What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him! Luke 11:11-13

Dear heavenly Father, though a searching question by a good friend, earlier this week, I’ve been reminded of how much I take the person and work of the Holy Spirit for granted. But this portion of Luke’s gospel has stirred gratitude in my heart for your generosity and the Spirit’s ministry. Your Word has reminded me that the Holy Spirit is just as fully God as you and Jesus, and just as worthy of praise.

Indeed, blessed Holy Spirit, it’s because of you that I even believe the gospel. If you hadn’t given faith and life in the Lord Jesus, I would still be dead in my sins and trespasses. You also sealed me forever as the Father’s possession—marking me as his beloved Son. You’re the firstfruits of my final redemption—the guarantee that one Day I will live with the whole family of God in the new heaven and new earth.

It’s by you I hear the Father tell me I’m his beloved child, recognize his singing over me, and taste his great delight in me. It’s by you that I learn more of the glory and grace of Jesus, for you are always drawing attention to him. It’s through your power I’m convicted about my sin, and am enabled to put to death things about me that contradicts the gospel. It’s through your work that good fruit is being produced. I’m becoming more and more like Jesus because of your faithful, relentless work.

I can pray and worship acceptably only because of you. In fact, you’re praying inside of me right now, and you continue to do so even when I’m too undisciplined or too broken to pray. It’s by you that I am gifted for service and empowered for mission. How I praise you for your multiple graces in my life!

Glorious Father, I take Jesus’ promise seriously. Today, I ask for more of the Holy Spirit’s work in my life. I love fish and eggs, but what I need and want is the gift of your Holy Spirit. Free me from my stereotypes. Free me from a mere correct-yet-notional theology of the Spirit. Free me from being held hostage to old imbalanced teachings I used to embrace about the Spirit.

Free me from being too concerned about excesses and weird stuff that might happen. I am thirsty enough to be done with being cool and being in control. Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ exalted and loving name.

     I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you. Eph. 1:18

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Rom. 15:13

Merciful Father, if a sheriff knocked at my door this morning to present me with a subpoena, I’d be a bit unsettled. But today, like every day, the gospel is knocking at my door to subpoena me to hope. Nothing is more settling and centering.

Father, thank you for making hope a calling. You haven’t merely extended a general notification or given me a polite invitation. I’m called to hope in Jesus just as surely as you called me to a saving knowledge of his grace, and just as surely as you will call me to leave this life for the next, one day. I wouldn’t think of ignoring a summons from the sheriff; I’d be a madman to ignore a summons from you.

This morning I gladly make myself an object of Paul’s petition. Open the eyes of my heart, Father, and help me see Jesus clearly today. I’d be thrilled to see more of heaven, and all the amazing stuff you’re got planned for us in the new heaven and new earth; but just show me more of Jesus as my perfect righteousness, my constant intercessor, my loving bridegroom, my reigning King; and that will be enough—more than enough.

Free me from fixing my gaze on circumstances and people; on things I have no control over and things which, ultimately, really don’t matter squat. Paul wrote these words of encouragement from a Roman imprisonment, not from a Mediterranean condo. Honestly, what do I have to complain about—what’s really whine-worthy in my life? I have real needs, but you give an even greater hope. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ tender and triumphant name.

     For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Jer. 29:11

Heavenly Father, there’s simply no other god as merciful, gracious, and engaged as you. Your forbearance is immeasurable; your kindness is inexhaustible; your plans are irrepressible. When life is hard, you are always good. Where else can we go but to you, with the things that confuse and disappoint us?

When your people received this letter of encouragement from Jeremiah, they were in exile in Babylon. How could they not feel bereft, bewildered, even betrayed by you? Yet we know by your own testimony, Father, that when you lead us into difficult seasons, it’s not to punish us but to prosper us. When you send hardships, it’s not to bring us harm but to give us hope. When you discipline us, it’s not to send us into the “doghouse” of your displeasure, but to secure the outcome of your good pleasure.

It’s peace-generating to remember that you always know exactly what you are doing with your people, and with everything else in the world. You know the plans you have for us—individually and corporately. There’s no happenstance in heaven. You don’t make up things as you go along. You’re not a God who reacts out of irritation, but one who always acts out of great affection. There are no coincidences, just providences. “Stuff” doesn’t just happen; sovereignty is always happening.

Father, this way of thinking would be utter madness if you never sent Jesus for us—delusional at best, demonic at worst. But Jesus is the “yes” to every promise you have made. His life, death, and resurrection are the guarantee of our gospel prosperity, living hope, and glorious future. Apart from Jesus there is only unimaginable hopelessness. Because of Jesus there is joy unspeakable.

So bring the truth, grace, and power of this gospel into our current situations, into our personal stories of pain, into the brokenness our local churches, and into the needs of our communities.

Turn our sighs into songs, our cynicism into servanthood, and our grumblings into the rumblings of a fresh work of your Spirit. So very Amen we pray, in Jesus’ triumphant and compassionate name.

     For even when we came into Macedonia, our bodies had no rest, but we were afflicted at every turn—fighting without and fear within. But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the coming of Titus. 2 Cor. 7:5-6

Dear heavenly Father, this brief vignette from Paul’s life comes to me today like a well-timed kiss from heaven; like a call from the right friend when you least expected it but most needed it; like the first sign of daylight after a starless, stormy night.

First of all, Father, I praise you for chronicling Paul’s experience of being restless, fearful, and downcast. Many times I suffer from “should-ness”: If I really loved you, if I were more full of the Holy Spirit, if I truly got the gospel, I shouldn’t ever feel downcast; I should feel upbeat—on top of my game. I shouldn’t feel the “blues”; I should only dance a jig.

It’s comforting to know the gospel doesn’t make me less human, but simply more yours. Thank you for being a Father who doesn’t shame the downcast. You pursue them, you provide for them, you comfort them—you comfort me.

As I begin this day, I feel like I’m swimming in a pool of baby piranha—no big sharks like Paul was dealing with, just small piranha nibbling at my spirit. I’m surrounded by a lot of little decisions, little needs, a small conflicts, little projects—a lot of little things and annoying people over which I have no control, and the combination of these things is zapping my “mojo” and weighing me down.

But, Father, I’m not going to get preoccupied with piranha swatting; I’ll just look to you and for you. It’s so good to know you’re running toward me in the gospel right now, not with a furrowed brow but with a compassionate heart; not bristling with impatience, but with everlasting kindness; not rolling your eyes, but opening your arms.

And as you comfort me, I will seek to be a Titus for others. What a privilege it is to comfort others with the very comfort you bring to us in all our troubles (2 Cor. 1:3-4). What a joy it is to do life in Christ, standing in grace. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ merciful name, with great anticipation.

     The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord and set me in the middle of a valley. . . . I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” I said, “Sovereign Lord, you alone know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.’” Ezek. 37:1-6

Dear heavenly Father, I would do well to meditate on this portion of your Word once a month—no, make that at least once a week. For it “calls out” my unbelief, confronts my complacency, and deconstructs every excuse I offer for giving up on spiritual dryness and discouraging situations.

Many of us hurt for churches, friends and marriages that fulfill Ezekiel’s description of piles of dry, breathless bones. Some of us put ourselves right in the center of the prophet’s vision. Vibrant green has become ashen grey. The music and dance of the gospel have faded away. Delight in the Lord has been replaced with disconnect, distrust, and for some, despair.

But it’s not Ezekiel who asks about the possibility of renewal, redemption, and restoration; it’s you, Father. It’s you! “Can these bones live?” you ask. The question is rhetorical, for you are the God of resurrection! I’ll not presume on the process, but I’ll trust in your great promises.

Father, for your glory, I ask you to breathe on the bone-dry marriages of a few dear friends. I pray the same for a few pastor-friends of mine and their church families. Where there’s little life, and less hope left, bring a fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit and a renewed affections for Jesus. Do what you alone can do as God. Things impossible with us are more than possible with you!

What but the love of Jesus can transform stubborn hearts into supple hearts; what but your grace can replace mean with mercy; what but the Spirit’s power can supplant self-protective willfulness with gospel willingness? Who but Jesus can transform cold antipathy into kindhearted intimacy? These are my rhetorical questions, Father, for I know of no other hope for cold marriages, dead churches, or hard hearts but Jesus and his great love lavished on us in the gospel.

Indeed, Lord Jesus, you are the resurrection and life. Today, on this Pentecost Sunday, I pray with joy and anticipation. You are actively making all things new! Bring life—your life, to our places of dryness and death. Restore to us the joy of your salvation, the hope of your resurrection, a passion for your glory. So very Amen I pray, in the tender mercies of your great name.

     [The older brother] was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, “Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!” And he said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” Luke 15:28-31

Forbearing Father, meditating through this familiar portion of your Word has taken to me a familiar place again, unfortunately. Though I’d never boast about my many years of serving you—as thought my service merits your acceptance; and I’d never think of boasting in my record of obedience to your commands—as though my works earned a relationship with you; nevertheless, I acknowledge there are times when my ingratitude matches that of the older brother.

This has become obvious to me lately, and I want to repent before it gets any worse. My best repenting happens, not when I grovel, but when I preach the gospel to my own heart, so here goes.

Father, you are constantly running to me in the gospel—inviting me, imploring me, pleading with me to get on the dance floor of your grace—to enjoy the music of reconciliation; to sing the songs of redemption; to make merry to the glory of God.

You are constantly saying to my grumbling, complaining, discontented self-righteous face, “My son, you’re always with me because I’m always with you. Nothing will ever separate you from the everlasting love I have for you, and all my children. I greatly delight in you. I rejoice over you with singing. Everything I have is yours.

All your sins are forgiven, including your gross ingratitude. I’ve declared you to be righteous in my beloved Son. Having given his life for your redemption, I’ve hidden your life in his, for your exultation. I’ve begun a good work in you, and in my whole broken world, that I will bring to completion.

I’ve made you a co-heir of the new heaven and new earth. You are destined for an eternity of perfect relationships, perfect health, a perfect environment, a perfect story, perfect worship, perfect fulfillment—perfect everything. Come, let us rejoice and be glad.”

Father, I so repent—and please don’t relent. Keep beating down my ungratefulness with multiplied love offensives of the gospel. Only grace can free me from whining for worship. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ peerless and praiseworthy name.

     When Daniel knew that the document had been signed, he went to his house where he had windows in his upper chamber open toward Jerusalem. He got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously. Then these men came by agreement and found Daniel making petition and pleas before his God. Dan. 6:10-11

Dear heavenly Father, I am so drawn to the heart which beat in Daniel’s breast—a heart filled with praise for you, not a preoccupation with his life. He just learned of a decree that anybody praying to any other god or man but King Darius would become lions’ lunch. So what did he do? The same thing he’d been doing for decades inBabylon. The windows are open, his knees are bent, his gaze is set; and even before he asks you for help, he offers you thanks. He’s neither paranoid nor presumptuous, but he’s most definitely at peace.

What freedom, what beauty, what intimacy with you, this aging, beloved servant of yours enjoyed. But why am I surprised? Haven’t you promised, “The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the Lord, they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green”? (Ps. 92:12-14)

Father, you never demanded that Daniel get on his knees three times a day. You didn’t have to—it was his delight. No government decree could keep him from praying to you, loving you, seeking you, worshiping you. He was much more committed to your eternal glory than to his personal survival. Your grace radically reoriented his life.

Father, I long for much more of Daniel’s peace and praise mark my life—no matter how difficult my circumstances, intense the spiritual warfare, or out of control my world may feel. For even as “the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour”(1 Pet. 5:8), he’s already a defeated foe.

We live in the victorious day Daniel anticipated from afar. Indeed, your beloved Son, “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed” (Rev. 5:5). Jesus is the Lion with whom I want to be thoroughly preoccupied—without any ultimate concern for any other kind of “lion’s den” into which I might be thrown.

Father, as I get older, please keep me fresh and green and fruitful through the gospel. Fill my heart with your glory and grace, freedom and hope; and use me however you choose, all the remaining days you give me in this, your world. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ magnificent and merciful name.

Whoever covers an offense seeks love, but he who repeats a matter separates close friends. Prov. 17:9

Dear Lord Jesus, rarely does the phrase “cover-up” do anything but raise suspicion, eyebrows, and ire. We recoil when we experience the manipulation of facts, the minimization of harm, and the muting of our voices, especially in the face of blatant injustice. To be either an agent or victim of this kind of cover-up is never okay.

That being said, there’s a stewardship of information—a way of handing one another’s failures, sins, and weaknesses—that requires a gospel heart. There is such a thing as a “gospel cover-up,” and I want to be much better at it. So as I meditate on this Scripture, hear my confession and my prayers.

Forgive me when I choose to uncover old offenses—by my spouse and children, or my friends and enemies—just to win an argument, gain an advantage, or minimize my own sin. When I do this, it’s as though I never really forgave them the first time.

Forgive me when I repeat someone’s offense to another friend or a number of friends under the guise of seeking prayer; when in reality I’m just gossiping or perhaps even slandering people I claim to care about. How insecure and insidious is that?

Forgive me when I keep uncovered and constantly rehearse the sins and offenses of others to myself—feeding my self-righteousness, fueling my anger, and fermenting my desire for revenge. That’s really ugly, and when I do this I’m a thief—robbing you of glory and my heart of rich fellowship with you.

Forgive me when I constantly repeat my own failures to myself—choosing to indulge my self-contempt and the accusations of Satan much more than I believe and relish the gospel. What a destructive way to do life—again, a primary way I rob you of the glory and honor you deserve, Lord Jesus.

Lord Jesus, you are the greatest and most generous lover ever; for by your blood you have once and for all covered up, covered over, and carried away our sins forever. You’ll never repeat our sinful matters to us or anyone else. You will never hold our sins against us. How I praise you today for your great and lavish love! Continue to change my heart and channel my words—by your grace and for your glory. So very Amen I pray in your holy and kind name.

     The Lord is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me? The Lord is on my side as my helper; I shall look in triumph on those who hate me. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes. Ps. 118:6-9

Dear Lord Jesus, I’m just waking up, and though I’m yawning my way into your presence, you are fully alert and engaged. What a Savior you are! You never sleep or slumber; you never need a break or vacation; you’re never moody; you never get bored with us; you never roll your eyes and say, “When will they ever get it?” You will never look for greener pastures or better sheep. I praise you for the constancy of your love.

Jesus, it’s because your love is so unwavering that you’re easy to trust. Only you can be fully trusted. I’m painfully aware of this truth as I lean into this day. Thank you for caring—thank you for the freedom to bring whatever we’re feeling before you—the good, the bad and the ugly. The gospel is the end to all posing and pretending.

As broken people, we don’t love perfectly, yet. I get that—we fail one another in a multitude of ways. Even as grace enables us to forgive, it doesn’t make us immune to the pain of bruised trust, broken trust, or battered trust. Broken confidences and broken promises still hurt, no matter who they come from, but certainly more when they come from the very people we should be able to trust.

“What can man do to me?” the psalmist asks (Ps. 118:6). Plenty, Jesus, plenty. But with you as our refuge, with you as our very present help, with you as our advocate, intercessor, sovereign Lord, and gracious Redeemer—with you as the only prince who can be trusted, the Prince of Peace—I don’t have to grow more angry, flint hard, and dangerously isolated. Retaliation is out of the question, even as gossip and sulking are.

I bring my pain to you, Jesus. Hold me and help me deal in a godly way with the disappointment. So very Amen I pray, in your singularly trustworthy name.

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. 1 Peter 5:7

Gracious Father, I slept well last night but I awoke restless, fitful, and anxious. I know you tell me not to be anxious about anything (Phil. 4:6), but I am. Sunrise has yet to happen, yet I’m already looking forward to moonrise. Thank you for freeing me from the pressure of pretending otherwise. At least I’m not anxious about surprising, embarrassing, or disappointing you. The gospel has taken care of that old bondage and slavery.

What’s going on inside of me? There’s really nothing enormous looming on the horizon; no one major crisis staring me down; no enormous boulder I’m assigned to push up a hill like Sisyphus. It’s just one of those days I find myself looking at seventeen little backpacks of needs, issues, and hurts, lined up at my front door, waiting to be picked up.

So what will I do with my restless, fitful, anxious feelings? Father, I would surely despair if I didn’t really believe you do care for me. That would be the one unbearable burden. But please help me know what anxiety casting actually looks like today, and in the next several days.

Of these things I am certain: you’re not calling me to be the fourth member of the Trinity; I’m not the whole body of Christ; you do promise sufficient grace; you will give wisdom to those who ask; and your strength is made perfect in weakness—in my weakness. Therefore, by faith I won’t despise my brokenness; I won’t go to self-contempt; and I won’t resent people and their needs.

Show me which of the seventeen little backpacks I’m to pick up first; which ones don’t really have my name on them at all; which ones were placed there by the enemy; and which ones will just have to wait, as you give me grace not to dread disappointing people.

As you have promised, please send your transcendent peace to guard my heart and mind in Christ Jesus (Phil. 4:7). Keep me gentle, caring and expectant. The promise of daily mercies had this day in sight long, long ago. I praise, bless and honor you, dear loving, heavenly Father. So very Amen I pray, in Jesus’ trustworthy and treasured name.