re unsure how you’ll face tomorrow, remember the tiger behind you, the Shepherd beside you, the Spirit within you.
The good news isn’t that you’ve got God figured out.
The good news is that He’s never stopped figuring you in.
So breathe.
Rest.
Let the Shepherd lead.
He knows the way—and He knows you.
