Month: March 2026

Like the first morning, fresh and full of promise. Just as the hymn celebrates God’s re-creation of each new day, we are invited to begin ours in worship and surrender. In a way we are His re-creation (new creation) in Christ Jesus too.

In the morning, O LORD, You hear my voice; at daybreak I lay my plea before You and wait in expectation. Psalm 5:3 (BSB)

This verse feels almost like a divine promise, a covenant of attentiveness. The Lord hears our voice first thing in the morning. When we put Him first, making Him our waking thought, everything changes.

The transformative power of morning priority

I can testify that making this a daily norm reshaped my life. Waking under His sovereignty brings peace and joy that become strength for the day ahead. “The joy of the LORD is my strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). Starting with Him sets the tone; His presence infuses the hours that follow.

The morning sacrifice

The psalmist speaks of laying a “plea” (“prepare a sacrifice for you”, ESV) before God at daybreak. This isn’t a guilt offering but a thank offering, a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving from our lips.

"Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that openly profess His name. And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased." Hebrews 13:15–16 (NIV).

Begin with gratitude and praise. Let your first words honour Him. Then carry that spirit into the day through acts of goodness and generosity.

Practical ways to cultivate this habit

• Prioritise your quiet time: the morning mind is fresh, rested, and alert, no competing distractions yet. Set apart, intentional, quiet moments before the world rushes in. Get God in before the world gets to you.
• Discipline your evening and be intentional: go to bed early, exercise self-control, and practice perseverance. A well-rested body supports a disciplined mind.
• Prepare through prayer: start by offering praise, confessing dependence, and seeking His guidance. Lay your day before Him, your plans, meetings, and moments.
• Put on the full armour of God; every day holds spiritual battles. “Put on the full armour of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes” (Ephesians 6:11, NIV). Morning is the time to arm yourself with truth, righteousness, peace, faith, salvation, and the Word.

Living expectantly

Approach the day with watchful expectation. Stay aware of His presence. Be sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s leading, divine appointments, opportunities to help, to share the gospel, or gently turn conversations toward Him.

A fruitful day isn’t random; it’s purposeful. We live ready, “for we do not know when [He] comes” (Matthew 24:42–44). Intentionality turns ordinary moments into eternal significance.

The promise of starting well

Anything that begins well has a greater chance of ending well. What better foundation than communion with God? Once you grasp the weight and wonder of this morning priority, it reshapes your routine, your priorities, and ultimately, you.

Prayer

Lord, in the morning You hear my voice. May I rise to meet You first, offering praise, waiting expectantly, and walking through this day in Your strength and leading. Thank You for new mercies every morning. Amen.

Quote: Morning has broken; and God is already there, ready to meet you!

Food for thought:

1. What are some of the competing priorities in our life?
2. What are the things that keeps us from our time with God?
3. Could we change our routine to make time for God first thing?

31 “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan has demanded to sift you men like wheat; 32 but I have prayed for you, that your faith will not fail; and you, when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.” Luke 22:31-32 (NASB 2020)

Failure always asks a question of the heart. Not whether we have failed, but how we will respond.

There are two paths Scripture lays before us: one that leads to restoration, and one that ends in despair. Both Peter and Judas failed. Both were warned. Both were overcome by guilt. Yet their endings could not be more different.

Peter failed publicly and painfully. He had once confessed that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the living God. He had been renamed, (Cephas to Peter), commissioned, and spoken over. His confidence grew, perhaps too much. At the table he declared he would die with Jesus. But when the moment came, determination collapsed. He did not pray. He did not lean on grace. And when the pressure rose, he fell. 

Ashamed and broken, Peter returned to fishing. Failure pulled him back to what was familiar, to what felt safe. Like Elijah fleeing from Jezebel, his heart seemed to cry, “I am no better than those before me.” Like Isaiah standing exposed before holiness, he became painfully aware of his weakness and undone by his own failure. He once said in Luke 5:8 “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man,”. This time he appeared to say, not as confession alone, but as resignation. It was as though Peter concluded, I am bound to fail. I will always fall short. I am only a sinner, only a fisherman. I am of no use to You. In his shame, failure tried to redefine his identity. It told him that his calling was cancelled, his future finished, and his place in the story over.

Judas also failed. When Judas, who had betrayed him, saw that Jesus was condemned, he was seized with remorse and returned the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders.“I have sinned,” he said, “for I have betrayed innocent blood.” Mathew 27:3-5. When events unfolded differently than he expected, remorse flooded in. He confessed his sin, acknowledged innocent blood, and was overwhelmed by guilt. But his sorrow turned inward, not upward. He could not believe mercy was still possible. He concluded that nothing, not even God, could receive him again. And in despair, he made a final and irreversible decision.

This is the dividing line.

Jesus had already spoken to Peter, “When you have failed, strengthen your brothers.” Not if you fail, but when. Jesus did not pray that Peter would never stumble. He prayed that Peter’s faith would not fail, that Peter would not stop believing in the goodness of God.

Faith is not the absence of failure. Faith is trusting the character of God after failure. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).

When Peter wandered back to fishing, Jesus went after him. Peter did not pursue Jesus; Jesus pursued Peter. And when they met, Jesus did not rehearse the failure. He asked one question only: “Do you love Me?”. No interrogation about what he did but about his loyalty. No punishment. No reference to the denial. Love was the qualification. And love was enough. Then came the reinstatement: “Feed My sheep.” No résumé required. No record of achievements. No proof of worthiness. Failure did not disqualify Peter. Unbelief would have.

Prayer

Lord, I bring You my failures without excuse and without hiding. Where shame tells me I am finished, speak Your restoring truth. Guard my faith when I fall. Teach me to believe in Your mercy more than in my weakness. Restore my calling, realign my heart, and send me forward again not by my strength, but by Your grace. Amen.

Quote: Failure does not end a calling; losing faith in the mercy and grace of God does.

20 Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee came to Jesus with her sons, bowing down and making a request of Him. 21 And He said to her, “What do you desire?” She *said to Him, “Say that in Your kingdom these two sons of mine shall sit, one at Your right, and one at Your left.” Matthew 20:20-21 (NASB 2020)

James and John’s mother came to Jesus and asked if her sons could sit at His right and His left in the Kingdom. On other occasions the disciples themselves came asking the same question: “Who will be the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?” These were not outsiders. These were Jews. Chosen. Selected. Handpicked. They lived with Jesus, walked with Him daily, heard His teaching directly from His mouth, watched His pure and holy life up close, witnessed miracles, healings, signs, wonders, demons being cast out, and even the dead raised, and yet their questions consistently revealed how carnal and fleshly their thinking still was. Proximity to Jesus did not automatically produce spiritual insight. Privilege did not guarantee humility.

Now compare this with what the Gentiles asked.

A paralytic man’s friends tore open a roof and lowered him down to Jesus. They did not ask for status. They asked for healing. A Canaanite woman whose daughter was demon-possessed said she was willing to be treated like a dog if only she could receive the crumbs from the table. She did not ask for a seat. She asked for mercy. A woman with a hemorrhage fought through the crowd, risking shame and public exposure, just to touch the edge of Jesus’ cloak. She did not ask for recognition. She asked for wholeness. Two blind beggars sitting by the roadside were told to keep quiet, maintain decorum, and know their place, but they shouted even louder until Jesus stopped and healed them. They did not ask to be great. They asked to see.

Here is the difference.

The disciples were insiders, educated in Scripture, saturated with teaching, immersed in spiritual activity, yet often blind to what truly mattered. The Gentiles were outsiders, desperate, broken, unqualified, rejected, yet they saw clearly. Scripture says, “A broken and contrite heart God will not despise.” It also says, “God gives grace to the humble.” Every Gentile we just mentioned came the same way: desperate, unashamed, persistent, and full of faith. That is the pattern. That is the secret. And it does not come cheaply. It is forged through pain and suffering.

Not one of them asked for the wrong thing. Not one came asking to be made great in the Kingdom. Their suffering reordered their priorities. Their pain clarified their vision. Their desperation stripped away ambition and replaced it with faith. While the chosen debated greatness, the broken reached for mercy and received it. This should sober us. Religious privilege can dull spiritual hunger. Familiarity can breed blindness. And suffering, painful as it is, often becomes the mercy that teaches us what truly matters.

Prayer

Lord, strip me of religious pride and insider blindness. Do not let proximity replace humility or knowledge replace desperation. Give me a broken and contrite heart that You will not despise. Teach me to ask for what truly matters, not what elevates me, but what heals me; not what exalts me, but what transforms me. Let suffering purify my desires and re-order my priorities until I want nothing more than You. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Quote

The insiders asked for greatness; the broken asked for mercy—and heaven answered the broken.