You may have seen or heard some variation of this saying: “If you want to go fast, go alone. But if you want to go far, go together.” It’s a lovely thought, isn’t it? But is there any solid research to reassure us that these words are not just lovely, but true?
Yes! In fact, one such study by British and American researchers demonstrated that people estimated the size of mountains as significantly smaller if they were standing with someone else as opposed to when standing alone. In other words, “social support” matters—so much so that it causes even the size of mountains to shrink in our minds.
David found that kind of encouragement to be both lovely and true in his friendship with Jonathan. The jealous anger of King Saul was like an insurmountable mountain in David’s story causing him to fear for his very life (see 1 Samuel 19:9-18). Without some sort of support—in this case his closest friend—the story could have been drastically different. But Jonathan, “grieved at his father’s shameful treatment of David” (20:34), stood by his friend. “Why should he be put to death?” he asked (v. 32). Their God-ordained friendship bolstered David, allowing him to become Israel’s king.
Our friendships matter. And when God is at the center of them, we can spur each other on to do greater things than we might imagine.
Have you ever been in the middle of telling a story and then stopped, stuck on a detail like a name or date you couldn’t recall. We often chalk it up to age, believing that memory fades with time. But recent studies no longer support that view. In fact, they indicate our memory isn’t the problem; it’s our ability to retrieve those memories. Without a regular rehearsal of some kind, memories become harder to access.
One of the ways to improve that retrieval ability is by regularly scheduled actions or experiences of recalling a certain memory. Our Creator God knew this, so He instructed the children of Israel to set aside one day a week for worship and rest. In addition to the physical rest that comes from such a respite, we gain an opportunity for mental training, to recall that “in six days the
In the rush and run of our lives, we sometimes lose our grip on the memories of what God has done for us and for others. We forget who keeps close watch over our lives and who promises His presence when we feel overwhelmed and alone. A consistent break from our routine provides an opportunity for that needed “retrieval practice”—an intentional decision to stop and remember our God and “forget not all His benefits” (Psalm 103:2).
Two friends and I were checking off a bucket list item—hiking the Grand Canyon. We wondered if we had enough water as we started out our hike, and it ran out fast. We were completely out of water with still a ways to go to reach the rim. Panting, mixed with praying, set in. Then we rounded a corner and what we maintain as a miracle happened. We spotted three water bottles tucked in a cleft in the rock with a note: “Knew you’d need this. Enjoy!” We looked at each other in disbelief, whispered a “thank You” to God, took a couple of much-needed sips, and then set out on the last stretch. I’ve never been so thirsty—and thankful—in my life.
The psalmist didn’t have a Grand Canyon experience, but it’s clear he knew how a deer acts when thirsty and possibly scared. “The deer pants” (Psalm 42:1), a word that brings to mind hunger and thirst, to the point where if something doesn’t change, you’re afraid you might die. The psalmist equates the deer’s degree of thirst to his desire for God: “So my soul pants for you, my God” (v. 1).
Like much-needed water, God is our ever-present help. We pant for Him because He brings renewed strength and refreshment to our weary lives, equipping us for whatever the day’s journey holds.
“What do I regret?” That was the question New York Times bestselling writer George Saunders answered in his 2013 commencement speech at Syracuse University. His approach was an older person (Saunders) who shared one or two regrets he’d had in life with the younger people (graduates) who could learn something from his examples. He listed a few things people might assume he regretted, like being poor and working terrible jobs. But Saunders said he really didn’t regret those at all. What he did regret, however, were failures of kindness—those opportunities he had to be kind to someone, and he let them pass.
The apostle (Paul) wrote to the believers (church at Ephesus) answering this question: “What does the Christian life look like?” It’s tempting to rush in with our answers, like possessing a particular political view, avoiding certain books or films, worshiping in a particular manner. But Paul’s approach didn’t limit him to contemporary issues. He does mention practicing wholesome talk (Ephesians 4: 29), and ridding ourselves of things like bitterness and anger (v. 31). Then to conclude his “speech,” he says to the Ephesians as well as to us, “Don’t fail to be kind” (v. 32). And the reason behind that is because in Christ God has been kind to you.
Of all the things we believe the Christian life to be, one of them, surely, is to be kind.
He was loved by all—those were the words used to describe Don Guiseppe of Casnigo, Italy. Don was a beloved man who rode around town on an old motorbike and always led with the greeting: “peace and good.” He worked tirelessly on behalf of the good of others. But in the last years of his life, he had health problems, and in response his community purchased a respirator for him. But when his condition grew grave, he refused the breathing apparatus, choosing instead to make it available for younger patients who needed it. Hearing of his refusal surprised no one, for it was simply in his character for a man who was loved and admired for loving others.
Loved for loving, this is the message the apostle John keeps sounding throughout his gospel. They’re like a chapel bell that tolls night and day, regardless of weather. And in John 15, they reach somewhat of a zenith, for John lays bare that it’s not being loved by all, but loving all that’s the greatest love: “to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (v. 13).
Human examples of sacrificial love always inspire us. Yet they pale in comparison to God’s great love. But don’t miss the challenge that brings, for Jesus commands: “Love each other as I have loved you.” (v. 12). Yes, love all.
In his book Adopted for Life, Dr. Russell Moore describes his family’s trip to an orphanage to adopt a child. As they entered the nursery, the silence was startling. The babies in the cribs never cried, and it wasn’t because they never needed anything but because they had learned that no one cared enough to answer.
My heart ached as I read those words. I remember countless nights when our children were small. My wife and I would be sound asleep only to be startled awake by their cries: Daddy, I’m sick! or Mommy, I’m scared! One of us would spring into action and make our way to their bedroom to do our best to comfort and care for them. Our love for our children gave them reason to call for our help.
An overwhelming number of the psalms are cries, or laments to God. Israel brought their laments to Him on the basis of His personal relationship with them. These were a people God had called His “firstborn,” and they were asking their Father to act accordingly. Such honest trust is seen in Psalm 25: “Turn to me and be gracious . . . free me from my anguish” (vv. 16–17). Children who are confident of the love of a caregiver do cry. As believers in Jesus—children of God—He has given us reason to call on Him. He hears and cares because of His great love.
It had been a few years since my long-time friend and I had seen one another. During that time, he’d received a cancer diagnosis and started treatments. An unexpected trip to his state afforded me the chance to see him again. I walked into the restaurant, and tears filled both of our eyes. It’d been too long since we’d been in the same room, and now death crouched in the corner reminding us of the brevity of life. The tears in our eyes sprang from a long friendship filled with adventures and antics and laughter and loss—and love. So much love that it spilled out from the corners of our eyes at the sight of one another.
Jesus wept too. John’s gospel records that moment, after the Jews said, “Come and see, Lord” (John 11:34) and Jesus stood before the tomb of His good friend Lazarus. Then we read those two words that reveal to us the depths to which Christ shares our humanity: “Jesus wept” (v. 35). Was there much going on in that moment, things that John did and didn’t record? Yes. Yet I also believe the reaction of the Jews to Jesus is telling: “See how he loved him!” (v. 36). That line is more than sufficient grounds for us to stop and worship the Friend who knows our every weakness. Jesus was flesh and blood and tears. Jesus is the Savior who loves and understands.
A place where the buffalo roamed in the US. That’s truly what it was in the beginning. The Plains Indians followed bison there until settlers moved in with herds and crops. The land was later used as a chemical manufacturing site after Pearl Harbor, then even later for Cold War weapon demilitarization. But then one day a roost of bald eagles was discovered there, and soon the Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge was born—a 15,000-acre expanse of prairie, wetland, and woodland habitat on the edges of the metropolis of Denver, Colorado. It is now one of the largest urban refuges, or sanctuaries, in the country—a safe, protected home for more than 300 species of animals, from black-footed ferrets to burrowing owls to bald eagles, and you guessed it: roaming buffalo.
The psalmist tells us that “God is our refuge” (62:8). Far greater than any earthly place of refuge, God is our true sanctuary, a safe, protected presence in whom “we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). God is our refuge in whom we can place our trust regardless of the literal or figurative weather—“at all times” (Psalm 62:8). And He is our sanctuary where we can boldly bring all our prayers and petitions, pouring out our hearts.
God is our refuge. That’s who He was in the beginning, who He is now, and who He always will be.
