A Tale of Two Rivers

When a dirty river and a clean river come together, the result is—dirty river. — William Stafford

There I saw a stream flowing east from beneath the door of the Temple … The waters of this stream will make the salty waters of the Dead Sea fresh and pure. … Life will flourish wherever this water flows. (Ezekiel 47:1, 8-9 NLT)

In this tale of two rivers, Stafford speaks a hard truth. We’re up to our necks in murky water. Life in this world, where negativity is the norm and decay is the default, is hard. The pollution of global conflict, never-ending news, relentless fear, and the sludge of social media swirl around us, and the result is—dirty river

But God’s river is different. Ezekiel speaks of the Truth—a river that doesn’t become tainted, but transforms. Flowing from His Holy Temple, it touches the barren, the lifeless, the polluted, and makes them new. God’s river grows deeper, stronger, and purer as it flows, bringing healing, restoration, and life. When the stream from the Temple meets the Dead Sea, the result is—clean river.

This river of life isn’t just a vision—it’s a reality—and His name is Jesus. “Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them” (John 7:38, NIV). When we look to and follow Christ, His Spirit flows in us and through us, and it doesn't just cleanse—it transforms. No matter how "murky" things may be, His water saves, sanctifies, and gives life.

In this tale of two rivers—dirty or clean—where do you find yourself?

In the midst of hard truth or… the Truth?

Paradise is Coming

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous.”

(Joshua 1:9, NIV)

I recently started a new job, and I love it. But I’ve learned over time that no matter how good a situation seems, it won’t be perfect. Every job, relationship, or circumstance comes with its own set of obstacles. Why? Because we live in a broken world.

As Christians, we often assume that when we step into God’s will for our lives, everything should be easy. If we’re obeying God, living out our faith, and walking with Jesus, shouldn’t life be smooth sailing?

We need to be careful not to confuse the Promised Land with paradise. 

When we think of the Promised Land, we might picture a place of rest, abundance, and fulfillment. But the biblical reality is different. The Promised Land was, “a land flowing with milk and honey,” but it was also a place of challenge, struggle, and hardship. When the Israelites crossed the Jordan River, they didn’t waltz into paradise—they marched into warfare.

When Joshua and Caleb finally entered the land God had promised, they found giants, walled cities, and enemies who didn’t want them there. The Promised Land wasn’t a retreat—it was a battlefield. And yet, it was where they were meant to be. It was the place God led them—and He promised to go before them, fight for them, and fulfill His purpose in their lives.

Too often, we confuse our calling with comfort. We assume that if God has provided and led us somewhere, the path should be smooth. We wrongly equate the "Promised Land" with paradise, and then we live in doubt, disillusionment, and sorrow when trials arise.

The truth is, paradise isn’t here yet. Jesus said, “I go to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2, KJV). That place is heaven, our eternal home, where every tear will be wiped away. But for now, we are pilgrims in the Promised Land. We walk with God, but still in a broken world. We experience His promises in the midst of wrestling with life’s realities. The Promised Land is where we stand in faith, trusting that He is with us through the difficulties. It’s where we fight the good fight because He has called us to this place and time—and He is with us.

So, if you find yourself facing insurmountable walls, giants in the land, or rivers that seem impossible to cross, take courage. The Promised Land was never meant to be paradise; it’s the place where God grows your faith, strengthens your trust, and uses you for His glory. Press on: look to Jesus, keep walking, keep trusting, and remember… paradise is coming.

Deadly Nearness

"My Father God, save me from… deadly nearness." – J.H. Jowett

"He came to Jesus at night..." (John 3:2, NIV)

Some ironies are tragic. Nicodemus was so near to Jesus, yet so far from Life. We first meet him at night—a Pharisee, a seeker of truth—meeting Jesus under the cover of darkness. Respectful, earnest… yet hesitant.

In John 7, Nicodemus speaks up for Jesus, defending His right to a fair hearing among the Pharisees, and yet he wavers. Reluctant to take a stand—to go all in.

Then, in John 19, Nicodemus helps prepare Jesus’ body for burial. He draws near, but Jesus is dead. The call to be born again is missed, and the last time we see him, he stands in the tomb of Jesus—silent.

After this moment, Nicodemus is not heard from again in Scripture. His story fades into history, speculation, and unspoken regret. What could have been is hauntingly gone. This is the sound of deadly nearness—a stillness that follows a life lived just outside the fullness of faith.

It’s more than a missed opportunity; it’s a choice—a failure to embrace the life that Jesus offers. The truth and presence of Christ are right in front of us, but we hold back, preferring our misery over His mystery. All that remains is a silent void—a deadly nearness.

Some ironies are truly tragic.

Dear Jesus, save me from deadly nearness. May I not linger in the shadows, hesitating at the threshold of Your love and grace. Help me lean fully into You, embracing the Life and transformation that You offer. Teach me to live my faith boldly, and walk with You in Spirit and in Truth. Amen.

The Perfect Picture

“You’re nothing but a mist, a wisp of fog, catching a brief bit of sun before disappearing.” — James 4:14 (MSG)

As a budding photographer, I’ve learned that fog is elusive—constantly shifting, moving, and vanishing. You have to act fast to capture the shot because with fog, it’s there one moment, and gone the next. But when the light and mist align, something extraordinary happens—a brief moment of breathtaking beauty—the perfect picture.

I think that’s what James had in mind when he spoke about our lives—we are all a mist—brief, beautiful, and then gone. Psalm 39:5 reminds us, “Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure” (NIV). Rich or poor, powerful or weak, young or old, no one outruns time. Left to ourselves, our days slip by—unremarkable. But in the Lord, our lives can take on lasting beauty.

Jesus is, “the light of the world” (John 8:12, NIV). He is the “bright morning star,” and when the mist of our lives reflects His light we become more than a passing vapor. We embody a radiance and beauty that transcends time. 

Light gives life. A stained-glass window without light is just darkened glass—its beauty unseen, its purpose unfulfilled. But when light floods through it, the colors glow, and its true design is revealed. In the same way, a life without Jesus is like mist in the dark—formless and unseen. But when His Spirit shines through us—even for a moment—we glisten with beauty.

The light of Jesus takes our ordinary moments and fills them with His glory. A song becomes more than just music, a sermon more than just words, and an act of kindness more than just a good deed. A whispered prayer, a cup of cold water given in His name, a word spoken in love—each one, touched by His light, carries a glory that outlasts us.

We’re not perfect, and no matter how hard we try, we cannot create lasting glory for ourselves. But we can reflect the glory of Jesus, the One who lasts forever. So let His love illuminate the mist that is your life. When you do, you become—in that moment—the perfect picture of His breathtaking beauty.