Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Resting his hands atop the long handle of his garden hoe, he studied the coming entourage through narrowed eyes. It looked important. There was too much pomp and circumstance for the visitor to be a neighboring farmer or passing trader. This looked official. Dignified. Royal. It wouldn’t be the first of its kind. King Abimelech had spoken with him before. Twice. First, when he discovered Rebekah was Isaac’s wife, not his sister. Second, to order him out of his city. Neither had been particularly cordial conversations. The king’s feathers had been ruffled every time. Yet, try as he might, Isaac couldn’t think what he had done to infuriate the man this time. He had taken his wife and possessions and left the area. He was carefully minding his own business. There was no reason for the king to seek him out again. Tamping down the rising concern in his stomach, Isaac braced himself to pack up and move. Again. 

Admittedly, the king had good reason to be annoyed with Isaac for passing Rebekah off as his sister. Seriously. Even a Philistine knew the sin of taking another man’s wife as one’s own. He knew the danger of crossing swords with Isaac’s God. Passed down through time was the story of another man, Abraham, who claimed his wife was his sister, nearly costing the king of that day his life. It had caused quite a stir in the kingdom then. Enough so that the king had hastily shown that man the door. Not so with Isaac. 

Rather than ordering them ushered out of his kingdom by military escort, the king issued a protection order over them. Death awaited the one who touched Isaac and Rebekah. It was handy. Living in a foreign land, knowing you were safe. They settled in. Planted crops. Built herds. The land was fertile. Their farm flourished. God moved. The first harvest was astonishing. Multiple times above and beyond what Isaac expected. His flocks and herds grew. His money multiplied. Isaac found himself quite content to put down roots and stay forever. The original citizens had other ideas. 

Jealous of Isaac’s blessings, the Philistines began harassing him. Making mischief. Hoping Isaac would be miserable enough to leave. They loaded dirt into all his wells. Old wells. Wells that had been there for some time. Wells, his father, Abraham, had dug. Isaac didn’t budge. Eventually, King Abimelech had enough. Either in capitulation to his people or in genuine irritation at Isaac, the king handed him his hat and showed him the door. Quite literally. He asked him to leave. More aptly, he kicked him out of the city. Isaac had grown too much, was too successful, had eclipsed the local status quo, and they wanted him gone. So he packed his bags, his tools, his animals, his family, and moved out to the valley. (Genesis 26:1-18)

It wasn’t far enough. The shepherds from the city still had access to him. They could still monitor his every move. They could cause trouble if they wanted. And they did. Very much. They wanted to cause trouble. They wanted to make Isaac’s life a little more miserable than necessary. They wanted to see if they could interrupt his work, derail his success, encourage him to move again. And again. 

They stalked him. Snuck around his new place. Made mischief. When Isaac’s servants dug and discovered a well of fresh water in the valley, the shepherds from the city came and claimed it as their own. The herdsmen argued with them, but Isaac didn’t. He called the well contentious and calmly moved his servants to another spot. Again they dug until finding water. Again, the shepherds from the city disputed ownership of the well. Again, words were exchanged. Fists were clenched. Not Isaac’s. He calmly dubbed the well hostile and moved his servants to another digging place. 

Bending into the back-breaking work again, the servants were surely casting glances over their shoulders and keeping an eye out for the nosy Philistines. They were certainly past the slurs and hostilities thrown at them. They were over the lies and stealing of their hard work. They weren’t going to let it happen again. They needn’t have worried. When they struck water this time, no one came forward to dispute the ownership. No one raced in to call it their own. No one seemed to want this one. And Isaac praised God for the open space He had given them to live and flourish in the land. In all the hardship and suffering, with people coming against them for absolutely no logical reason, God had been with them. God had blessed them. God’s plan had prevailed. (Genesis 26:19-25)

Isaac had always known it would. He was the very living, very obvious proof that God would provide and prevail. The boyhood recollection of lying on an altar, a bound sacrifice to God, his father’s knife raised high above him would never leave his memory. Nor would the angelic voice calling from heaven to stop the proceedings. God had provided a sacrifice. The boy on the altar didn’t need to die. Isaac had lived that. He still trusted that same God. And it showed. In moments where servants and herdsmen would have been happy to resort to fisticuffs, Isaac carefully, yet pointedly, turned them to another space. A space where he trusted God to take care of them. No need to argue. No need to fight. No need to adjudicate the issue. God would handle it. He always did. Isaac knew he could trust Him. (Genesis 22:1-14)

Eventually, God had brought him to this current place. The place he was now standing as he watched the procession get closer. Isaac had been right. It wasn’t a neighbor, a lost soul, or a traveling market. It was Abimelech. Again. Flanked by his adviser and his army commander. They were clearly on a mission. How it involved Isaac, he wasn’t certain. No matter how hard he thought, not one reason came to mind that would necessitate the king and his cronies traveling this distance to visit him. He had done what they had asked. He had left their city. His servants had dug wells and left them to their shepherds. He had moved on more than once without so much as a dirty look. He couldn’t fathom what offense they had come up with this time. He wasn’t even sure what to say when they got there. He wasn’t happy to see them. He wasn’t interested in serving them lunch. One doesn’t invite their enemies for tea and a chat. 

As it turned out, Isaac didn’t need to say much at all. Abimelech had the talking covered. They weren’t looking to cause more trouble. They were looking for peace. With him. Because they had been watching. They had been paying more attention than he realized. They had noticed, plainly seen, that God was with him. It was obvious. Not just because he was prospering so magnificently. No. They noticed God was with him by the way he handled himself in times of frustration and anger. They noticed every time he simply walked away and started again in a new place rather than physically fight or cause an uproar. They noticed that Isaac simply straightened his spine and went about his business. He didn’t run around gossipping about the Philistines, stirring up strife, or attempting to cause divisions among the people. He didn’t seek revenge. He didn’t passive-aggressively set traps to make them look like idiots for all to see. He could have. He didn’t. Isaac simply went about his business, resting in the fact that God would protect, provide, and prosper his life. And God did. (Genesis 26:26-33)

It was 2025 when I read Genesis 26 and realized how admirably Isaac handled himself in less-than-desirable circumstances. Not because I hadn’t read the account before. I had. Year after year, I have read that same passage and wondered why he just walked away without a fight and went off to dig another well. Maybe I have been seeing it through the lens of today’s society. Social media would rip this guy up as a weakling. Keyboard warriors would hammer out diatribes on how he should have stood his ground. In a society that loves a fight, there would be no end of harsh judgment and name-calling. He’d be tagged a coward. Pushover. Spineless. Weak. But not by me. Not today. Not ever again. Because the words of Abimelech snagged my attention with such force I will never again read the account the same way. “It is plain to us that God is with you.” Obvious. Clear. Indisputable. God’s presence in Isaac’s life was so prominent that no one could debate it. Not just by how he prospered, but by how he handled himself when things didn’t go his way. (Genesis 26:28)

Through all the turmoil and trouble, Abimelech had been watching. When they tried to sabotage Isaac, the people had taken notice. When the shepherds had stolen his wells and been braced for a fight, they took note when he didn’t engage. When Isaac had every reason to react in rage, but instead acted with calm respect and quiet dignity, those looking on paid attention. When other men would have reacted with insults and war and shenanigans of their own, Isaac didn’t. He didn’t need to. He knew who his God was. He knew in whose hands his life and times lay. He knew in Whose presence he lived. And so did everyone else. Isaac’s relationship with God plainly showed in the way he lived his life and handled his business, not just when he prospered, but in every word, every action, every moment, every day. 

Can the same be said for you? Do you occupy a spiritual space so close to God that your reactions to negative circumstances and derogatory situations plainly reflect the presence of God in your life? Do you live so close to Him, trust Him so implicitly, that your response to trouble and trials and turmoil reflect His heart? When things go sideways, when enemies attack, when life seems to have it out for you, does your relationship with God shine from your life in a grand exhibition of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? In the best of times, in the worst of times, at all times, can the people around you plainly see that you dwell in the presence of God? (Galatians 5:22-23; Ephesians 5:8-9; Colossians 3:12-14; II Peter 1:5-8; Matthew 7:16-20; Isaiah 32:17; Luke 3:8)

The lid of another empty picnic basket swished silently closed, as disappointment washed over the owner’s face. There was nothing left. Not even crumbs. The stash of bread and fruit, and fish meant to nourish them for the entire journey was gone, and they still needed to make the journey home. The food had been good while it lasted. It would have been better had it lasted longer. No one told them they would be gone so long. No one suggested packing extra in case the meetings ran long. No one slipped an emergency loaf into their hands as they walked out the door. They hadn’t thought they needed it. Never would they have expected to be gone so long. Their provision packing proved it. They hadn’t meant to spend three days in a remote place, far from home, listening to Jesus teach. Most had figured on an afternoon. Many had planned for a day. Based on reports from other places, some thought it might last a bit longer. Some hoped it would go on indefinitely. Only a handful planned for it. Now here they sat, miles from the nearest market. Stomachs rumbling. Provisions gone. Options limited. (Mark 8:1-8)

It was not a new scenario for the disciples. They had seen it before. Not long ago they stood beside Jesus as He looked out over an even larger crowd in another remote place. They, too, had gathered to hear Him teach. They were engrossed in the message, intent on learning, oblivious to the dipping sun and darkening sky. They also had nothing to eat. Concerned, either for their own grumbling stomachs or the well-being of the gathered people, the disciples suggested Jesus release them. Now. Send them home in time for dinner. Get them to town before the food stalls lowered their blinds for the day. But Jesus had another idea. They could feed them right there. Have an enormous picnic. Put on a spread the gathered people would never forget.  

Commanded to investigate possible food sources, the disciples mingled with the crowd until they found five tiny rolls and two measly fish. It was barely enough for one person. It would never be enough. They hauled it back to Jesus, anyway. Carefully taking the measly haul in His hands, Jesus lifted them up to heaven, blessed them, and handed them back to the disciples. Five loaves divided between twelve men, meant to feed thousands of people. It seemed impossible. It wasn’t. Every time the disciples prepared to hand out the final chunk of bread, more appeared. When they counted heads and knew there was too few fish, it just kept coming as though they had cooked an entire night’s catch. The people ate as much as they wanted. Large first helpings. Generous second helpings. Some had thirds. Others gathered a little for the journey home. Still, when it was all said and done, when the final person had taken all they wanted, when everyone had left for home, when the disciples were done cleaning up all the leftovers, there were twelve baskets of food remaining. No one had to leave hungry. The Bread of Life gave them bread to sustain life. They could have as much as they wanted. (Mark 6:35-44)

You can almost hear the disciples heave a frustrated sigh as they watched this new group of people checking their empty provision bags, searching their pockets for mints, surreptitiously looking around to see if anyone had a slice of bread they would be willing to share. Maybe the disciples silently wondered if the people purposely came ill-prepared. Perhaps they questioned their motives. Were they really here to listen and learn, or were they simply a bunch of Looky-Lou’s out to see what kind of spread Jesus would lay out to silence their stomachs? 

No one would ever know the answer to that question, but everyone should have been able to predict Jesus’ response. He felt sorry for them. Just like last time. He looked at their faces, heard their stomachs rumble, mentally measured the distance to town and home, and took pity on them. They had been a good audience. Their motives were largely pure. So they hadn’t planned properly. It was okay. How were they to know they would be there for three days? They couldn’t have known they needed to ration their food. And, although He needed to move on to the next town, He couldn’t send them into the highways and byways without feeding them. Some of them had run out of provisions a day ago. The lack of sustenance could see them fainting before they ever reached town. No. The people needed to eat. The disciples needed to feed them. Now. With whatever they had on hand. 

Going out to search among the people for any available rations, the disciples came back with seven loaves of bread and a handful of fish. They already knew what Jesus was going to do. He would bless it, break it, and hand it back to them to distribute. The tiny, nearly stale loaves would become large, endless slices of tender bread, the fish would stretch to fill the chinks in every belly. No one would walk away hungry. They could all have as much as they wanted. Physical bread to sustain their lives as they traveled to their earthly home. Spiritual bread to sustain their souls as they traveled to their heavenly home. The Bread of Life for every breath of life. It could all be found in Jesus. And every person could have as much–or as little–as they wanted. The disciples knew it. Now the people would know it too. Not by hearsay. By experience. They could have all of Jesus they wanted. (Mark 8:1-8)

That was exactly how it went. The disciples brought the loaves and fishes to Jesus. He blessed them. Handed them back. The disciples distributed them. The people ate. Large first helpings. Generous second helpings. Some had thirds. Others filled their pockets with rations for the journey home. Everyone got everything they needed. All they wanted. As much as they could handle. There was no limit. On anything. Not on the food. Not on Jesus. Everyone could have as much as they wanted. There was more than enough to go around. No one needed to leave hungry. And they didn’t. They left knowing what others had yet to find out. You can have all of Jesus you want. He is the Bread of Life for every breath of your life. 

Nearly two decades ago, God spoke that very lesson to me in the middle of a grocery store aisle. I was moping. Saddled with a list of physical issues that had me studiously reading every ingredient label on the shelf–and putting most of them back–I was frustrated and irritated and not a little annoyed. Sighing to myself, I nearly gave in to the self-pity when a highly recognizable, still, small voice whispered in my ear, “You can have all of Jesus you want.” Hands curled around the handle of my shopping cart, I stood utterly still and absorbed that truth. There are no allergies to the Bread of life. Jesus will not negatively affect your blood pressure or excessively elevate your heart rate. Time spent with Him will not heighten the effects of your chronic illness. You can have as much of Jesus as you want, as often as you like. There is unlimited supply. Your heart doesn’t need to go hungry. He is the Bread of life for every breath of your life. You can have all of Jesus you want. 

I think that is the part of Jesus’ miraculous multiplication that we often overlook. We get so flabbergasted by the enormous miracle that we miss the intended takeaway. The part about the Miracle Maker Himself. We miss the fact that Jesus is the never-ending Bread of Life to sustain us through every breath of our lives. And He is not in short supply. He never sends anyone away. Not the hungry heart. Not the parched soul. All who come to Him with sincere hearts, longing for His presence, seeking His kingdom, hungering and thirsting for His righteousness will be filled. That is the promise. No one goes away hungry. No one leaves thirsty. Jesus is the Bread and Water of life, for every part of your life. And you can have all of Jesus you want. (John 4:13-14; 6:35; 7:37-38; Isaiah 55:1-2; Matthew 5:6; 11:28-29; I Corinthians 5:8; I Peter 5:7; Psalm 46:1)

Perhaps that’s the rub. How much of Jesus do you want? Are you happy with a sip and a crust, or do you hunger and thirst for more? Constantly. Do you understand your need to have the Bread of life for every breath of your life? Every single inhale and exhale. Do you comprehend the urgency to have the Water of life poured into your parched soul? Do you want Jesus more than you long for the treasures and trinkets of the world? Do you hunger and thirst for Him? Are you willing to clear out your heart to be saturated with His presence, or are you trying to keep Him contained in one tiny space? Honestly. How much of Jesus do you want? Because you can have it. All of it. There’s no limit. You can spend every day drinking in His presence. You can continually feed your soul at the table of grace. You never need to be hungry.  You can have as much of Jesus as you want. (John 15:4; Jeremiah 29:13; James 4:8; Psalm 119:2)

Jubilation surged through their veins at His words. The time had finally come. The event prophesied centuries earlier was about to become reality. Their reality. Right here. Right now. It was going to be glorious. Breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. The warrior of God would ride into the land, toppling thrones, crushing kingdoms, single-handedly defeating entire armies. It would be a bloodbath. Their enemies would be slaughtered or flee. God would reign. Their God. They would finally be out from under Roman rule. The land would become God’s kingdom. They would be His people. Very soon it would happen. Jesus had just said so. Except He hadn’t. (Mark 1:15)

The people had misunderstood, failed to listen to His heart. Still, they waited expectantly. Days. Weeks. They followed Jesus everywhere they could. Watching. Waiting. Desperate to be present at the exact moment He called in the troops. Yet no unexpected warriors arrived. No one stormed the palace. There was no grand coup. Nothing they expected happened. Jesus didn’t even seem interested in assuming the throne. But they were very much interested. They had been waiting for this day all their lives. Waiting for the moment when God would come and set up His earthly kingdom. God would deliver them from the mess around them. God would make everything new. The lamb and lion would lie down together. The people would rest peacefully and know no fear. They were so ready for that kingdom. So intent on finding it, in fact, that they missed the kingdom standing right in front of them. The kingdom of God. On earth. In Jesus.

Perhaps they had missed part of the prophecy. Maybe they had trouble interpreting them, like many of us do. Maybe they had heard one too many tales from parents and grandparents. Well-intentioned tales. Stories about the coming Messiah and Kingdom of God slightly embellished to make them remember the promises and watch for their arrival. Perhaps, over the years, the stories had taken on a fairy tale twist. A triumphant warrior, clothed in glistening white, would charge up to the palace steps on his snorting stallion. They would slide to a halt in a cloud of dust. The warriors face would be set in stone, his muscles would bulge, the spear in his hand would rival that of Goliath’s. His stare would stop his enemies in their tracks. His voice, when he chose to speak, would shake the heavens and rattle the earth. So terrifying would his visage be that his enemies wouldn’t argue when he commanded them to abdicate their thrones. In fear, they would come out, cowering before His fury, gladly exchanging their lives for the reins of the kingdom. The tables would turn. Kings would become peasants. Slaves would become free. And the people long held under Roman rule would become the ruling party. The leader would be their God. They would be His people. God’s kingdom would be there. On earth. Among them. 

Jesus wasn’t there for that. Not yet, anyway. He wasn’t there to overthrow the current regime and establish God’s physical kingdom on earth. He was on a different mission. A mission to build God’s kingdom on earth in the hearts of mankind. He came to bring light and life to those wandering in darkness, just like the prophet Isaiah had said. Jesus was God’s kingdom on earth. His body was the throneroom of God. His life was a place where the Father reigned supreme and God’s will would always be done. He came to model kingdom living for people and to establish it in every willing human heart. Jesus came to invite humanity to be part of God’s kingdom living on earth before God’s final kingdom ever came, reserving their place in God’s eternal kingdom forever. Yes. God’s kingdom had come. It was right in front of them. And they missed it. (Isaiah 9:2)

It’s such a shame, really. The concept wasn’t difficult. There was only one directive. Not even a new one. The same one John the Baptist had preached prior to his imprisonment. Jesus picked up right where he left off. Repent and believe. There was nothing else. Repent of your sins. Clean out your hearts. Surrender completely to God. Believe the words coming from Jesus’ lips. The kingdom of God was near. To them. It was close by. So close. It was Jesus. He was the kingdom of God incarnate. They could be part of that living, earthly kingdom as well. They simply had to repent and believe. (Mark 1:14-15)

There is still nothing else. Although Jesus is not physically walking our world today, the opportunity to be part of God’s living, earthly kingdom is still available. The requirements are still the same as well. Repent of your sin. Leave it behind. Completely. Don’t try to carry any of it along. And believe God. His words. His commands. His promises. Believe that His way is best, His will is flawless. Trust that His plan is bigger and better than yours, even if you can’t see it, don’t understand it, or it isn’t unfolding the way you thought it would. Give yourself over to God. All of yourself. Don’t hold anything back. Allow Him to inhabit you, dwell in you, be King of your life. Fully surrender to God. Because being God’s kingdom on earth requires us to be a person, a place, where God’s will and only God’s will is done. Just as it is in His kingdom in Heaven. (Matthew 6:10; Acts 3:19; Isaiah 55:7; Ezekiel 18:30; Luke 17:21)

Jesus was then, and is now, our example. He was a person, a place where God’s will was done. Jesus was human. He got tired. He felt hunger. He had emotions. Anger surged through His veins just as much as joy and peace flowed from His heart. Bowing in the Garden of Gethsemane, anxiety and trepidation flowed from His lips as He asked God to rethink the coming chain of events. Change this. Save humanity in a different way. Yet, ultimately, with the next breath, He surrendered Himself to the will of God, continuing to be the living, breathing, sacrificial kingdom of God so you and I could someday be the people of God, doing the will of God, being the kingdom of God in a spiritually lost and dying world. Jesus died so you could be part of God’s kingdom on earth. Right now. Today. (I Peter 2:21; John 13:15; Matthew 26:36-56; II Corinthians 5:15)

Now as then, God’s kingdom is near. Not in the physical person of Jesus Christ, but in the spiritual presence of Almighty God. He walks among us, whispers our names, offers us the opportunity to be His kingdom on earth. He wants us to know Him and let the power of His resurrection live in our hearts. He extends the opportunity to live His love and grace and mercy out loud in a world ringing with the cacophony of selfishness, revenge, and hate. He requires one thing. Surrender. Complete surrender. When it is easy. When it is hard. When it seems like there has to be another way. Being God’s kingdom on earth requires you to be completely sold out to God’s will. For you. For your family. For your world. Even when it doesn’t look the way you hoped it would. Even when He doesn’t give you the answers you wish He would. Even when you can think of a million different scenarios you believe would be better and have the same effect. To be part of God’s kingdom on earth, you must repent of your sins and believe in God’s ability to direct your life better than you ever could. You must surrender to His will and His way. Your life must be the place His will is done. Always. Then live like it. Live a life that tells everyone the Kingdom of God is near. Close by. At hand. In you. (Philippians 3:10; Galatians 2:20; Matthew 16:24; Romans 12:1-2)

Tossing his axe and measuring line aside, he stretched his back and reached for his canteen. He needed a drink. Probably needed a shower. Sweat was running down his brow at an alarming rate. Yuck. Taking a long drink, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and surveyed his project. A grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. This thing was massive. Bigger than anything he ever would have imagined. He knew it would be. As soon as he heard the dimensions, the sheer magnitude of the project made him nervous. He’d fallen into a rhythm with the building, though, and staring at the half-finished product had Noah excited to see the end result. A floating zoo. Completely organized into levels and stalls, waterproofed with tar, able to withstand any oncoming flood. Who would have thought it possible?

Certainly not Noah. He’d never imagined a devastating flood sweeping away homes and humans, uprooting trees and destroying fields. When God began handing down directives for material and dimensions, his head swam. Not in water. In plans. Every command must be followed exactly. Every measurement. Every material. Cypress wood. Tar. Decks. Stalls. Ridiculously long. Crazily wide. Wildly high. A place for everything and everything in its designated space. Humans. Animals. Food. Every area had a specific purpose. Nothing was wasted. No need was overlooked. Gazing at the half-built creation, Noah couldn’t keep the glint of admiration from his eye. God had certainly done a magnificent job. Again. 

Bending back to his task, Noah ruminated over the things God had done. It was all fantastic. Nothing God had done was ever flawed. Humans might have mucked things up from time to time, but God, He did everything perfectly. Noah believed that with his entire being. He believed God did everything well. Everything. That belief held him steady in the current social climate of apathy and complacency when people were more concerned about their social calendars than their spiritual connections. It guided his steps as he chose to live in obedience to God rather than adherence to the world. It encouraged him to spend time in silence, learning to hear God’s voice above the pandemonium of earth. It helped him live blamelessly before God, eschewing the evil around him to meticulously follow the paths of righteousness alone. 

Noah’s choices hadn’t made him popular. With people. His adjectives in society were less than complimentary. When people weren’t ignoring him, they were mocking him. It didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. He’d made a choice. He belonged to God. He wasn’t ashamed of it. He believed it was better to suffer social rejection on earth than spiritual rejection in eternity. Noah knew his adjectives with God were of far greater importance. They spoke of who he really was, told how God saw him. Blameless. Righteous. Faithful.

His ancestor Enoch had similar adjectives. The few sentences of his story reverberate with them. Enoch walked with God. Closely. Inhabited that space. Their relationship was so close, in fact, that Enoch never endured the throes of death. He simply disappeared. So deeply did God long to have His friend Enoch in His physical presence, that God took him. No one questioned where he went. No one panicked. No one sent out a search party. His choice to live in obedient fellowship with God was all the answer anyone needed. He was blameless. He was righteous. He was faithful. And God took him. (Genesis 5:22-23)

It was that same type of legacy Noah wanted to leave for his descendants. An example of living uprightly in a society whose moral compass decidedly failed to point due north. As people mocked him, begged him to join them, tempted him with things that seemed innocuous yet were tinged with sin, Noah planted his flag and stood alone. He wasn’t interested in their tomfoolery. He had no desire to partake in their wicked shenanigans. He would not be swayed by their abhorrently evil imaginations. And, when God spoke, asking him to do something outrageous, Noah chose to walk in complete obedience no matter what the people around him chose to do or say. Blameless. Righteous. Faithful. 

The choice had led him to this place. Standing before an enormous, if only half-finished, boat of cypress wood and tar. Mentally planning which step to do next. Carefully considering where each animal would live. Wondering how he was going to get all those animals on board. Imagining what the outside world would be enduring while he was tucked safely away on the boat. Wishing more people could come with him. Regretful that no others seemed concerned with his sudden sailing fascination. Saddened that so many people had chosen to find their adjectives in worldly pleasures rather than in obedience to God. (Genesis 6)

As the first drops of rain splashed on the ground outside the ark, one wonders what the people there were thinking. Perhaps, buried so deep in their preoccupation with their parties and banquets and weddings, they didn’t even notice the puddles beginning to form. Maybe they commented on the much-needed rain, but failed to notice its relentlessness. Perhaps they chuckled and joked about Noah finally getting some water to float his boat. But as the waters rose and dry land began to disappear, they realized this was no laughing matter. Noah was right all along. Not just about an impending flood and the necessity of a boat. Noah was right about other things too. Things like his adjectives and how to get the ones that matter. 

You see, not everything people call you matters. In fact, very little of what people call you matters. What society sees in you or thinks about you has absolutely no bearing on what God calls you. Nor does it matter. Only what God calls you matters. Not just the noun. The adjectives. Those descriptors of what is truly in your heart. The words that grow from the choices you regularly make. Obedient. Faithful. Blameless. Righteous. Enoch lived it. Noah knew it. Job endured it. What God knew about Job couldn’t be seen by the human eye. The words God used to describe Job had nothing to do with his wealth and status. When God needed to put Job into words, He used only a handful. And they are fantastic. Honest. Blameless. Upright. God-fearing. Self-controlled. They weren’t the words everyone else used. They had nothing to do with his ridiculous number of sheep and camels, oxen, and donkeys. They didn’t even hint at his affluence. Yet they were the words that mattered. The only words. God’s words. His adjectives. Predicated on Job’s unwavering obedience to Him. (Job 1:8; I Samuel 16:7; Luke 16:15; Matthew 23:27-28; James 2:1-4) 

In a world and time and society where the words people use to describe us feel like they matter so much, it is imperative to take a quiet moment to be honest with ourselves about what God calls us. Each of us. Individually. Not the noun. The adjectives. Our descriptors. The things God would say if He were describing us today. Words uncovering what is in our hearts. Words we choose through our obedience, or lack thereof, to God. Words that will stand the scrutiny of His righteous judgment. Obedient. Faithful. Upright. Blameless. Righteous. Adjectives that matter. Qualities time can’t fade, and circumstances are unable to change. Words of God. About the people of God. Adjectives you choose. What are yours? (Jeremiah 17:10; Proverbs 21:2; John 7:24; I Corinthians 4:3-13; Deuteronomy 28:1)

A contented sigh crossed God’s smiling lips as He listened to the sounds of nocturnal animals and insects going about their business. The sun was dipping behind the western horizon. Day six had come to a close. He had spent them meticulously planning and busily creating, making perfection for the humans into whom He had just breathed the breath of life. Gone was the shapeless, empty darkness with which He had started. Light had driven away darkness. Flora and fauna had edged out the emptiness. The earth overflowed with life and beauty. It had been an incredible journey. One He hadn’t wanted to rush. He could have. God could have done it all in one day, one second, with just the sound of His voice. He didn’t. The artist in Him chose to do it slowly, carefully. So He had. And now it was finished. Day six was done. Land and sky were in place. Water flowed in all the right places. Plants and trees thrived. Birds sang. Fish swam. Animals frolicked. People lived. His smile widened at the thought and sight. People lived. (Genesis 1) 

They were the crowning jewel of His creation. Not because they were the most beautiful, colorful, or eye-catching. No. There were plenty of things with those characteristics. Humanity, not so much. Humans were special because God literally created them. With His hands. Taking dust from the ground, He fastidiously bent and twisted, formed and sculpted every part of the human body. Internal organs. External features. Hair. Ears. Mouth. Nose. When the perfect human form was created, God came near. So near. He lowered Himself to that lifeless form and breathed the breath of life into man’s nostrils. His breath. God’s breath. Man’s life. (Genesis 2:7)

One would think, as we picture God, relaxing in His rocking chair on Heaven’s front porch, gazing out over His creation, that His work was done. There was nothing left to do. Creation was finished. It was day seven. A day of rest. A day that would be marked as a commanded day of respite until the end of time. But Monday was coming. God’s work wasn’t done the moment He finished outfitting the world with all its life-sustaining necessities. His task wasn’t complete when He spun the globe into space. There would be more to do. More creating. More re-creating. God would spend every day of every century of time going through the same steps He had just completed. Not on a planet flung into space. In the hearts and lives of humanity. 

In the ensuing centuries, God has never quit creating. And re-creating. He has never stopped making something out of nothing. His Spirit still hovers over the darkened waters that fill and trouble our empty souls. In grace and mercy, He sends His light to pierce our darkness, offering us the opportunity to live in the vibrancy of His presence. He calls us to separate ourselves from the darkness of the world. A complete separation. Like the space between the earth and sky, the line between dry land and ocean waves. Make a definitive space between our souls and the tug of earth’s attractions. Like the line of ocean waters on sandy beaches, we are asked to make a delineating line over which we cannot be pulled back into the darkness of sin. Be separate. Be devoted to Him alone. (I John 2:15-17; Ephesians 5:11; I Peter 2:9; II Corinthians 5:17; Job 38:11)

There, in that space created for Him alone, God plants the seeds of righteousness and holiness. Seeds that will grow and spread and produce in our lives the things that please Him. Actions and attitudes that tell the world we belong to God in every circumstance and situation. Words that offer others the same grace and mercy we have so unworthily received. Morals and ethics that honor God, refusing to bend no matter the social pressure or lowered standards of our world. Works, as John the Baptist preached, that exhibit our repentance and the new creation we have become through the grace of our Creator, who is still busily creating centuries after He spoke the world into space. (Matthew 3:8; James 2:17; Acts 26:20; Corinthians 5:17)

 God still isn’t done. Not in us. Not in our world. But He’s not about keeping all the action to Himself, either. He offers us an opportunity to be part of it. He asks us to be His light in the world. In the darkened spaces where the voices are loud and the distractions strong, where the pull of sin is like a rip tide tugging at the souls stranded there. God asks us to be so full of Himself that, like the stars in the night sky, we illuminate the encroaching darkness around us. We light up the path to Jesus. We offer those hopelessly lost and helplessly drifting on the sea of despair a light to follow, a hope to claim, a direction to travel that they might be re-created, too. God calls us, commands us, to be lights in the world, to be fruitful and work to multiply His kingdom. Because God is busy making all things new. (Genesis 1:28; Matthew 5:14; Philippians 2:15; Ephesians 5:8; Revelation 21:5)

It doesn’t feel like it. As we read the news, listen to the pundits, talk to the neighbors, we find ourselves nodding in agreement with the words recorded in Ecclesiastes. Techniques and abilities may improve, but motivation remains the same. Nothing really changes. Nothing is ever truly new. What is being done now has been done before. Sin is accepted. Evil runs rampant. Wickedness flourishes. Casting our eye to every corner of our world, it appears God’s creative juices have ground to a halt. Darkness is encroaching. Just as it has in every generation in the history of the world. Nothing is new. Nothing is changing. Nothing is being re-created. Not that we can see. Sitting in that moment, our eyes fixed on the darkening sky, we find ourselves tempted to stop being the light. Hunker down in our bunker. Quietly conceal our own re-creation. Blend in with the world around us. Give in to the sins that so easily beset us. Gossip. Slander. Selfishness. Discontent. Slip into the edges of the darkness that dims the light of God in our lives and sours our spiritual fruit. But that isn’t why we were created and God isn’t finished with us. Not even close. 

From the dawn of day one to this very moment, God has always wanted to live in relationship with humanity. All humanity. Broken hearts. Damaged emotions. Empty lives. Darkened souls. Everyone. Everywhere. There are no exceptions. In grace and mercy, God looks on the people He unfailingly loves and sees what they could be if they would allow Him to make them a new creation. He hovers over their hearts, gently piercing the darkness of sin with the light of His presence. No soul is outside the reach of His grace. No heart is beyond the range of His mercy. No one is too far gone, too broken, too damaged, too lost. Because, just like day one of creation, when there was nothing, God stepped in and made something. Something worthwhile. Something productive. Something beautiful. He filled the dark void with the vibrant light of His presence. When everything amounted to nothing, God created something. (Romans 8:38-39; Zephaniah 3:17; Revelation 3:20; Jeremiah 31:3)

Perhaps you are living in that exact space. A place of nothing, when life stretches before you empty and useless. The future looks bleak and dark. You feel adrift on the inky waters of the darkest night of your soul. Don’t give up. God is there. He has always been there. He will always be there. He wants to make you new. He wants to illuminate your path. He wants to know you and be known by you. He wants to cultivate a relationship with you. He wants to be your first response, not your last resort. He wants to be the refuge to whom you continually flee in times of distress, discouragement, disgruntlement. God wants to change your life. Make it new. Make you new. Just as He has been doing since the dawn of creation, God is making all things new. He isn’t done. Not in me. Not in you. God is still miraculously turning nothing into something, driving out darkness with light, and nurturing relationship with His people. So let Him work. Let God do what He does. Let Him speak life and hope and nourishment into the dry, dark, and lifeless spaces of your heart. Surrender yourself, your situation, your circumstances to God and let Him make all things new. (Isaiah 44:6; Colossians 1:13-17; Ezekiel 11:19, 26:36; Jeremiah 9:24; Galatians 4:9; Deuteronomy 31:8; Psalm 71:3)