My daughter, Piper, is in her vastly frustrating– yet slightly endearing– headstrong toddler phase. Each day is an exhausting cycle of asking her a million times to do or not do something, chasing her from one side of the house to the other, and talking her through some big emotions.

One of her new favorite things to do is to help mommy or daddy cook meals at the stove. Tonight, I was preparing a dinner of shrimp tacos and rice. While I was cutting up vegetables, she pulled up her stool and started trying to help. She grabbed for the knife, which started a conversation of how she’s not really ready for that part yet and she can get hurt if she doesn’t wait until she gets older. Next, she started playing with the elements on the stove. I asked her not to play with them because she doesn’t know which one is on and if she touches one that’s hot she can get burned.

When you’re a kid, you want your parents to pray for you for a lot of things. When you go to sleep, they say your bedtime prayers. When you sit down to eat, they pray for your food. When you fall down and get hurt, they pray over the scrapes and bumps.And for a kid, it feels like the prayers are better because it’s your mom or dad praying. The funny thing is, over the years that Sam and I have been in ministry, the premise is still the same for churchgoers to ask their pastors to pray on their behalf. Some people just feel that their pastor’s prayers are more effective or better heard by God.

Is Jesus precious to you? Don’t just knee-jerk answer that. Don’t just give it the answer you think makes you look good to other people. Really think. Do you value Jesus as precious every moment of every day? Do you treat him the way He deserves? Do you regard Him above all else in everything you do?

As I write this, I am officially 36 weeks along in my pregnancy with our first child. Each day is a mixture of wild anticipation and timid caution. Are we ready for her? What else needs to be done? Are we going to be good parents? How else can we possibly prepare for the labor, birth, postpartum period, and the transition into parenthood? Every way you slice it, it all feels like new territory. I’ve babysat before; I’ve watched my mom and dad raise my brother from a young age. But none have been fully mine– none of them have been a child grown in areas only I have ever occupied or borne of my body.

Up until now, Psalm 23 has painted pleasant, calming, peaceful images of belonging to Jesus. This week, things take a turn into some darker, more treacherous territory. Suddenly, we go from green, rolling, lush pastures and still, glassy, crystal water to the valley of the shadow of death; a place that conjures up a picture of a dark, rocky, unforgiving canyon that imposes on all sides. We all know this valley. We’ve all been here before, in fact, some might argue that all of life is a walk through the valley of the shadow of death. That could be true, since all of life is lived in the inevitable shadow of death, felt more keenly on some days than others.

This week, let’s continue on into the following verses, which are deep with vivid imagery. The Lord is our shepherd. He makes us lie down in green pastures, He leads us beside still waters. He refreshes us and leads us along paths of righteousness. When I was a kid, memorizing these verses, I pictured my Papa’s house in the mountains of New York. His house was at the top of a hill, surrounded by woods, and at the bottom of the hill was a little stream and an apple grove. Everything about it was green and beautiful to my childhood imagination.

My mom has been cleaning out the basement of her house. How do I know? Over the past week, I’ve gotten numerous texts asking if I want her to keep or send me certain childhood items to pass onto any children I may have one day. Disney VHS tapes, college decor, you name it. Well, one item she texted me, she knew I’d want to keep: the picture Bible that I’d always kept as a child. What I didn’t remember, was that someone very special had gifted that Bible to me: my Nana Jennie.

The Gospel of John starts out differently than all the other gospels. Instead of going through the lineage of Jesus, a prophecy fulfilled, or the re-telling of His birth, John chooses to start at the beginning. No, not the beginning of Jesus’ life. The very beginning of creation, before time began itself. In five short verses, John is able to package and communicate a picture of the supremely vast and awesome fact that Jesus is sovereignly God. Using the Word, light, and life as analogies, John reinforces the existence of the Trinity, God as an uncreated Creator of all, and the pre-eminence of the Savior He is.

Words are important. More than anything, they are our legacy. They have the power to affect those around us and the ability to outlive us and be remembered long after we’re gone. This weekend, my whole family was in town visiting. My grandmother made a craft for the ladies to do before we went to a high tea luncheon and asked me to create a devotion to go along with it.

I have to say, one of my favorite things about this story is not just the amazing faith seen from both Abraham and Isaac, but the way that this story– found in one of the first chapters we ever see of scripture– is soobviously a story about Jesus at the beginning of it all. Do you see it? If not, read today’s verses again. Because in every way it can be, this story is a tit for tat retelling of the story of Jesus’ ultimate work on the cross– more than 30 generations before it ever happened.

Over the past six months, I’ve touched a few times on how we can see God the Father alluding to Jesus and the coming cross over and over again throughout the Old Testament. The first we see it is in Genesis 3, “And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.” Or when we focused on Genesis 15, where God made the old covenant with Abram as groundwork for the new covenant that Jesus’ blood would afford us.

So this whole time, we’ve been talking about the fig tree, and how the Lord never puts anything to waste in the scriptures. Everything thas a Kingdom-minded meaning. What might seem random to us, upon pressing deeper, turns out to have a much deeper meaning. What I think is so unique in Mark 11, is that we get to see one of those random, unassuming parts of scripture become the practical application in just a few short verses.

I wrote those words in the middle of winter, while sitting at my desk in small-town Potsdam, New York. Three months later, as I re-read my old, unedited words, I sat back and thought about how much my life had been flipped upside down. Later that night, I had received an email, saying that I would have three days to get rid of all of my belongings, and move out of my college dorm to live with my parents on Long Island again. I was crushed, especially after writing such strong, comforting words earlier that morning.

Boy, is this coronavirus teaching me a thing or two about my control issues. For those who don’t know, I’m supposed to get married in June. And by that, I mean, it’s still happening, but we’re getting to the point where some difficult decisions have to be made. Me, I was always the girl who dreamed about her wedding: the fairytale day that’s all about me and the love of my life taking the biggest step together. I grew up dreaming about every aspect of the day from the food and flowers to the music and the dress.

I think my favorite part about Jesus is that He does very intentional things in a roundabout way. The course of action He takes is almost never the one we would, but it always seems to work out better than what we could have ever forced together in our own strength. It’s because He sees the whole picture. We see dust, He sees an opportunity for life. We see a storm, He sees an opportunity to teach. We see a cross and a tomb, He sees grace and eternal life. So when the paralytic man in Mark 2 is lowered through the roof to sit right in front of Jesus, everyone expects Jesus to heal this man’s broken body. Instead, Jesus throws us a curveball.

Yes, here we are again– with the woman at the well. I’m telling you, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head for the last two weeks. Every time I go to pray or worship, I begin at the same place, “Jesus, I drink from you right now.” And it’s so beautiful because it’s really that easy. We don’t have to beat the ground with our fist. We don’t have to thrash and prove our worship worthy of living water.