Category: RTP

“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.”
Psalm 119:105

Neil Armstrong became the first human to step onto the Moon’s surface on July 21, 1969.

My family and I were among the millions who watched as Armstrong stepped from the lunar module and spoke words that became part of history:

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

I still remember it.

One small step.

That phrase resurfaced for me during our church’s 80-day journey through John Mark Comer’s Practicing the Way, a course centered on becoming apprentices of Jesus: being with Him, becoming like Him, and doing as He did.

At the conclusion of each session, we are invited to identify one small next step in our apprenticeship to Rabbi Jesus.

No giant leaps.

No striving.

No trying harder.

Just one small step.

That reminded me of something I learned years ago from business coach Dan Sullivan and his concept of The Gap and the Gain.

Sullivan teaches that we make better progress when we measure how far we have come rather than constantly measuring ourselves against some distant ideal. Ideals can give us direction, but tangible gains give us momentum.

Tangible micro-wins.

That sounds remarkably like something the Psalmist wrote:

“Your word is a lamp for my feet.”

A lamp.

Not a floodlight.

A lamp doesn’t illuminate the next ten miles. It gives you enough light to take the next step. Maybe that’s an important picture of apprenticeship.

We often want God to show us the entire road ahead. We want the five-year plan, the finished product, the breakthrough, the healed relationship, the conquered habit, the answer.

But Jesus seems far more interested in asking us to walk with Him today.

Formation of any kind is slow work.

Jesus regularly described growth with images that take time: vines, crops, trees, fruit. Nothing grows by giant leaps. It grows little by little, season by season.

Perhaps that’s why getting unstuck rarely begins with a dramatic overhaul of our lives.

It begins by staying close to Jesus, listening for His wisdom, and taking the next faithful step He puts in front of us. We may not be able to see the whole road. Maybe we don’t need to.

The lamp is enough.

Run the play.

Stay close to Jesus. Trust the light He has given you. Take one small step.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Where are you waiting for God to give you a floodlight when He may already have given you enough light for the next step?

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” — John 12:24

How things grow is mysterious, but anything worth growing benefits from being cultivated.

Friendships. Marriages. Character. Trust. Health. Communities. Skills. Generosity. Faith.

None of these flourish simply because we hope they will.

I attended a meeting recently that chose Cultivate as its theme. When I hear the word cultivate, I don’t first think of a strategy. I think of a Farmall tractor from my childhood that pulled a small cultivating implement.

Growing up, our neighbors had eight kids and a small farm. My friends had to finish their chores before playing, but if I helped, we could finish quicker. When the chore was cultivating the young plants, we did it largely with hoes powered by small human beings. 😂

But when the Farmall was mobilized, the work went much faster.

I can still smell the oil and exhaust, feel that terrible seat, hear the clutch grind, and remember the thrill of driving it as a boy. Cultivation was dirty, careful, hands-on work. You had to get close to the crop and pay attention to what was happening in the rows.

Leading up to the meeting, I kept coming back to those memories and how much work went into caring for young plants so they could grow.

Loosening the soil. Removing weeds. Fertilizer and water. Rain and sunshine.

It got me thinking beyond an organization’s mission and vision and about the things and relationships in our own lives that need cultivating.

Loosening the soil might mean making room in an overcrowded life for the people and things we say matter most.

Pulling weeds might mean recognizing the habits, distractions, resentments, or patterns that compete with what we want to grow.

Watering and fertilizing might be the small, repeated investments that nourish growth: a conversation, an apology, encouragement, or a small act of kindness.

Sunshine might simply be our presence. Showing up. Sharing a laugh. Listening. Helping someone know they are seen, valued, and not alone.

For me, cultivation goes deeper still. As a follower of Jesus, I’ve learned that I can cultivate the soil of my life, but I cannot manufacture the character I desire or the person I want to become.

Paul captured that distinction beautifully:

“I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow.”

I have a role. But I am not the source of the life or the fruit it produces. Cultivation is integral to the process, but the growth and formation come from God.

I think that old Farmall has been teaching me something all these years. We cannot force growth. But we can cultivate. We can loosen some soil. Pull a few weeds. Bring some water. Let in some light. And perhaps most importantly, we can get close enough to notice what needs tending.

The rest remains something of a mystery. A seed disappears into the soil, and somehow life emerges and fruit comes.

That old tractor also taught me something else:

Cultivation requires proximity. We had to get close to those tender plants without damaging the very thing we were trying to help grow. That is true of almost every precious relationship we are given to steward.

So maybe the question isn’t simply, What do I want to grow?

Maybe it is: What in my life needs cultivating right now?

And who might need me to get close enough to notice what needs tending?

Run the play.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What relationship, habit, or area of your life could benefit from a little intentional cultivation this week?

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.” – John 15:16

As the first foretastes of fall approach, the coming apple harvest reminds me of all the work that went into making the good apple cider of our childhood.

Our next-door neighbors orchestrated these cider-making adventures, often with our help, to sell at their roadside stand. Throughout the year, we’d collect many of the key elements we’d need, like burlap bags and one-gallon glass jugs.

Then, in the fall, when the apples were ripe, a small army of neighborhood boys and girls would descend on a local orchard. With burlap bags in tow, we’d collect the best apples off the ground. When their station wagon was nearly scraping the pavement, we knew we had enough apples to press into one barrel.

The final stop was Fromwiller’s Mill, where those apples were transformed into freshly squeezed cider. Our reward for helping was a bottomless one-gallon jug of the best apple cider in Western New York.

Yum!

Looking back, something else strikes me about those cider-making days:

We never produced a single apple.

We gathered them. Hauled them. Pressed them. Bottled the cider. But the fruit itself had already been produced for us.

The apples were already fruit. Our job was to gather what had been given to us and put it to work.

That sounds remarkably like something Jesus told His apprentices on the night before He died.

In John 15, as Jesus and His disciples made their way toward Gethsemane, He used fruit as a metaphor to explain how they would continue what He had begun: the inauguration of the Kingdom of God and the advent of New Creation.

As we remain in Him, we are being formed as apprentices, becoming more like Jesus and learning to participate with Him in the work of New Creation.

But we must not miss something important.

A branch cannot bear fruit by itself.

Jesus is the Vine.

Our part is to remain in Him.

And what does that participation look like?

Love.

Not merely sentimental affection, but the lay-down-your-life-for-another kind of love. The deny-yourself, take-up-your-cross, follow-Jesus kind of love.

Jesus’ resurrection is the firstfruits of New Creation, God’s guarantee that what He has begun will one day be completed.

That means our choices, relationships, work, creativity, and prayers, offered in love, become part of God’s final renewal.

When heaven and earth are reunited, God will make His home with His beloved.

That’s you and me.

Nothing done in this kind of love is wasted.

Looking back, we thought the point of all that childhood work was the cider.

Maybe it was.

But perhaps we were also learning something about what it means to be made in the image of a Creator. We gathered fruit we hadn’t produced, added our labor, and turned it into something others could appreciate and enjoy.

That sounds a little like our invitation to participate in New Creation.

We offer our choices, relationships, work, creativity, and prayers in love. And somehow, in ways we cannot yet fully see, He gathers it all into something that will last.

Fruit that will last. Forever.

Nothing done in love is wasted.

Run the play.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Where might Jesus be inviting you to take the fruit He is producing in you and put it to work in love?

“In the midst of a very severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity.” – 2 Corinthians 8:2

Most fundraisers would be thrilled if donors returned their calls.

Paul had people begging him to take their money.

I want to know why.

This is the time of year when our mailbox and inbox fill with year-end appeals, matching campaigns, and invitations to give.

Most come from ministries we love and already support. And because I also serve on the boards of Christian nonprofits, I find myself on both sides of the fundraising conversation.

Lately I’ve been wrestling with a question:

Are we trying to get people to fund our mission, or are we inviting them to participate in something God is already doing, for their good and His glory?

That question sent me back to 2 Corinthians 8–9, where Paul describes a fundraising campaign unlike anything showing up in my inbox.

Paul describes the Macedonian churches as people enduring:

• A severe trial
• Extreme poverty
• Giving beyond their ability
• Overflowing joy

And then comes the part I can’t get past:

They urgently pleaded for the privilege of giving. Paul wasn’t squeezing them. They were asking him. So how does a community of hurting, impoverished people end up begging for the privilege of helping someone else?

Paul traces their generosity all the way back to its source:

“…we want you to know about the grace that God has given the Macedonian churches… They gave themselves first of all to the Lord, and then by the will of God also to us.”

Grace came first.

They gave themselves to the Lord, and from that surrender, generosity overflowed toward others. Their hearts had been captured by grace.

Jesus told His disciples, “Freely you have received; freely give.” Apparently, Kingdom generosity is a form of regifting. 😇

The Macedonians had discovered that giving wasn’t primarily about losing something. It was about getting to participate in something.

And that changes the fundraising question.

Kingdom fundraising cannot merely be about acquiring donors or meeting budgets. At its best, fundraising becomes ministry: inviting people to joyfully participate where God is already moving.

Maybe our best fundraising is really faith-raising.

Paul makes the point even clearer in the next chapter:

“Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.”
2 Corinthians 9:7

No compulsion.

No guilt.

No spiritual arm-twisting.

God doesn’t need our money. He wants our hearts.

And when grace captures our hearts, generosity begins to overflow.

Maybe the measure of Kingdom fundraising isn’t simply how much money was raised. Maybe it is whether people were helped to see where God is moving and discovered the joy of joining Him there.

Let’s start putting that on spreadsheets. 🔥

The Macedonians weren’t reluctant donors who finally gave in. They were joyful participants who didn’t want to miss out.

That’s the kind of generosity grace produces. And that’s the kind of family God is growing. A family of cheerful givers.

Overflowing with joy.

Run the play.

Finding Our Place in the Story

When you give, does it feel more like something being asked from you, or an invitation to participate in something God is doing?

“But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen.”
— Matthew 6:6

Two little boys came to my door recently carrying homemade birthday cards that weren’t worth a dime.

They were priceless.

The cards were priceless because the relationship is.

The Ganson twins dropped by with their dad, Ben, to give me their handmade birthday cards. They call me Papa Jette. I’m honored to be their Papa Jette, and whenever I hear them say it, something moves inside me, because the love behind those cards is genuine and priceless.

Lots of people know me as Mike Jette, but only three people on the planet call me Papa Jette. All three are connected to God-stories.

The twin boys, Marvens and Marvel, were adopted by the Gansons from Haiti. During a mission trip to Haiti I helped organize in 2015, Janelle Ganson received a word from the Lord that would eventually lead her and Ben into a journey of international adoption. The process began before the twins were even born and took seven long years to complete.

It’s a connection the twins are unaware of, but whenever I’m around them, I marvel (😃) at God’s faithfulness, provision, and leading that made this extraordinary story possible. The story’s arc resonates within me each time I hear them say, Papa Jette.

“When you pray…” Jesus tells His apprentices to go into the hidden place with the Father who is already there. When I pray, my acknowledgement of His presence often begins with, Papa God.

For me, those words are more than the beginning of a prayer. They are the name that opens the door of my heart to Him. They remind me that I’m not approaching a transaction. I’m approaching my Father. Before speaking another word, I remember who He is and who I am.

Is it possible that the heart of our Father in heaven is also touched when I call Him Papa God?

Without Fatherhood, prayer can quietly become an exchange: requests submitted, answers awaited, performance evaluated. But His children don’t need an appointment, impressive vocabulary, or a quarterly review. 😂 We come because we belong.

I don’t think I would have understood the power of this if I hadn’t become someone’s Papa Jette.

Those twins weren’t showing up with handmade cards hoping to become beloved. They brought the cards because they already knew they were.

And perhaps that is what I’m learning about prayer.

We don’t enter our Father’s presence hoping to become beloved. We pray because we already are.

Prayer isn’t a transaction with God. Being welcome and beloved in His presence is enough.

More than enough.

It’s everything.

Those cards probably have no market value, but enormous Papa Jette value. How much more value do the things we bring to our Papa God have?

What if the first and greatest answer to our prayers is God Himself?

Run the play. Open the door of your heart to your Abba, Father. He is crazy in love with you.

Finding Our Place in the Story

• If God gave you nothing during prayer except Himself, would you still consider your prayer answered?
• Do you approach prayer more like a transaction or a relationship?
• What changes in you when you remember that you come to God as a beloved child?

“

But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind… they cannot repay you.” – Luke 14:13-14

The house church we were hosting was just about to begin when the roar of gas trimmers and blowers overcame our eardrums.

Suddenly, a dozen Hispanic landscapers descended on our property.

Great timing. 😉

Sunday morning. Sabbath. Hot.

Why were these men working?

It was eerily reminiscent of Thanksgiving Day 2014.

We lived in one of only a couple of new homes on our street that were not under construction. All day, a Hispanic crew worked on a new home across from us.

We had finished dinner. It was dark. Our company had left.

But we could still hear the men working.

When I peered through the front door, high-beam headlights from their trucks lit up the house while they worked.

C’mon, man, it’s Thanksgiving Day! Why weren’t they with family? It saddened us deeply.

What would happen on Christmas Day? More of the same?

Not on our watch.

Soon after, in a preemptive move, a neighbor and I met with representatives from the three builders in our development with an idea: a large Christmas cookout lunch for these hard-working men.

All the builders had to do was invite their crews. We would do the rest. We agreed it would take place a few days before Christmas and got to work.

If you remember the movie Field of Dreams, farmer Ray Kinsella hears a mysterious voice whispering:

“If you build it, he will come.”

Our situation felt strangely similar.

We had the food. The grills were ready. The tables were set. But we had absolutely no idea if anyone would come.

When the time arrived, we were blessed with a cool, sunny, gorgeous mid-December day.

And then they started appearing.

Instead of baseball players emerging from a cornfield, construction workers slowly emerged from every direction.

They came in waves.

When lunch was over, every bit of food was gone.

We had prepared enough hot dogs, hamburgers, chips, and cookies for seventy people.

Nothing was left.

Move over, Ray Kinsella. If you grill it, they will come.

When Jesus fed thousands of people with a few loaves and a couple of fish, I suspect He was doing more than meeting a physical need.

He was teaching us how to see people.

Sometimes loving our neighbor begins by noticing the person everyone else has learned to look past.

Luke 14 reminds us to notice people who can easily become invisible to us. People with little status. People who may have nothing to offer us in return.

Jesus looks through different eyes.

He sees a person’s value coming from the One whose image they bear, not from their occupation, status, usefulness, or ability to repay us.

We live in a different neighborhood now, but similar opportunities still surround us.

People work while many of us worship, rest, eat, play, and go about our comfortable routines.

And sometimes, without realizing it, we stop seeing them.

This past Sunday, the roar of those trimmers and blowers may have been more than an interruption.

Maybe it was a reminder.

I think it might be time to fire up those grills again.

Run the play. Help someone who can’t repay you today.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Who has become nearly invisible in the routines of your life, and what might it look like to see and serve them the way Jesus does?

“But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”
— Mark 10:31

You don’t have to be a sports fan to know that football season is ramping up. At the beginning of a new season, optimism abounds and is contagious.

For many years, I had the privilege of taking the Atlanta Falcons’ most loyal and enthusiastic fan to the annual Falcons vs. Panthers NFL football game at Bank of America Stadium.

His name is Mac.

Mac has cerebral palsy and recently celebrated his 70th birthday. His parents have died, but a loyal group of friends makes sure he’s never forgotten. They do the heavy lifting, but for reasons unknown to me, Mac insisted I take him to the Falcons games.

Each spring when the NFL schedule came out, I’d get a call from Mac.

“Hey Mike, I’m fired up!”

There was no mistaking Mac’s distinctive voice. He was letting me know the date to put on my calendar.

No good deed goes unpunished, however. Almost all those games were played in the cold and other elements of late November and December.

Mac’s story deserves more than these few ruminations about football. The way he has lived his life has taught us so much. A trip with him anywhere was a trip in the best sense of the slang.

He has always been “fired up.”

A typical Falcons game started with a quick trip to McDonald’s for lunch, followed by finding our way to our parking spot. Walking became increasingly challenging with each passing year, but the stadium crew was incredibly helpful to anyone needing assistance.

Mac was chauffeured in a wheelchair, which he turned into a one-man Falcons fan rolling cheering section.

The Panthers fans were great to Mac. They were kind and supportive, and he seemed to bring out the best virtues in everyone. It never ceased to amaze me how people were drawn to him.

He made everyone smile.

Mac cheered for every Falcons first down.
Mac stood and cheered for every Falcons score.
Mac tapped every pretty girl sitting in front of him on the shoulder.
Mac stayed until the end of every game.

The very end.

We never left early, no matter the score. And because he needed a wheelchair, we were usually the last to leave.

Last, like the-last-one-out-turns-off-the-lights last.

That’s how the “fired up” roll.

When Jesus said that many who are first would be last and the last first, He was describing a Kingdom that measures people very differently than the world does.

Mac has reminded me of that for years.

He needed help getting into the stadium, but somehow he helped everyone around him become a little more joyful, a little more patient, and a little more human.

The man being pushed in the wheelchair was often the one leading the parade.

Maybe that’s part of what Jesus was getting at.

In His Kingdom, the people we are tempted to overlook may be the very people He uses to show us what life with Him looks like.

That’s why I love using a red kite as the branding for this blog.

Jesus is in the elevation business.

And Mac?

He was usually the last one out of the stadium.

I have a feeling he knows something about being first.

Run the play. Live fired up!

Finding Our Place in the Story

Who has God placed in your life whom the world might easily overlook, and what might Jesus want you to receive and learn from them rather than simply do for them?

But the Lord replied, “Is it right for you to be angry?” – Jonah 4:4

In the mid-1990s, I organized a deep-sea fishing trip for a group of guys who loved to fish. Prior to this, I had only fished once, and the most memorable part of that experience was the trauma of putting my hand in a bait bucket full of crickets. Some friends found my discomfort hilarious and began calling me “Cricket.”

We hired a boat and a captain in Charleston harbor and set out on our journey. (Queue the theme from Gilligan’s Island.) It was a beautiful day, but the seas were far too rough for my liking. Thirty minutes into the all-day trip, Cricket began tossing everything in his stomach overboard—repeatedly.

The poor guy never truly recovered until his feet were back on solid ground. It was a long, grueling day. However, the rest of the crew managed to catch plenty of fish.

Rereading the Book of Jonah recently brought back memories of that once-unpleasant experience. Unlike Jonah, I didn’t get thrown overboard, but being stuck on that boat and enduring seasickness all day was tough. I imagine living three days inside a fish wasn’t much fun either.

But this recent study of Jonah has made me see that fish differently.

The fish was mercy.

Jonah received God’s mercy when he was rescued and restored, long before he fully understood what God was doing. Nineveh received mercy twice: first through the warning finally delivered by Jonah, and then when God relented from destroying them.

And the mercy didn’t stop there.

God gave Jonah a shade plant. Then came a worm, a scorching wind, and that uncomfortable question: “Is it right for you to be angry?”

Even those were mercy.

God wasn’t simply trying to make Jonah comfortable. He was trying to make Jonah more like Himself.

That realization has become increasingly important to me as I grow older. One of the hard lessons for seasoned citizens is the almost daily acclimation to loss. Our bodies begin breaking down. Friends and family relocate, and some leave this earth altogether. Change seems to accelerate at an uncomfortable pace.

Like Jonah beneath his shade plant, I’m discovering how easily familiar comforts can become expectations, and expectations can quietly become entitlements.

When that happens, we can miss the mercy right in front of us. We can even become bitter when yesterday’s gift isn’t included in today’s package.

Job had the right mindset when he said:

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
and naked I will depart.
The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;
may the name of the Lord be praised.” (Job 1:21)

Maybe part of growing in Christ is learning the spiritual practice of catch and release.

Catch the gifts. Enjoy them. Celebrate them. Give thanks for them.

But release the expectation that God is obligated to let us keep them.

Sometimes mercy looks like a shade tree. Sometimes it looks like a fish. Sometimes it looks like a worm. And sometimes it looks like God lovingly asking us a question we would rather not answer.

God’s mercy meets us where we are, but it never intends to leave us there.

Run the play. Catch the mercy. Release the entitlement. And keep looking for the goodness of God in places you never expected to find it.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What comfort, expectation, or season might God be inviting you to release so you can better recognize the mercy He is giving you today?

“Light is sweet, and it pleases the eyes to see the sun.” —Ecclesiastes 11:7

It’s been a hot summer around here. No one likes extreme heat or cold, and we are all pretty good at complaining about both.

But lately, I’ve been complaining less and noticing more.

I’m reminded of life’s predictable rhythms and how seasons come and go. There are so many dependable cycles in life that it would be easy to overlook them and miss the miracle that they are.

For example, the Earth is spinning on its axis at around 1,000 miles per hour, giving us the rhythm of day and night. At the same time, it is moving around the sun, held in place by God’s mysterious and faithful design. We are flying through space at a staggering 67,000 miles per hour.

Yet most mornings, we simply pour the coffee, watch the sun come up, and call it Wednesday.

The predictability of light and darkness, morning and evening, seasons and years reminds us that life is fragile but not random. We may not understand all of God’s work, but we can receive the light He gives us today with gratitude.

The evidence uncovered by science does not weaken my faith in God; it deepens my wonder at the God of science. Every new scientific discovery unveils a new and deeper awe of His unparalleled creativity and power.

The heavens aren’t the only place where God’s design inspires wonder. The human body is pretty remarkable too, although some of my original parts have recently begun lodging formal complaints.

People often ask me about my hip since my recent replacement surgery. It’s the wrong question. My hip is brand new, and it still has that new-car smell we all love. 🤣

A better question would be about all the soon-to-be 71-year-old original parts. 🎂🎉🎈

As wonderful as the new hip is, it won’t last anywhere near as long as the original. Of course, it won’t have to.

Beware: We OGs love to host “organ recitals,” where we spend the first 20 minutes listing everything that hurts, has been replaced, or isn’t working properly in our bodies.

Our Creator cannot be outdone, but I suspect it pleases Him when we use the creativity He gave us to repair what has been broken.

On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” —John 20:19

I can’t wait to receive my new resurrected body in the kingdom to come. Jesus got the first one, and He appeared among His disciples even though the doors were locked.

Sign me up for that option.

Everything may be temporary now, but that does not make it any less extraordinary. In fact, like the changing seasons, its temporary nature makes it more precious.

Creation is not only something to enjoy; it is an invitation to know the One who created it and who has promised to make all things new.

Run the play: The next time we’re tempted to complain about the weather, our aging bodies, or the season we find ourselves in, let’s pause long enough to notice the miracle, thank the Creator, and remember the forecast:

Renewal is coming.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What are you tempted to complain about that could become an invitation to notice God’s faithfulness and thank Him for the renewal He has promised?

Then the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time.
Jonah 3:1

Earlier this year, a shy young man in his late teens asked to meet with me. He is preparing to leave home for his freshman year at college, and it took courage to ask if we could meet each week before he leaves.

During our time together, I have discerned an unstated undercurrent beneath many of our conversations: Good relationships don’t come easily or naturally for everyone.

That got me thinking. What makes a person lovable? What makes you or me worthy of being loved? What must we do or change before we become lovable?

We have been reading the Book of Jonah recently. Most of us know the story of Jonah being swallowed by the great fish. Even Jesus referred to it.

But what stands out to me now is how gracious God was in giving Jonah a second chance he had done nothing to earn or deserve.

The word of the Lord came to Jonah “a second time.”

God did not wait for Jonah to become a different person before calling him again. He pursued him, rescued him, and gave him another opportunity to say yes.

And Jonah had not merely made an innocent mistake.

He ran from God, resisted His direction, and endangered the lives of others. Even after he obeyed, resentment and self-righteousness were still lurking inside him.

There is a lot of Jonah in all of us.

We hide. We run. We compare ourselves with others. We protect the parts of ourselves we are afraid to reveal. Beneath it all is the fear that if God, or anyone else, knew the whole truth about us, they might turn away.

Many of us believe we must fix ourselves before we can approach God or return to Him. That is one of religion’s bitter fruits: the belief that God will not accept us until we have made ourselves “good enough.”

But Jonah was already fully known.

And he was still pursued.

That is the gospel.

Pastor Tim Keller described the deepest longing of the human heart as being fully known and truly loved. Being known without being loved is one of our greatest fears.

Much of the sin and brokenness around us grows from that insecurity.

We hide our failures. We defend ourselves. We blame others. We struggle to ask for forgiveness because admitting we were wrong feels like presenting evidence that we are unworthy of love.

My young friend and I have been discovering that we long to be fully known and loved, not only by God, but by others too.

Relationships can be frightening because we risk allowing someone to know us, knowing they may not love what they discover. Rejection hurts. Unconditional love can be difficult to find among imperfect people.

The good news is that we are not loved because we have finally proved ourselves worthy. We are loved because God is love, and in Jesus He came looking for us.

Secure in that love, we are free to admit when we are wrong, ask for forgiveness, and love others without requiring them to audition for it.

Run the play.

You are loved by God just the way you are, not because you finally got everything right.

You are free to live rightly because you are already loved.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What might change if you stopped trying to prove you are lovable and received the love God has already given you in Jesus?