There is a line in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe that has always stuck with me, not because it is complicated, but because it quietly dismantles every small, manageable version of God we try to create.
“Is he quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Who said anything about safe? Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”
And I think if we are being honest, a lot of us would really prefer a safe God. A predictable God. A God who fits neatly into our plans and timelines and comfort zones, who agrees with us more often than not, and who does not ask us to step too far outside of what feels controlled. Basically, we want a tame lion. Something powerful in theory, but contained in practice. Something impressive, but not disruptive.
But that is not who God is, and honestly, that is a very good thing, because lions are not safe, and they were never meant to be. Even in the wild, there is structure and hierarchy and authority. There is a reason everything else pays attention when a lion shows up. There is a reason things move, scatter, freeze, or submit. The lion does not check the mood of the room. The lion does not ask if everyone is comfortable with its presence. The lion carries authority simply by existing, and that authority is recognized whether anything else likes it or not.
Which makes it even more interesting that Scripture refers to Jesus as the Lion of Judah, because that is not a soft image, and it is not meant to be. Yes, He is also the Lamb, and that matters deeply, but He is not only gentle and approachable and easy to mentally contain. He is also the Lion, which means authority, power, command, and the kind of presence that changes everything else in the room without needing permission.
So when you look at a story like Daniel in the lions' den, it starts to feel very different when you stop picturing it like a calm children’s story where the lions are just sitting politely in the corner like oversized house cats who decided to take the night off. Those are lions. Predators. Creatures that, under normal circumstances, do not politely ignore dinner when it is dropped directly into their living space. If anything, that situation should have lasted about three seconds, and yet Daniel is lowered into that den and…nothing happens. No attack. No chaos. No moment where everyone watching goes, well, that did not go well.
Instead, there is peace.
And maybe it is not because those lions suddenly forgot how to be lions or collectively decided to try a new lifestyle choice that evening. Maybe it is because there was another Lion in that den. The one in charge. The one whose authority outranks every instinct, every hunger, every natural response. The Lion of Judah, the King, the One who does not negotiate with creation but commands it.
And I can just imagine that moment, not as a dramatic struggle, but as a simple, quiet authority where the King says, “No,” and everything else falls in line, because that is what happens in a kingdom. Authority is not debated. It is recognized. The lions do not suddenly become tame. They become obedient to the One who made them.
Which means Daniel was never actually at the mercy of the lions. He was under the authority of the Lion.
And that shifts everything, because the same God we sometimes wish was a little more predictable, a little more manageable, a little more safe, is the same God who can step into a situation that should destroy you and completely change the outcome without changing the environment. The lions did not leave. The den did not suddenly become a petting zoo. The danger was still very real, very present, very capable. But the authority in that space was greater.
And that is the kind of God we are dealing with.
“Is he quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Who said anything about safe? Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”
And I think if we are being honest, a lot of us would really prefer a safe God. A predictable God. A God who fits neatly into our plans and timelines and comfort zones, who agrees with us more often than not, and who does not ask us to step too far outside of what feels controlled. Basically, we want a tame lion. Something powerful in theory, but contained in practice. Something impressive, but not disruptive.
But that is not who God is, and honestly, that is a very good thing, because lions are not safe, and they were never meant to be. Even in the wild, there is structure and hierarchy and authority. There is a reason everything else pays attention when a lion shows up. There is a reason things move, scatter, freeze, or submit. The lion does not check the mood of the room. The lion does not ask if everyone is comfortable with its presence. The lion carries authority simply by existing, and that authority is recognized whether anything else likes it or not.
Which makes it even more interesting that Scripture refers to Jesus as the Lion of Judah, because that is not a soft image, and it is not meant to be. Yes, He is also the Lamb, and that matters deeply, but He is not only gentle and approachable and easy to mentally contain. He is also the Lion, which means authority, power, command, and the kind of presence that changes everything else in the room without needing permission.
So when you look at a story like Daniel in the lions' den, it starts to feel very different when you stop picturing it like a calm children’s story where the lions are just sitting politely in the corner like oversized house cats who decided to take the night off. Those are lions. Predators. Creatures that, under normal circumstances, do not politely ignore dinner when it is dropped directly into their living space. If anything, that situation should have lasted about three seconds, and yet Daniel is lowered into that den and…nothing happens. No attack. No chaos. No moment where everyone watching goes, well, that did not go well.
Instead, there is peace.
And maybe it is not because those lions suddenly forgot how to be lions or collectively decided to try a new lifestyle choice that evening. Maybe it is because there was another Lion in that den. The one in charge. The one whose authority outranks every instinct, every hunger, every natural response. The Lion of Judah, the King, the One who does not negotiate with creation but commands it.
And I can just imagine that moment, not as a dramatic struggle, but as a simple, quiet authority where the King says, “No,” and everything else falls in line, because that is what happens in a kingdom. Authority is not debated. It is recognized. The lions do not suddenly become tame. They become obedient to the One who made them.
Which means Daniel was never actually at the mercy of the lions. He was under the authority of the Lion.
And that shifts everything, because the same God we sometimes wish was a little more predictable, a little more manageable, a little more safe, is the same God who can step into a situation that should destroy you and completely change the outcome without changing the environment. The lions did not leave. The den did not suddenly become a petting zoo. The danger was still very real, very present, very capable. But the authority in that space was greater.
And that is the kind of God we are dealing with.
❤2
Not safe, in the sense that He will not stay confined to what feels comfortable or controllable. He will challenge you, stretch you, and lead you into places where your own strength is clearly not enough. He will not fit neatly into your expectations or your timelines, and He will absolutely refuse to be reduced to something you can fully explain or manage.
But He is good.
The kind of good that means even when you are surrounded by things that should take you out, you are still held by the One who is in charge of all of it. The kind of good that means His authority is not limited by what feels natural or inevitable to you. The kind of good that means when He says “no” to something, it stops, whether you understand how or not.
So no, He is not safe.
But He is the King.
And if you ever find yourself in a den full of lions, you do not need them to be tame. You need the Lion who commands them.
~Farmer Girl
But He is good.
The kind of good that means even when you are surrounded by things that should take you out, you are still held by the One who is in charge of all of it. The kind of good that means His authority is not limited by what feels natural or inevitable to you. The kind of good that means when He says “no” to something, it stops, whether you understand how or not.
So no, He is not safe.
But He is the King.
And if you ever find yourself in a den full of lions, you do not need them to be tame. You need the Lion who commands them.
~Farmer Girl
❤3
This media is not supported in your browser
VIEW IN TELEGRAM
A Lion's roar can be heard five miles away!
⚡6🔥3❤🔥2❤1
Forwarded from Thieves of Wonders & Friends channel🍀 (Jasmina)
This media is not supported in your browser
VIEW IN TELEGRAM
🥹❤️
❤3🥰3
Isaiah 43:5 🕊️I AM with you now, even close to you. So NEVER yield to fear.❤️-💌 The Father tells us that He alone is our “constant source of stability “ the storms of life may come, but He will be your covering and safe haven. Your refuge. Trust His word and promises, they all are YES and AMEN.Come in from the storm and fully experience the covering of His Love today.🕊️❤️
Hearing Is Not Believing
Fear is a lie-that we believe. The lie itself isn’t fear, it’s merely a lie from the enemy planted in our heads to instill fear. And lies are powerless unless we believe them. Like the way a drug is just a pill until it’s ingested. Once it’s swallowed, the moisture and acids in the digestive system activate the release of its contents and carry its power to the bloodstream. It doesn’t work until it’s fed by the environment it needs.
The same is true about the promises in God’s Word—they are promises on a page until we believe them. As soon as we do, the power they hold is released into our lives, and we can experience an indescribable peace that passes all understanding. We are constantly faced with what to believe, and what we believe is always a choice. Which will you choose?
@dailybibledevotionals
Fear is a lie-that we believe. The lie itself isn’t fear, it’s merely a lie from the enemy planted in our heads to instill fear. And lies are powerless unless we believe them. Like the way a drug is just a pill until it’s ingested. Once it’s swallowed, the moisture and acids in the digestive system activate the release of its contents and carry its power to the bloodstream. It doesn’t work until it’s fed by the environment it needs.
The same is true about the promises in God’s Word—they are promises on a page until we believe them. As soon as we do, the power they hold is released into our lives, and we can experience an indescribable peace that passes all understanding. We are constantly faced with what to believe, and what we believe is always a choice. Which will you choose?
@dailybibledevotionals
❤1
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy. ’
But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes hHs sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.
For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same?
And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same?
You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect."
~Jesus (Matthew 5:43-48)
But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes hHs sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.
For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same?
And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same?
You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect."
~Jesus (Matthew 5:43-48)
There is something about Peter walking on water that makes me very confident God has a sense of humor, because the sequence of events is just…incredible.
The disciples are out on the water, it is dark, the wind is doing its thing, the waves are not exactly giving “peaceful evening cruise,” and then they see Jesus walking toward them. On the water. Like that is a normal mode of transportation. Naturally, they react like any of us would and assume they are seeing a ghost, because apparently “Son of God taking a stroll across a lake” was not their first guess.
Jesus calls out to them, tells them not to be afraid, and this is where Peter decides to shine. Or at least attempt to. He goes, “Lord, if it’s You, tell me to come to You on the water.” Which is already a bold move. Not “can You get in the boat?” Not “can You calm the storm?” No. “Can I also walk on water?” Peter saw something impossible and his immediate response was, “I would like to try that.”
And Jesus, in what I can only imagine was the calmest “go ahead” ever given, simply says, “Come.”
So Peter steps out of the boat. Onto the water. And for a moment, this man is doing the impossible. He is walking on water like this is just part of his skill set now. Somewhere in the background the other disciples are probably staring like, “Well…this is new.”
And then Peter does the most human thing possible.
He notices the wind.
He sees the waves.
He remembers, very suddenly, that people do not actually walk on water, and his brain goes, “This feels unsafe,” which is fair, except he was already standing on a liquid surface like it was solid ground. But sure, let’s panic now.
And immediately, he starts sinking.
Not gradually. Not like a slow, graceful descent. Just straight into the water like, “Ah yes, this is more what I expected from physics.” And he cries out, “Lord, save me!” which, to be fair, is the correct response when you are actively going under.
And Jesus reaches out, grabs him, and says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”
Which is both a correction and also slightly hilarious, because Peter literally just walked on water. He made it farther than anyone else in that boat. He stepped out when everyone else stayed put. And yet the moment he took his eyes off Jesus and focused on everything else around him, down he went.
And I feel like that is where the humor quietly turns into something uncomfortably accurate.
Because how often do we do that?
We trust God enough to take the first step. Maybe even a few steps. We start doing something we never thought we could do. We see Him show up in ways that do not make sense. And then…we notice the wind. We look at the waves. We remember all the reasons this should not be working, and suddenly we are spiraling like we were not just standing on a miracle five seconds ago.
And God, who quite literally just carried us through something impossible, is standing there like, “Why are we panicking now?”
Not because He does not understand. Not because He is mocking us. But because from His perspective, nothing has changed. The same power that held you up a moment ago is still there. The same presence that called you out of the boat is still right in front of you.
The only thing that shifted…was where you were looking.
And I think that is where you see the quiet humor of God, because He knew exactly how that was going to go. He knew Peter was going to step out boldly and then immediately forget what was holding him up. He knew there would be that moment of “I can do this” followed very quickly by “I cannot do this.” And He still said, “Come,” anyway.
Because apparently God is not waiting for perfect faith.
He is willing to work with the kind that takes a few solid steps…and then absolutely panics and needs to be grabbed out of the water.
~Farmer Girl
The disciples are out on the water, it is dark, the wind is doing its thing, the waves are not exactly giving “peaceful evening cruise,” and then they see Jesus walking toward them. On the water. Like that is a normal mode of transportation. Naturally, they react like any of us would and assume they are seeing a ghost, because apparently “Son of God taking a stroll across a lake” was not their first guess.
Jesus calls out to them, tells them not to be afraid, and this is where Peter decides to shine. Or at least attempt to. He goes, “Lord, if it’s You, tell me to come to You on the water.” Which is already a bold move. Not “can You get in the boat?” Not “can You calm the storm?” No. “Can I also walk on water?” Peter saw something impossible and his immediate response was, “I would like to try that.”
And Jesus, in what I can only imagine was the calmest “go ahead” ever given, simply says, “Come.”
So Peter steps out of the boat. Onto the water. And for a moment, this man is doing the impossible. He is walking on water like this is just part of his skill set now. Somewhere in the background the other disciples are probably staring like, “Well…this is new.”
And then Peter does the most human thing possible.
He notices the wind.
He sees the waves.
He remembers, very suddenly, that people do not actually walk on water, and his brain goes, “This feels unsafe,” which is fair, except he was already standing on a liquid surface like it was solid ground. But sure, let’s panic now.
And immediately, he starts sinking.
Not gradually. Not like a slow, graceful descent. Just straight into the water like, “Ah yes, this is more what I expected from physics.” And he cries out, “Lord, save me!” which, to be fair, is the correct response when you are actively going under.
And Jesus reaches out, grabs him, and says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”
Which is both a correction and also slightly hilarious, because Peter literally just walked on water. He made it farther than anyone else in that boat. He stepped out when everyone else stayed put. And yet the moment he took his eyes off Jesus and focused on everything else around him, down he went.
And I feel like that is where the humor quietly turns into something uncomfortably accurate.
Because how often do we do that?
We trust God enough to take the first step. Maybe even a few steps. We start doing something we never thought we could do. We see Him show up in ways that do not make sense. And then…we notice the wind. We look at the waves. We remember all the reasons this should not be working, and suddenly we are spiraling like we were not just standing on a miracle five seconds ago.
And God, who quite literally just carried us through something impossible, is standing there like, “Why are we panicking now?”
Not because He does not understand. Not because He is mocking us. But because from His perspective, nothing has changed. The same power that held you up a moment ago is still there. The same presence that called you out of the boat is still right in front of you.
The only thing that shifted…was where you were looking.
And I think that is where you see the quiet humor of God, because He knew exactly how that was going to go. He knew Peter was going to step out boldly and then immediately forget what was holding him up. He knew there would be that moment of “I can do this” followed very quickly by “I cannot do this.” And He still said, “Come,” anyway.
Because apparently God is not waiting for perfect faith.
He is willing to work with the kind that takes a few solid steps…and then absolutely panics and needs to be grabbed out of the water.
~Farmer Girl
If you feel like God is still angry about your past, you are not alone. Many believers carry this quiet fear that grace has limits, that forgiveness was offered but trust was never fully restored. Shame whispers that God remembers what you are trying to forget and that His patience is thinner than His love. The New Testament confronts that lie directly and gently, not with pressure, but with grace.
The clearest statement about God’s posture toward your past is found in Romans 8:1, “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Not less condemnation. Not delayed condemnation. No condemnation. If God were still angry about your past, condemnation would still be present. Grace tells us that anger was not postponed. It was dealt with.
The finished work of Jesus Christ means that God does not relate to you based on who you were, but based on what Christ has done. Colossians 2:13–14 says that God forgave us all our sins, canceling the charge of our legal indebtedness and nailing it to the cross. That word all leaves no room for exceptions. Your worst moments were not set aside for later judgment. They were fully addressed.
The heart of the Father is revealed most clearly in Jesus’ own words. In Luke 15, the father of the prodigal son does not wait with folded arms and a lecture prepared. He runs. He restores. He celebrates. The son expects punishment, but the father responds with compassion. This is not a story about tolerance. It is a revelation of how God sees repentant hearts. The past does not disqualify the child. It highlights the joy of restoration.
Many people believe God forgives but remains disappointed. Yet Scripture tells us otherwise. Hebrews 8:12 declares, “For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.” God does not forgive while keeping emotional distance. Grace does not erase sin only to preserve resentment. If God says He remembers your sins no more, then His current posture toward you cannot be anger.
Jesus reinforces this when He encounters those with visible pasts. To the woman caught in adultery, He says in John 8:11, “Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin.” Notice the order. Freedom from condemnation comes before transformation. Grace removes shame so that change can actually take root.
The finished work of Jesus Christ also means that God is not managing your relationship with Him through emotional reactions. He is not triggered by your memories. He is not re-litigating your failures. Ephesians 1:7 tells us that we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace. God’s grace is not cautious or reluctant. It is rich.
If you feel God is mad at your past, it is likely because shame is still speaking louder than truth. Grace does not deny the seriousness of sin, but it denies sin the right to define your present relationship with God. The cross was not God losing patience. It was God revealing love.
The heart of the Father is not revealed in how intensely you regret your past, but in how completely He has dealt with it. You are not on probation. You are not being watched closely for failure. You are loved, restored, and secure.
Grace invites you to stop living as though forgiveness was partial. Your past has been addressed fully. God is not mad at it. He is finished with it.
~Brian Romero
The clearest statement about God’s posture toward your past is found in Romans 8:1, “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Not less condemnation. Not delayed condemnation. No condemnation. If God were still angry about your past, condemnation would still be present. Grace tells us that anger was not postponed. It was dealt with.
The finished work of Jesus Christ means that God does not relate to you based on who you were, but based on what Christ has done. Colossians 2:13–14 says that God forgave us all our sins, canceling the charge of our legal indebtedness and nailing it to the cross. That word all leaves no room for exceptions. Your worst moments were not set aside for later judgment. They were fully addressed.
The heart of the Father is revealed most clearly in Jesus’ own words. In Luke 15, the father of the prodigal son does not wait with folded arms and a lecture prepared. He runs. He restores. He celebrates. The son expects punishment, but the father responds with compassion. This is not a story about tolerance. It is a revelation of how God sees repentant hearts. The past does not disqualify the child. It highlights the joy of restoration.
Many people believe God forgives but remains disappointed. Yet Scripture tells us otherwise. Hebrews 8:12 declares, “For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.” God does not forgive while keeping emotional distance. Grace does not erase sin only to preserve resentment. If God says He remembers your sins no more, then His current posture toward you cannot be anger.
Jesus reinforces this when He encounters those with visible pasts. To the woman caught in adultery, He says in John 8:11, “Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin.” Notice the order. Freedom from condemnation comes before transformation. Grace removes shame so that change can actually take root.
The finished work of Jesus Christ also means that God is not managing your relationship with Him through emotional reactions. He is not triggered by your memories. He is not re-litigating your failures. Ephesians 1:7 tells us that we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace. God’s grace is not cautious or reluctant. It is rich.
If you feel God is mad at your past, it is likely because shame is still speaking louder than truth. Grace does not deny the seriousness of sin, but it denies sin the right to define your present relationship with God. The cross was not God losing patience. It was God revealing love.
The heart of the Father is not revealed in how intensely you regret your past, but in how completely He has dealt with it. You are not on probation. You are not being watched closely for failure. You are loved, restored, and secure.
Grace invites you to stop living as though forgiveness was partial. Your past has been addressed fully. God is not mad at it. He is finished with it.
~Brian Romero
❤1
Forwarded from Thieves of Wonders & Friends channel🍀 (Jasmina)
This media is not supported in your browser
VIEW IN TELEGRAM
Thousands of bees following their queen into this box
It's huge number of bees relying only on a single queen. So a complete hive can disappear if the queen is lost.
It's huge number of bees relying only on a single queen. So a complete hive can disappear if the queen is lost.