Author: londavis@hotmail.com

Our text is John 6:14-15.

When the people saw the sign that Jesus had performed, they began to say, “Truly this is the Prophet who is to come into the world.” Then Jesus, realizing that they were about to come and make Him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by Himself.

Jesus fed the five thousand, and their bellies were full. Their eyes were wide with wonder. “Surely this is the Prophet!” they declared. What do they want to do? Crown him king. Right here, right now. No cross, no suffering, no waiting.

Sound familiar? It should. It echoes across the wilderness where Satan dangled the same carrot to Jesus: “All this can be yours,” Satan promised. Skip the agony. Bypass the grave. Take the shortcut to glory.

“But Jesus knew better. He rejected the shortcut, choosing instead the ministry that, though longer and more difficult, was the only path to true victory.”

The crowd saw bread and wanted a bread king. Jesus saw souls and chose the cross. The people pushed for shortcuts; Jesus walked the long road to Calvary.

We’re no different, are we? We rush to buy books like “The Four-Hour Work Week” and “Think and Grow Rich.” We chase shortcuts in marriage, parenting, and faith. Quick fixes instead of hard work. Easy answers instead of wrestling with life. But shortcuts rob us of character, depth, and the very growth God intends. His longer road always leads home.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

When Jesus heard of John’s death, sorrow settled in His spirit. He didn’t rush to preach or perform miracles—He withdrew, seeking silence. Matthew 14:13 reveals a tender truth: “He withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.” Grief pressed heavy on the Savior’s heart. John wasn’t just a prophet—he was family. The loss was personal.

Yet the crowds came, needy and unrelenting. And when Jesus saw them, His grief didn’t harden His heart. “He had compassion on them and healed their sick” (v.14). Pain didn’t pause His purpose—it deepened it.

This is the grace of Christ: wounded, but willing; sorrowful, yet still serving. He didn’t discard grief to move forward—He carried it and answered the call. Because healing often begins when we step into the “next,” not away from it.

Elijah knew this, too. After fleeing Jezebel and collapsing under weariness, God fed him. But when the provision ceased, God whispered: it’s time to move on. Whether you’re facing loss or a new beginning, don’t fear your “next.” It may be exactly where God’s greatest work begins.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

When Jesus looked out at the crowds in Matthew 9:36, He saw more than just faces. He saw hearts—tired, confused, searching. The Bible says, 

“He was moved with compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” 

The people weren’t bad. They were just lost.

God’s people are often called “sheep.” Sheep are gentle, but they lose their way easily. Without a shepherd, they are in danger. They might fall, get stuck, or be attacked. They need the shepherd’s voice and touch to guide them and keep them safe.

Jesus saw the crowds and felt that longing for someone to lead, love, and protect them. It wasn’t just about them having rules to follow, but about needing someone to care for their souls. Jesus understood their wandering—He knew they were worn out from trying to find hope on their own in empty places.

Today, we’re not much different. Sometimes we feel lost, too. We try to find our way on our own, but the world can be scary. Jesus, as a good shepherd, sees our fear and loneliness. He opens His arms and says, “Come to me. I’ll lead you home.” No one is too lost for Him to find.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

As Jesus was walking along, some people brought Him a man who couldn’t speak because a demon controlled him. Jesus cast the demon out, and the man began to talk. The crowd was amazed. They said, “Nothing like this has ever been seen in Israel!” But not everyone celebrated. The Pharisees, the religious leaders, looked at the same miracle and said, “He drives out demons by the power of the prince of demons.”

Isn’t that something? The people saw mercy. The Pharisees saw evil. They weren’t just blind—they chose not to see. They saw a miracle with their eyes but rejected it in their hearts.

Some people refuse to believe, no matter how clear the truth is. Like someone closing their eyes and saying, “I can’t see!” Jesus had just brought healing and hope, but the Pharisees hardened their hearts.

Our lesson is that we must be careful not to let pride or fear keep us from seeing what Jesus is doing. As Helen Keller said, “To be blind is bad, but worse is to have eyes and not see.”

 Jesus is still changing lives, but we must have eyes willing to see.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

Our text for today is Matthew 9: 27 through 31

The blind men in this story couldn’t see Jesus, but they knew who He was. They cried out, not with their eyes, but with their hearts.

Sometimes our greatest spiritual insights come not through what we can see, but through what we cannot. These two blind men possessed something more valuable than physical sight—they had spiritual vision. While others questioned Jesus’ identity, they proclaimed with confidence, “Have mercy on us, Son of David!”

Their persistence reveals the nature of true faith. They didn’t let the crowds stop them. They didn’t let their disability define their destiny. Instead, they let their need find its voice, crying out until Jesus heard them.

Jesus tested their faith with a simple question: “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” Their response was immediate and unwavering: “Yes, Lord.” No hesitation, no conditions, no backup plans.

Jesus said to them, “According to your faith will it be done to you.”

It always is. When we cannot see our way forward, faith gives voice to our deepest longings. Like these men, we can cry out to Jesus with confidence, knowing that He hears the heart’s desperate call and responds with a healing touch.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

Our text for today is Luke 14:28.

“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it?” 

Imagine a man standing in his backyard, dreaming of building a shed. He’s excited. He can see it finished in his mind. But Jesus says, “Wait. Sit down first. Count the cost.”

This isn’t a story about construction. It’s about wisdom.

Jesus knows something we often forget: good intentions aren’t enough. Dreams need plans. Faith needs preparation. Even God’s work requires counting the cost.

Planning isn’t the opposite of faith—it’s faith in action. When we think ahead, we’re being wise. When we prepare, we’re being biblical. Jesus himself planned his ministry, chose his disciples carefully, and prepared for his mission.

Before you say yes to a commitment, count the cost. Before you make a promise, think it through. Before you start a project, sit down and plan.

God gave you a brain. Use it. Planning isn’t faithless—it’s faithful. It honors God when we’re wise with our time, energy, and resources.

Count the cost. Then build with confidence, knowing He’s with you every step.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

Mark 8 tells us the story of Jesus feeding 4,000 men with seven loaves and a few fish. 

They’d been with Him three days. No food. No supplies. Just hunger—and Him. The crowd probably didn’t come prepared, but they didn’t want to leave. Jesus had been feeding their souls, but now their stomachs were empty.

And here’s the part I love: Jesus noticed.

“I have compassion for these people; they have already been with Me three days and have nothing to eat” (Mark 8:2). He didn’t say, “They should’ve brought lunch.” He didn’t say, “Let’s stick to spiritual things.” He said, “They’re hungry.” Then He did something about it.

Jesus doesn’t just care about your church attendance or your quiet time. He cares about your groceries, your bills, and your weariness. He knows when the pantry is low and the pressure is high. He sees the real-life struggles we carry. And like He did for that crowd, He meets us in our need—with compassion and provision.

So don’t be afraid to bring your everyday worries to Him. He won’t turn them away. He welcomes them. And He’s still in the business of multiplying bread.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

Our devotional comes from Mark 7, the story of a deaf and mute man who was brought to Jesus for help. Let’s read the actual healing, Mark 7: 33 through 35.

So Jesus took him aside privately, away from the crowd, and put His fingers into the man’s ears. Then He spit and touched the man’s tongue. And looking up to heaven, He sighed deeply and said to him,  “Be opened!” Immediately the man’s ears were opened and his tongue was released, and he began to speak plainly.

Why does Jesus do it in this fashion? He could have simply spoken a word. Instead, He touches the man’s ears and tongue. Why? Because Jesus speaks the man’s language—the language of touch.

Jesus knew this man understood gestures, not words. So Jesus used sign language that said, “I care about you. I see your need. I will help you.”

Here’s the beautiful truth: Jesus still speaks our language today. When words fail us, He communicates through His gentle presence. When we can’t hear His voice above life’s noise, He touches our hearts with His love.

Maybe you feel like that deaf man—isolated, unable to connect. Remember, Jesus doesn’t give up on us. He finds a way to reach us right where we are. He speaks fluent “you.”

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

She was desperate for Jesus to help her daughter. Even though she was not a Jew, she cried to Jesus, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is miserably possessed by a demon.” Her exchange with Jesus serves to remind us of what is important. Let’s read Matthew 15:26-27.

Jesus replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”
“Yes, Lord,” she said, “even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

There’s something beautiful in the way this woman responded. Jesus’ words could have easily sent her away, hurt and rejected. But she wasn’t looking for reasons to quit. She wasn’t scanning His tone or choice of words to find offense. She was looking for hope—and she found it, even in crumbs.

That’s the mark of real faith. She wasn’t focused on her pride. She was focused on her daughter. Her love gave her boldness, and her faith gave her eyes to see grace in a place others might have turned away from.

Too often, we let pride or hurt feelings block the blessing. We want God to speak gently, to act on our terms. But this woman shows us a better way: keep your eyes on what matters most.

Even crumbs from the Master’s table are enough to change everything.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.

My wife planted a yucca plant in our yard. After a few years, we grew tired of its sharp leaves and ugly appearance. “Get rid of it,” she said. So I grabbed my hoe and chopped it down.

A few weeks later, it was back. I chopped it down again. It grew back again. This went on for years. I felt like I was fighting a losing battle against this stubborn plant.

Finally, someone solved the problem for me. He didn’t just cut the top—he dug deep and pulled out all the roots. When the roots were gone, the plant was gone for good.

This story reminds me of what Jesus taught in Matthew 15:19. He says, “For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, and slander.”

Sin too has roots. We can try to fix our bad behavior on the surface. We can promise to do better. We can make rules and resolutions. But unless we deal with the heart—the root of the problem—sin will keep growing back.

Jesus wants to change us from the inside out. He doesn’t just trim our bad habits. He transforms our hearts. When the heart changes, everything else follows.

I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.