“‘Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus’ (Philippians 4:6–7).

That peace, that conscious calm, that divine serenity, which is described as the peace of God is not produced by prayer alone but by prayer with thanksgiving. If we bless our gracious Lord for the very trouble we pray against; if we bless him for the very mercy which we need as though it had already come; if we resolve to praise him whether we receive the boon or not, learning to be content in whatever state we are in, then ‘the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.’”

That’s what I’ve been missing. I pray with petitions but not always thanksgiving. I pray for what I need, but don’t thank the Provider. Maybe if I gave thanks in advance for God taking care of my needs, the peace would come.

Even with the disappointment of hope delayed, I can still pray with gratitude for something better that’s coming. I can declare the goodness of God in the midst of waiting. I can still worship.

Ultimately, God is enough. More than anything I want or need or pray for, God is enough and He is sufficient. He will always be enough.

I stole . . . I mean, borrowed this from a friend’s post because it speaks to when God comforts us in the midst of pain without removing the source of the pain or the actual pain itself. Sometimes, God does heal, but sometimes He gives a greater grace to endure so that we might be drawn nearer to God’s heart.

“There are times when God, in His infinite wisdom, chooses not to heal me but to hold me. In the depths of my pain, when every breath feels heavy and my heart is burdened with questions, I find myself wrapped in His arms, closer than I’ve ever been. The more intense the suffering, the tighter His embrace, and in the midst of it all, something sacred happens—I come to know Him in ways I never could before. I may not understand His reasons, and the healing I long for might not come in the way I expect, but there’s something profound in the way He stays with me. He doesn’t leave me to face the storm alone. Sometimes, the miracle is not found in the mending, but in the holding. And through every tear, every silent cry, I sense His heartbeat against mine, reminding me that even in the unanswered prayers, He is still good, still faithful. In the darkness, when I can’t see the way forward, I feel His presence more deeply than I ever have. Healing may not always be His plan, but I now know that the love in His hold is enough. It’s not always about making the pain disappear; sometimes it’s about knowing that, through it all, I’ve never been more held, more cherished, more loved.”

I posted something on the socials for the first time 9 years ago. Today, I was reminded why I posted it (and reposted it a few years later). It speaks to the heart of true masculinity versus toxic masculinity and a whole lot of other ideas about manhood that involve lots of facial hair and muscles. It’s from Brant Hansen, who has a refreshingly unique take on Jesus and a lot of other things:

“A twitter hashtag about masculinity got me to thinking: If I’m to be a man like Jesus, what will I be like?

I will be a healer.
I will defend the powerless.
I’ll absolutely frighten and enrage the self-righteous.
I won’t be impressed by those with celebrity, credentials, or power.
I’ll be tremendously patient with people, well beyond what they “deserve”.
I will not take advantage of women.
And I’ll take them seriously.
I’ll subjugate my ego for the benefit of others.
The government will consider me, and my kind, a threat.
The religious power structure will consider me, and my kind, a threat.
I’ll attract people with bad reputations, and the seemingly worthless.
I’ll welcome children.
I will exhibit meekness – power, under control. And whatever power I do have will not be used to crush people, but to set people free.”