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Genesis 21:1–3; 22:1–14

The story of Abraham and Sarah receiving the gift of Isaac is one of pure joy. After years of longing and waiting, God’s promise finally takes flesh in their arms. Isaac represents not only their hope for a child but also the unfolding of God’s larger promise: that through their family – their blessing – would reach the whole world.

But just as the gift is celebrated, the story takes a jarring turn. Abraham is asked to offer up Isaac, the very child of promise. The contrast is stark: the laughter of a long-awaited birth gives way to the silence of a hard test.

This movement from gift to test is something we know well in our own lives. We celebrate milestones, answered prayers, moments of blessing, only to find that not long after, life throws us into a season of trial. It can feel confusing: why would God give us something good, only for it to be tested?

Yet the story reminds us that even in the hardest test, God is present. Abraham names the place “The Lord will provide.” That doesn’t mean he knew the outcome from the start, but that he discovered God’s provision only by walking through the uncertainty.

Faith often looks like this: holding the gift with gratitude, walking through our struggles and trials with trust, and discovering God’s presence in ways we couldn’t have seen before.

As you reflect on this story through the week, sit with the following questions:

• When have you experienced a moment of joy or blessing followed by a season of struggle?
• How do you hold on to gratitude for God’s gifts even in times of uncertainty?
• What would it mean for you to name a place in your life “The Lord will provide”?

Let’s pray as we carry these questions with us:

Faithful God, you are the giver of every good gift and the sustainer through every trial. Teach us to hold the blessings of life with gratitude and to trust your presence when tests come. When the way feels uncertain, remind us that you are the One who provides. We place our lives, our hopes, and our loved ones in your care, through Christ our Lord. AMEN

Genesis 22:1–14

This week, we turn to the story of Abraham and Isaac, a story that many of us know well, but one that still challenges us deeply. Abraham is asked to trust God in a way that seems impossible. He is called to surrender something precious, to step into the unknown with open hands and a willing heart.

The invitation for us this week is simple, yet profound: to practice surrender with hands open.

Follow these steps and try, each day, to live into this spiritual practice.

1. Find a Quiet Space
   Begin by finding a place where you can sit or stand comfortably for a few minutes each day. Light a candle if you wish, a small sign that you are entering into a sacred moment.
2. Open Your Hands
   Place your hands in front of you, palms open, fingers relaxed. Let them rest there as a physical symbol of letting go, of giving over to God what you cannot control.
3. Breathe and Name
   Take several slow, deep breaths. As you breathe out, imagine releasing your fears, your plans, your worries, and even your desires into God’s care. You might silently name one thing each day – a decision, a relationship, a hope, or a fear – that you are surrendering to God.
4. Sit in the Silence
   Stay in this posture for a few minutes. Let your mind settle. You don’t have to figure it all out; simply be present. Feel the weight of the world lift slightly as your hands remain open, trusting God to hold what you cannot.
5. Close with a Word or a Breath
   When you feel ready, close your hands gently. Take a final deep breath and, if you like, offer a simple word of trust: “Lord, I will follow.”

Abraham did not know what God would do, yet he stepped forward in faith. His surrender was not passive, it was active trust. In our own lives, we are invited to this same posture. We are called not to abandon responsibility, but to hold what we love lightly, to trust that God is present, even in moments of uncertainty.

This week, notice the difference that opening your hands each day can make. See what shifts when fear is met with surrender. Notice where God’s presence shows up in unexpected ways, just as the ram appeared at the last moment for Abraham.

Surrender with hands open. Trust the One who provides. Walk this week in the rhythm of faith and release.

When we open the first chapter of Genesis, what we find is not just a story of beginnings, but a story told with rhythm.

“And God said… and it was so… and God saw that it was good… and there was evening and there was morning…”

Over and over, the pattern repeats. A steady cadence like a heartbeat. Creation unfolds not in a rush, but in a rhythm, light and darkness, waters and sky, land and sea, work and rest.

I wonder if part of the gift of this story is that it reminds us that life is meant to have a rhythm too. So often, our weeks can feel like they are spinning faster than we can keep up. But woven into creation itself is a reminder: life is not just about doing, but about pausing. Not just about working, but about resting. Not just about speaking, but about listening.

The rhythm of creation tells us that goodness is not only found in productivity, but also in the spaces between, in the evenings that close a day, in the mornings that open a new one, in the pause that lets us breathe.

This week, what if we leaned into that rhythm a little more? What if we gave ourselves permission to move at a pace that makes room for rest, reflection, and renewal?

Take-away Questions

• Where do you notice the rhythms in your own life right now? Are they bringing balance or leaving you restless?
• How might you make space today for both work and rest, action and stillness?
• What small moment of goodness can you pause to notice and celebrate before this day is done?

As we reflect on these questions and the rhythms of our own lives, let’s pray:

Creator God, you set the world in motion with rhythm and rest, evening and morning, silence and song. In the midst of this week, help me find my own rhythm in you. Teach me to pause, to breathe, to notice what is good, and to rest in your presence. AMEN

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

“In the beginning…” God worked with creativity, with intention, with delight. Six days of ordering chaos into beauty. Six days of light and sky, sea and land, creatures of every kind. And then, God stopped.

God rested.

Not because God was tired. But because the rhythm of creation is not complete without rest. Sabbath was woven into the fabric of all that is, a holy pause, a reminder that being is as sacred as doing.

Too often, we think of sabbath as a once-a-week practice, tucked away on Sunday. But what if sabbath could also be a daily rhythm? A few moments each day when we stop, breathe, and remember: we are not what we produce. We are beloved simply because we are.

This week, I invite you into a practice of Daily Sabbath Moments:

• Pause once each day. Choose a time that works for you, perhaps mid-morning, during lunch, or before bed.
• Stop what you’re doing. Let go of work, tasks, and screens.
• Rest in God’s presence. Simply breathe and be. If you wish, pray: “This is holy. This is blessed. This is enough.”
• Receive the gift. Let these moments remind you of your place in God’s good creation, not as a worker first, but as a child of God, deeply loved.

Like the evening and the morning, these pauses create a rhythm. They turn ordinary time into holy time. They allow us to live not only for God but with God, remembering that rest itself is an act of trust.

Each day this week, find your Sabbath moment. Let it be a small echo of the seventh day, a whisper of the eternal rest promised to us all.

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“I lift up my eyes to the hills – from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”
-Psalm 121:1–2

There’s something honest about the opening of Psalm 121. It begins with a question, not an answer. Where will my help come from? We know that question well. It comes in the middle of the night when our worries are louder than sleep. It comes when we’ve tried every option and still feel powerless. It comes when the world feels overwhelming: wars we cannot seem to end, grief we cannot undo, situations we cannot fix. It’s the question that rises when life feels heavy, when we’ve tried everything in our power and still feel overwhelmed.

The psalmist’s answer shifts the focus: “My help comes from the Lord.” Peace, in this sense, isn’t something we can force into being or manufacture by sheer willpower. It is a gift that flows from God’s presence, a reminder that we are not alone, and that God is steadfast even when life feels unsteady.

But that doesn’t mean we stop seeking peace. Rather, it means our striving for peace is not rooted in our own strength alone. We reach toward peace – within ourselves, in our relationships, and in our world – trusting that God meets us there. Peace is both gift and calling: something we receive and something we extend.

So maybe this week we practice lifting our eyes – away from the weight of what we cannot control – and toward the steady presence of God who keeps us. From that place, we may discover the courage to live more peacefully, and to become bearers of peace for others.

Take-Away Questions

• Where do you most feel the strain of trying to control what is beyond your reach?
• What would it look like to “lift your eyes” in that place and rest in God’s keeping instead?
• What is one way you can share God’s peace with someone else this week?

Let’s pray:

God of peace, when the weight of the world feels too heavy, help us lift our eyes to you. Teach us to rest in your keeping and to share the peace you give with all we meet along the way. AMEN

“He who keeps you will neither slumber nor sleep… The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore.” – Psalm 121

There’s something deeply comforting in the idea that while we sleep, God does not. Psalm 121 reminds us that God never slumbers, never takes a break from watching over us. We are kept in a love that never wavers, even when our own strength and awareness give way to exhaustion.

When worries keep us awake at night, it can feel like we are alone with our racing thoughts. But this psalm invites us to imagine a different reality: that even in the silence of the night, Someone is awake, attentive, and holding us in care.

Take a moment each night this week before bed. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Then, picture God – however you most naturally imagine God – as a presence watching over you. Maybe it’s God as a person, sitting gently beside your bed. Maybe it’s a warm light that fills the room. Maybe it’s an energy that surrounds you like a blanket. However you see God, allow yourself to rest in that keeping.

As you settle in, you might whisper a prayer like: “God, I place this day into Your hands. Hold the things I cannot hold. Keep me in peace as I rest.”

Journaling Invitation

Before turning out the light, take a few minutes to write down the things that weigh on your mind. Instead of carrying them into sleep, offer them into God’s keeping. Write them down, then close your journal with a simple prayer:
“God, You do not slumber or sleep. I entrust these things to You.”

And then, let yourself rest knowing you are watched over, kept, and loved through the night.

There are times when gratitude flows easily. The good news arrives, the sickness passes, the long-awaited answer finally comes, and we say, “Thank you, God.” Psalm 30 is full of that kind of gratitude: deliverance, healing, joy. But if we listen closely, there’s more going on here.

The psalmist isn’t only thankful for what God has done. They are grateful for who God is. Gratitude here doesn’t depend on circumstances lining up neatly. It’s rooted in the unchanging character of God: merciful, faithful, present.

That’s a different kind of thanksgiving. It means even when life feels uncertain, even when the night stretches on longer than we hoped, gratitude can still rise, not because everything is perfect, but because God’s love holds us steady through it all.

This week, I wonder what it would look like to practice gratitude not only for the gifts we receive, but for the Giver. To pause and give thanks for God’s presence before the answers come, before the situation resolves, before we can see the full picture.

Maybe you might take a quiet moment in your day and simply whisper: “Thank you, God, for being You.” No list, no conditions, just thanks for the One who is always faithful.

Some questions to carry with you this week:

• What is one way you’ve experienced God’s presence, even in a season of waiting or uncertainty?
• How might gratitude shift when it’s directed toward who God is, rather than what has changed in your life?
• Where do you sense God inviting you to give thanks, even before the full story unfolds?

Because at its heart, a song of gratitude is not just about what changes around us. It’s about what never changes: the steadfast love of God.

Let’s pray:

Faithful God, thank You for being You: merciful, steady, near. In every season, teach us to rest in Your love and give thanks always. AMEN

📖 “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)

Psalm 30 reminds us that gratitude often rises out of places where we’ve known struggle or sorrow. Joy comes as a gift, clothing us in something new. Gratitude, then, is not just a private feeling, it’s a rhythm we can practice, a song we can carry into the world.

This week’s spiritual practice:

• Each morning, pause before you begin your day.
• Name one place in your life where God has brought light out of darkness, or joy after a hard season. Whisper a simple: “Thank you, God.”
• Write it down if you’d like, or carry it in your heart.

Then, as you move through your day, let gratitude spill outward. Offer words of thanks freely:

• Thank the cashier, the bus driver, the friend who checks in.
• Thank a co-worker, a family member, even someone who challenges you.
• Let your gratitude be a gift, reminding others that they too are seen and valued.

By week’s end, notice how gratitude changes not only your heart, but the hearts of those around you.

Psalm 146

Psalm 146 paints such a vivid picture of who God is. It tells us that God “secures justice for the oppressed, gives food to the hungry, sets prisoners free, opens the eyes of the blind, lifts up those who are bowed down.”

It’s not abstract. It’s not theoretical. It’s action.

And that’s the thing, God’s justice isn’t about lofty ideals floating somewhere in the clouds. It’s lived out in the most tangible ways: food shared, freedom restored, dignity lifted, belonging offered.

When we see this, we’re not just spectators admiring God’s work from a distance. The psalmist invites us to step into the picture, to let the rhythms of God’s justice shape the rhythms of our own lives. The psalmist isn’t just saying, “Look at what God does,” but also, “If you love God, let your life echo these actions.”

Justice with God’s hands is compassionate and personal. Justice with our hands can be too.

That might mean:

• speaking up for someone whose voice isn’t being heard,
• noticing the person others overlook,
• offering a meal, a ride, a listening ear,
• or choosing to love someone who has been told they don’t belong.

These acts might seem small, but they are kingdom work. They are the visible signs of God’s heart in our world. So maybe this week, as we hold Psalm 146 close, we can let it shape not only our praise but also our daily choices.

Reflect on the following as you make your way through the week:

• Which of God’s actions in Psalm 146 speaks to you most today?
• Who in your community might be “the stranger,” “the oppressed,” or “the bowed down” God is calling you to notice?
• What is one small, concrete act you can take this week to make God’s justice visible through your life?

Remember, God’s justice is love in action, and we are called to be part of the story.

Let’s pray:
God of compassion and courage, open our eyes to see the ones you see, open our hearts to love as you love, and open our hands to join in your work of justice. Let our lives echo your mercy, until all your children know they are seen, valued, and beloved. Amen.