“Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” —Galatians 6:9Â
There are men who fight for a moment—and then there are those who fight for a lifetime.
William Wilberforce didn’t just take a stand. He planted his feet, clenched his jaw, and stood there for decades, while the world around him screamed to give up.
He was born into wealth. He could’ve coasted through life on comfort and applause. But he met Jesus—and Jesus wrecked his plans.
That’s where the fire started.
Because when Christ gets hold of a man, He doesn’t just pat him on the back and say, “Be nice.” He gives him a burden. A cause. A calling that keeps him up at night and stirs him to act when no one else will.
Wilberforce’s burden? Freedom.
Slavery was the backbone of the British economy, and everyone knew it—even the church turned a blind eye. But Wilberforce saw it for what it was: wickedness. Dehumanizing. Evil.
And he would not shut up about it.
The man spent over twenty years—twenty years!—dragging bill after bill into Parliament, only to be laughed at, rejected, or outvoted. Again and again.
They mocked him. They ridiculed him. Friends betrayed him. His health broke down.
At one point, he was so sick and discouraged, he almost quit.
But he didn’t.
Because he was forged—not in applause or approval—but in fire. And when God forges a man in fire, He burns away the comfort, the cowardice, and the craving to be liked.
What’s left is steel.
Wilberforce’s steel didn’t come from arrogance—it came from conviction. A deep-rooted belief that God’s justice was worth the fight, no matter how long it took, no matter what it cost.
And in the end?
After decades of being a joke… the Parliament passed the bill. The slave trade was outlawed.
Three days later, William Wilberforce died.
He lived just long enough to see the chains start to break.
Forged Reflection
God doesn’t need men who fight for applause. He’s looking for men who don’t let go. Men who fight the long, thankless battles. Men who wear themselves out doing good.
That’s how kingdoms shift. That’s how history bends. That’s how you become unshakable.
“Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” —Galatians 6:9 (WEB)
“Before there was anything… there was God. Before there was time, light, or even matter— His Spirit was already moving. And He’s still moving now.”
Scripture Text: Genesis 1:1-2
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”
Pause. Don’t rush past the first four words: In the beginning, God.
That’s the foundation of everything—of faith, of hope, of life itself. Before there was light, land, stars, or breath… there was God.
This is the line in the sand between belief and disbelief. Some live their lives shaped by the truth that God is—that He was before all things, and by Him all things were made. Others, as Romans 1 describes, refuse to acknowledge Him. They suppress the truth. That’s not just a philosophical disagreement—it’s the root of every kind of brokenness and rebellion.
But from the first sentence of Scripture, God reveals Himself—not just in words, but in the very fabric of creation.
As Psalm 19:1 says: “The heavens declare the glory of God. The expanse shows his handiwork.”
We don’t begin with a religion. We begin with a God who is—and who made all things on purpose. That includes the stars, the sea… and you.
The Spirit in the Chaos
“The earth was formless and empty. Darkness was on the surface of the deep. God’s Spirit was hovering over the surface of the waters.”
The Hebrew phrase here—tohu va-bohu—is so raw and layered that no single English translation can do it justice. It doesn’t merely mean “formless and empty.” It speaks of chaotic desolation—a wild, unstructured void where nothing lives, nothing forms, and nothing makes sense. Time and space are without rhythm. Matter exists without form. It’s not a clean slate; it’s a storm of potential with no order… yet.
No shape. No consistency. No life. No measurement. No light. Just a void.
And yet—even in that, everything needed for creation already existed. In that moment of confusion and cosmic unrest… God’s Spirit hovered.
Like a flash of lightning waiting to strike, like breath waiting to be spoken—He was there.
There’s deep comfort in this: In the darkest, blackest, most disordered corners of the universe—God shows up. He doesn’t run from the chaos. He doesn’t fear the void. He doesn’t hide from darkness.
He enters it. He hovers over it. And He speaks.
This is who He is—not a distant deity, but a present Spirit. The kind of God who doesn’t avoid our mess, but moves into it—bringing light, order, and meaning.
Video Reflection:
Pondering Questions (from the videos):
What would change if you truly lived as if God was already present in the middle of your unknowns?
What does it mean that the Spirit of God hovered over formless chaos?
Can you sense that same presence hovering over you today?
Pause and Reflect…
Before there was time… Before light… Before shape or sound… there was God.
In the quiet. In the chaos. In the darkness… He was already there.
You may not see Him clearly right now. But He’s there. Hovering over your deep places… Present… even when everything feels undone.
He was there. And He still is.
What does it mean to you that God was “in the beginning”?
Where do you see Him in your own beginning—or in the chaos you may be feeling today?
Scripture Connections:
Psalm 19:1 “The heavens declare the glory of God. The expanse shows his handiwork.”
John 1:1 “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
This isn’t just poetic language—it’s a deliberate echo. John was reaching all the way back to Genesis. God spoke the universe into existence. Creation didn’t begin with clay in His hands, but with a Word on His lips.
And that Word… was Jesus.
Let that settle in for a moment: The voice that pierced the silence at the dawn of creation… is the same Word who became flesh and dwelled among us.
Hebrews 11:3 “By faith, we understand that the universe has been framed by the word of God, so that what is seen has not been made out of things which are visible.”
Guided Journaling
What does it mean to you that God’s Spirit hovers over chaos—over formlessness, darkness, and confusion?
Think of a time in your life when everything felt like a void—when nothing made sense, and you couldn’t see a way forward. What would it mean to believe that God was already there, hovering, waiting to speak light into it?
What does it mean to you personally that God was there “in the beginning”?
How does that truth affect the way you view your own beginning—your life, your story, your chaos?
Write it down—on paper, in your phone, or in the space provided in your book. You can also share your story or insight with others below.
The measure of a man isn’t found in the approval of others. It’s found in the quiet moments when he stands alone.
Joshua was not the loudest voice in the crowd. He wasn’t a showman. He didn’t spend his life trying to win the favor of men. His life was forged in a harder fire: the fire of obedience to God when everyone else turned away.
When Moses sent twelve men to scout the Promised Land, ten of them returned with fear. Only Joshua and Caleb came back with courage. Ten said, “We can’t.” Two said, “God can.” The consensus was fear. Joshua’s courage made him an outsider.
He didn’t win a popularity contest that day. He won something better: God’s approval.
Joshua’s courage wasn’t reckless. It was rooted in trust.
He had seen God move. He had tasted manna in the wilderness. He had stood at the foot of Mount Sinai and heard the thunder of God’s voice. He knew: if God said the land was theirs, it didn’t matter how big the giants were.
Courage like Joshua’s isn’t blind. It sees the size of the enemy clearly — and trusts God even more clearly.
It was this kind of courage that forged Joshua into the man who would lead a nation. It was this kind of fire that prepared him to hear God’s personal command later:
“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9
Joshua didn’t rise to leadership because he demanded it. He rose because when it mattered, he stood alone — not for himself, but for the honor of God.
Today, the world still bows to consensus.
Majority opinion sways like the wind. Fear drives decisions. Safety is celebrated as wisdom. But a man forged by God doesn’t take his cues from the crowd. He doesn’t measure truth by counting noses. He measures it by the Word of God — even when that means standing alone.
Sometimes real strength is not winning an argument. It’s standing firm when the crowd has already decided against you.
Joshua teaches us that courage is not about being fearless. It’s about fearing God more than you fear man.
Reflect:
Where am I letting fear of others’ opinions shape my decisions?
Would I be willing to stand alone if it meant honoring God?
Forged in Fire men are not called to blend in. They are called to stand out — courage over consensus, obedience over approval, God over giants.
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.” — Jeremiah 1:5
“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” — Psalm 139:13–14
Before you spoke a word, He knew you. Before you took a breath, He loved you. Before you lived a single day, He had already dreamed of you.
You are not an accident. You are a deliberate, deeply loved creation of the King of Heaven.
He didn’t simply allow you to exist — He wanted you. He crafted you. Every fiber of your being was knit together by His hands, woven with love and infinite attention. You are fearfully and wonderfully made because He treasures you.
Do We Treasure Him in Return?
As staggering as it is to realize that the God of all creation treasures us, there’s a question that stirs the heart:
Do we treasure Him in return?
“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” — Matthew 6:19–21
If He loved us enough to create us, to call us by name, to walk with us through every moment of life — where is our treasure? Where is our heart?
It’s easy to invest ourselves in earthly things — money, approval, success, comfort. But none of these will last. One day, everything that seems so urgent now will vanish like mist. Only the treasures we lay up in heaven will remain.
When we realize how deeply we are loved — how highly we are valued — it stirs something inside us: a longing to treasure Him above all else. Not out of guilt. Not out of duty. But out of love.
Because when your heart treasures God — the One who first treasured you — you begin to store up a different kind of treasure: the kind that can never be stolen, never rot, never fade.
A Place for Your Heart
Today, pause and remember: You are loved more than you can imagine. You are treasured by the Maker of heaven and earth.
And in return, treasure Him. Lay up your treasure where your heart was meant to be — in His hands.
If this encouraged you, share it with a friend who needs to be reminded: You are deeply treasured. ❤️
I spent my Easter morning with a lamb. Not a symbol, not a sermon—an actual lamb. And in that quiet moment, I was reminded of what today is really about.
It’s not about breakfast. It’s not about Easter eggs. It’s about the Lamb.
John the Baptist saw Him coming and said,
“Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” (John 1:29)
Later, in exile on the island of Patmos, John saw a vision of the risen Christ:
“Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing at the center of the throne, encircled by the four living creatures and the elders.” (Revelation 5:6)
This Lamb is Jesus. Slain. Risen. Exalted.
As I sat on the ground with that lamb this morning, I couldn’t help but remember a scene I once imagined—when God first created the lamb. I picture Him kneeling in the dust, forming it with His hands, and pausing for a moment. Maybe He looked into its innocent eyes and whispered something only the heavens heard. Perhaps there was a tear. He knew the future of this creature. That one day, lambs would be offered as sacrifices. And ultimately, one day, His Lamb—His own Son—would be offered.
These soft, gentle creatures were not an accident. They were made with intention—to reflect something far greater.
Easter isn’t about tradition. It’s about redemption. It’s not about a holiday. It’s about a Lamb.
The Lamb who was slain. The Lamb who lives. The Lamb who will one day be at the very center of all things.
So this morning, I sat on the ground with the Lamb.
