When Jesus Interrupts Your Direction

A Day in the Life

“But rise and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to make you a minister and a witness both of the things which you have seen and of the things which I will yet reveal to you.” Acts 26:16

When I sit with Paul’s testimony in Acts 26, I’m always struck by how little of it feels planned. Nothing about the road to Damascus fit neatly into Paul’s intentions for that day. He was convinced he was serving God, confident in his theology, disciplined in his obedience, and sincere in his zeal. And yet Jesus did not meet Paul to affirm his direction, but to interrupt it. That interruption did not begin Paul’s story with God; it revealed it. Scripture makes clear that God had been at work in Paul’s life long before Paul ever acknowledged Christ. As Jeremiah hears the Lord say, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5), and as the psalmist confesses, “You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13). God’s encounter with Paul was not a reaction—it was a revelation.

What becomes clear as I reflect on this moment is that Jesus already knew Paul’s assignment before Paul ever knew Jesus as Lord. Acts 9:15 tells us that Paul was “a chosen vessel” long before he understood what that meant. Yet Jesus withheld clarity until surrender came first. Paul’s knowledge, influence, and discipline were real, but they were misdirected. His sincerity did not protect him from being sincerely wrong. This is a sobering reminder for me and for anyone serious about faith: good intentions are not the same as alignment with God’s activity. Oswald Chambers once wrote, “The one great need is not to do things for God, but to believe in Him.” Paul had been doing much for God, but he had not yet yielded to God.

Jesus’ pattern in Paul’s life reveals something essential about divine encounters. God does not come to negotiate our plans or gather input on what we would like to accomplish. He comes to disclose what He is already doing and to invite our participation. When Jesus appears to Paul, He says, in effect, This is why I have appeared to you. The Greek carries the sense of intentional manifestation—this encounter has a purpose beyond the moment. God never speaks merely to inform; He speaks to transform. Revelation always carries responsibility. As theologian Henry Blackaby famously observed, “God reveals His will to us so that we can join Him where He is at work.” That truth reshapes how I approach prayer and Scripture. If I’m only seeking encouragement or reassurance, I may miss the deeper call to obedience.

This leads me to ask the question the study presses gently but firmly: Am I prepared to meet God today? Paul’s immediate response to Jesus was not self-defense or delay, but surrender: “What shall I do, Lord?” That question signals a turning point from control to obedience. Encounters with God demand adjustment. Jesus does not fit Himself into our lives; He reorients our lives around His lordship. Dietrich Bonhoeffer captured this reality with stark clarity when he wrote, “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.” That death is not annihilation but realignment—the laying down of self-directed purpose in order to receive God-directed calling.

As I walk through a “day in the life” shaped by Jesus, I’m reminded that God’s activity often precedes my awareness. He is already at work in the people I will meet, the conversations I will have, and the decisions I will face. The question is not whether God will speak, but whether I am ready to respond. God does not reveal truth simply to expand my understanding; He reveals truth to enlist my obedience. Every genuine encounter with Christ carries an invitation to participate in His redemptive work, sometimes in ways that disrupt comfort and challenge assumptions.

So today, I want to approach God with honesty and readiness. I don’t want to seek His voice unless I am willing to follow His direction. Like Paul, I want to rise, stand on my feet, and accept that Jesus may reveal not only what I have seen, but what He has yet to reveal. Encounters with God are never ends in themselves—they are beginnings. They mark the moment when our lives become witnesses, shaped not by our plans, but by His purpose.

For further reflection on discerning God’s activity and responding in obedience, see this thoughtful article from Christianity Today:
https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2015/june/how-to-discern-gods-will.html

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Walking With Jesus Through the Seasons of Life

A Day in the Life

“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.”
Ecclesiastes 3:1

When I read Ecclesiastes 3, I am reminded that life with God is never static. There is a rhythm woven into creation itself, a God-given cadence that governs both the natural world and the human soul. As I walk through the life of Jesus in the Gospels, I begin to see how fully He embraced this divine rhythm. Jesus did not rush every moment, nor did He resist the slower or quieter seasons. He moved faithfully through beginnings, labors, fruitfulness, and endings, trusting that each season served the Father’s purpose. That realization gently challenges my own tendency to measure faithfulness only by productivity or visible success.

Spring seasons in life are often easy to recognize. They carry the excitement of new callings, fresh clarity, and renewed hope. In the life of Jesus, these moments appear early in His ministry—His baptism, the calling of the disciples, the first miracles that revealed His glory. I think of the joy and anticipation that must have filled those days, much like the early stages of our own spiritual journeys. Yet even then, Jesus remained grounded. He did not cling to the excitement of beginnings but stayed anchored in obedience. As Eugene Peterson once wrote, “There is a great market for religious experience in our world; there is little enthusiasm for the patient acquisition of virtue.” Spring is a gift, but it is not the destination.

Summer follows spring, and with it comes sustained labor. In summer, the work intensifies. Jesus’ days were filled with teaching, healing, confronting opposition, and pouring Himself into others. These were not glamorous moments; they were demanding and often exhausting. Scripture reminds us that “Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16). The Greek word hypochōreō (ὑποχωρέω), translated “withdrew,” implies intentional retreat, not escape. Summer seasons require perseverance, but they also demand rest. I am reminded here that faithfulness is not always marked by novelty; sometimes it is revealed in showing up, day after day, trusting that God is at work even when progress feels slow.

Autumn, the season of harvest, invites gratitude and reflection. In Jesus’ life, we see moments when His teaching bore visible fruit—disciples growing in understanding, crowds responding in faith, lives transformed. Yet even harvest seasons were mixed with misunderstanding and resistance. This reminds me that fruitfulness is ultimately God’s work, not ours. Paul later echoes this truth when he writes, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth” (1 Corinthians 3:6). Autumn teaches me to receive results humbly, to rejoice without becoming attached to outcomes, and to remember that harvest does not belong to me—it belongs to the Lord of the field.

Winter is perhaps the hardest season to accept. It brings endings, loss, silence, and waiting. Jesus knew winter intimately. The closing days of His earthly ministry—betrayal, suffering, crucifixion—appear barren and final on the surface. Yet winter was not the absence of God’s purpose; it was the soil in which resurrection was being prepared. Dietrich Bonhoeffer observed, “God allows us to experience the low points of life in order to teach us lessons that we could learn in no other way.” Winter strips us of illusions of control and invites us to trust God when visible life seems absent. Without winter, spring would have no meaning.

What comforts me most is the assurance that God orchestrates these seasons with intention. Ecclesiastes does not say that seasons happen randomly, but that each has a purpose under heaven. The Hebrew word zĕmān (זְמָן), translated “season,” implies an appointed time. Jesus lived fully aware of this divine appointment. Again and again in the Gospels, He speaks of His “hour,” knowing when to act and when to wait. As His disciples, we are invited into the same trust. Our lives are not delayed when they are quiet, nor diminished when they are difficult. Every season contributes to God’s perfect will, shaping us into people who rely more deeply on Him.

If I am honest, my struggle is not believing that God works through seasons, but accepting the season I am currently in. I want spring when God has ordained summer, or harvest when He has assigned waiting. Walking with Jesus teaches me to stop resisting the rhythm and start trusting the Conductor. Faith grows not by controlling time, but by surrendering to the God who stands outside of it.

For further reflection on God’s work through life’s seasons, see this insightful article from BibleProject: https://bibleproject.com/articles/a-time-for-everything/

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When Doubt Meets the Risen Christ

Centered on Belief That Touches the Wounds

A Day in the Life of Jesus

There are moments in the Gospel narratives when I find myself standing quietly beside one disciple, sensing that his struggle mirrors my own. John 20:24–31 places us squarely in such a moment, inviting us to linger with Thomas—not as a cautionary tale, but as a deeply human witness to the risen Christ. Thomas, called Didymus, “the Twin,” was not present when Jesus first appeared to the gathered disciples. While the others were filled with astonished joy, Thomas was left with only their testimony. When they repeated the words, “We have seen the Lord,” his response was not dismissive, but guarded: “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”

What strikes me is not Thomas’s doubt, but his honesty. He does not pretend to have faith he does not yet possess. He names what his heart requires. The Greek word used here for “believe,” pisteuō (πιστεύω), is not mere intellectual assent; it implies trust, reliance, and personal commitment. Thomas is not asking for spectacle. He is asking for assurance that the crucified Jesus—the one whose wounds he knew so well—is truly alive. His faith needs continuity between the suffering Christ and the risen Lord. In that sense, Thomas is closer to the heart of the gospel than we often admit. Christianity does not proclaim a vague spiritual survival, but a bodily resurrection marked by scars that still speak.

Eight days later, the disciples are again gathered behind locked doors. The atmosphere feels familiar—fear still lingers, uncertainty still hums beneath the surface. And then, without announcement or explanation, Jesus stands among them and says, “Peace be with you.” The risen Christ does not scold Thomas for missing the first appearance. He does not shame him for his questions. Instead, Jesus goes directly to the place of Thomas’s doubt. “Put your finger here, and see my hands. Put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not be faithless, but believing.” The contrast Jesus draws is not between doubt and belief, but between unbelief and trust. He meets Thomas precisely where he is.

The scene unfolds with reverent intensity. Thomas does not record touching the wounds. The invitation itself is enough. Confronted with the living Christ who knows his words, his fears, and his demands, Thomas responds with the most explicit confession of Jesus’ divinity found in the Gospels: “My Lord and my God!” John’s Gospel has been moving steadily toward this moment. What Thomas declares in worship, John has been proclaiming since the opening verse: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Doubt, when carried honestly into the presence of Jesus, does not diminish faith; it clarifies it.

This is why I am grateful for Thomas. He gives language to a reality many believers experience but are reluctant to confess. Some people need to doubt before they believe—not as an act of rebellion, but as part of the journey toward deeper trust. The danger is not doubt itself, but where it leads. When doubt provokes questions, and questions are pursued with humility, faith often emerges stronger and more grounded. New Testament scholar D. A. Carson notes that Thomas’s story reminds us that “faith that is based on evidence is not inferior faith; it is faith that is honestly won.” The harm comes when doubt hardens into refusal, when questions become excuses, and when skepticism turns into a settled posture of resistance.

Jesus’ closing words widen the horizon beyond Thomas: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” That blessing reaches across generations and lands squarely on us. We have not stood in that locked room. We have not seen the wounds with our eyes. And yet, John reminds us that his Gospel was written “so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” The signs recorded are sufficient—not because they answer every question, but because they reveal the One who does.

As I walk through this passage, I am reminded that Jesus does not fear our questions. He does not withdraw from us when faith feels fragile. The risen Christ still stands among locked hearts and fearful minds, offering peace and inviting trust. Doubt, when surrendered to Him, can become the doorway to deeper discipleship. The goal is not to remain in uncertainty, but to allow uncertainty to drive us toward Christ rather than away from Him. In that movement, belief becomes not blind optimism, but a settled confidence in the living Lord who still bears the marks of love.

May you find courage today to bring your questions honestly before Jesus. May you discover that the One who conquered death is patient with your process and generous with His grace. And may your confession, like Thomas’s, rise from encounter rather than pressure—“My Lord and my God.”

For further reflection on doubt and faith in the resurrection, see this article from Christianity Today:
https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2013/april-web-only/doubting-thomas-and-faith.html

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