Category: Uncategorized

Worry is a thief. It steals sleep, peace, and joy. Jesus knew this, which is why He said plainly, “Do not worry.” But how? How do we silence the storm of anxious thoughts? Here are five helps for seasons of worry:

First: Pray first, not last. When anxiety knocks, let prayer answer. Philippians 4:6 invites us to bring every concern to God—with thanksgiving. Prayer isn’t our last resort; it’s our first response.

Second: Live in today! Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow. Jesus said, “Do not worry about tomorrow” (Matthew 6:34). Tomorrow’s troubles haven’t arrived yet. Stay in today!

Third: Remember who God is! In psalm 46:10 God says, “Be still and know that I am God.” Translation? Stop striving. He is God and he is in control. That’s great news. If He’s in charge and He loves you, things will work out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out, it isn’t the end.

Fourth: Count blessings, not burdens. Gratitude is a holy distraction. It shifts your gaze from lack to abundance. Worry withers in the presence of thanksgiving.

Fifth:  Remember God’s past faithfulness. Think back. Hasn’t He carried you before? Didn’t He show up when you thought all was lost? Yesterday’s mercies are receipts for tomorrow’s provision.

Worry will knock, but don’t let it move in. Let prayer, presence, and praise guard your heart. God’s got this. And He’s got you.

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

Our reading today is Genesis 3:12-13

And the man answered, “The woman whom You gave me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate it.”

Then the LORD God said to the woman, “What is this you have done?”

“The serpent deceived me,” she replied, “and I ate.”

The three questions had been asked. Adam and Eve didn’t have a good answer, so they did what most people do, they made excuses. All the excuses were the same, “Not my fault!”

The man’s answer was, “It was her fault.” Then he added, “You gave her to me.” He was hinting that it was a little bit of God’s fault. The woman didn’t accept the blame either. She said, “The serpent deceived me.” This was the original statement of “The devil made me do it.”

What was the serpent’s excuse? He offered none because he knew he had not a leg to stand on!

It would have been better if they had just accepted responsibility for what they had done. Personal responsibility is the foundation of character. It means owning our choices instead of blaming others or circumstances. Adam and Eve didn’t know this yet, but growth begins when we accept responsibility for our actions. 

Our excuses may sound more sophisticated than theirs, but they are no different. The heart that dodges blame still hides from God.

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

God asked three questions of Adam and Eve.

First, “Where are you?”

Second, “Who told you that you were naked?”

And then the third: “Have you eaten from the tree…?” It’s God’s way of asking, “What did you do?”

The question isn’t found in the text, but in the context. Adam and Eve’s shame didn’t come from nowhere. Their hiding revealed their doing.

Here’s the truth we need to remember: God is not concerned only with how you feel, but also about what you do. 

What you do has consequences. That broken relationship? Something happened. That damaged reputation? Someone did something. That gnawing guilt? There’s a reason.

We live in a world obsessed with feelings, but God asks about behavior. “What did you do?” Not “How do you feel about it?” Not “What were your intentions?” Actions have consequences.

The garden teaches us this: you can’t hide the fruit of the forbidden tree. It shows up in our shame, in our fear, in a fractured fellowship with God.

But here’s the grace woven into the question—God asks because restoration begins with honesty. He doesn’t ask because He’s confused. He asks because we need to own what we do.

Consequences are bread crumbs leading back to choices. 

What you do matters.

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

Genesis 3:10–12 paints a moment both tender and tragic. 

Adam hides among the trees, clutching leaves to cover his nakedness. God calls, “Where are you?” and Adam answers, “I was afraid because I was naked.” Then comes the question: “Who told you?”

It wasn’t a question for information; it was an invitation to reflection. Somewhere along the way, Adam had started listening to a different voice. The serpent had whispered lies, and Adam believed them. Before that, only God’s voice filled the garden: steady, kind, and true. But once another voice entered the conversation, failure followed close behind.

Sometimes, we do the same! We let the wrong voices shape our hearts. The voice that says we’re not enough. The one who insists God can’t forgive us this time. The one that shouts louder than God. When we listen to those voices, shame takes root and peace slips away.

But God still calls out, “Who told you that?” He invites us to tune our hearts back to Him—to the voice that does not condemn, does not mislead, and never stops loving. The next time you feel unworthy or afraid, ask yourself, “Who told me that?” Then turn your ear toward the One who always speaks truth.

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

It was the first question God ever asked of man. Not “What have you done?” or “Why did you fail?” but “Where are you?” A question not of geography, but of relationship. God knew exactly where Adam crouched among the fig leaves and shame. But He asked anyway. Why?

Because grace always initiates the search.

Even after the fall, even after the fruit was bitten and the trust was broken, God came walking. Not storming. Not shouting. Walking. Seeking. Calling. “Where are you?” It’s the voice of a Father who refuses to let sin have the final word.

Sin creates distance. It drives us into the shadows, convinces us we’re better off hiding. But God doesn’t abandon the hiding. He pursues. He invites. He speaks.

The same voice that spoke galaxies into being now speaks to a trembling man. The same breath that stirred life into dust now stirs hope into guilt. “Where are you?” is not condemnation—it’s an invitation. A summons to step out of the shadows. A mercy wrapped in a question.

So if you’re hiding today behind regret, behind fear, behind failure, listen. That voice still calls. Not with anger, but with love. Not to shame, but to restore. The Creator of the cosmos is asking, “Where are you?” Not because He doesn’t know, but because He wants you to know: He’s still seeking. He’s still speaking.

His voice still calls.

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

There’s a lie we tell ourselves when we’re bent on our own way. It whispers in our ears like a friend: “It’s my life. I’m only hurting me. So leave me alone.”

Proverbs 17:25 tells a different story: “A foolish son brings grief to his father and bitterness to her who bore him.”

Your life? Perhaps. But never only yours.

Think of your mother’s face when she first held you, or your father’s pride at your first step, your first word, your first triumph. They invested more than time. They poured their hearts into you. Their dreams wrapped around your future like a blanket of hope.

Here’s the truth that stings: when you stumble into foolishness, you don’t stumble alone. The tremor of your choices ripples outward, splashing grief onto the shores of hearts that love you most. Both parents feel it, that deep, aching sorrow that comes when dreams fracture and hope grows heavy.

No one lives as an island. Your choices echo in the chambers of other people’s hearts, especially those who bore you, raised you, and believed in you.

So before you make that next decision, pause. Ask yourself: “Who else will feel this? Whose heart might break alongside mine?”

Your life matters far beyond yourself. The question isn’t whether you’ll affect others. The question is: will you bring joy or grief to those who love you most?

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

Jonah 1:12 says, “Pick me up and throw me into the sea. Then the sea will become calm for you.”

Wait! What? Jonah could’ve said, “Turn the boat toward Nineveh.” That would’ve calmed the storm. But instead, he chose the sea. He chose drowning. He chose death over obedience.

Ever been that stubborn?

I once heard about a farmer and his dog. The dog lay on the porch, occasionally letting out a long, pitiful howl. A visitor asked, “What’s wrong with the dog?”
“He’s lying on a nail,” the farmer replied.
“Why doesn’t he move?”
“Guess it don’t hurt bad enough yet.”

Jonah was lying on a nail. God said go. Jonah said no. When the storm came, he didn’t repent. He opted for the sea and death. But God wasn’t done. Jonah found himself in the belly of a fish, in the depths of the sea, wrapped in seaweed and regret. And finally there, in the dark, he got off the nail.

Pain is a great teacher. It doesn’t always whisper, it howls. It reminds us that God’s commands aren’t suggestions. They’re invitations to life. And when we resist, the storm comes. Not to destroy us, but to redirect us.

Are you lying on a nail today? Is God calling you to forgive, to go, to trust? Don’t wait for the storm to howl louder. Get off the nail. Do the thing you know God’s asking of you.

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

Some say, “I don’t get mad, I get even.” As if evening the score were something noble. As if payback were a virtue worth pursuing.

But God sees it differently.

Solomon put it plainly: “Do not say, ‘Thus I shall do to him as he has done to me; I will render to the man according to his work.'” Don’t plot your revenge. Don’t scheme to balance the scales.

Here’s why: When we take vengeance into our own hands, we step into a place we were never meant to stand. We climb onto the judge’s bench. We wrap ourselves in God’s robes. We declare, “I’ll be the one to make this right.”

But that throne is taken.

God is your defender. He sees what happened. He knows the depth of the wound, the weight of the injustice. And He is fully capable of handling it without your help. When you seek revenge, you’re not just acting out—you’re saying, “God, You’re not enough. You won’t do what needs to be done, so I will.”

Private vengeance is sinful not just because it’s harmful, but because it puts us in God’s place.

So what do you do with the hurt? Where do you put the pain when someone has wronged you?

You give it to the One who wore your wounds on a cross. You surrender the score-settling to the One who keeps perfect accounts. You trust that God’s justice is better than your revenge, His timing wiser than your impulses, His mercy deeper than your bitterness.

Let Him be God. Let Him defend. Let Him judge.

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

Most days of a person’s life are just ordinary. That’s the way it was for Moses that day. The desert was quiet. Sand stretched to the horizon, sheep wandered lazily, and Moses walked through another routine moment of an ordinary life. Then—fire. A bush ablaze, burning but not consumed. No thunder. No trumpet. Just a whisper of wonder flickering in the wilderness.

Most folks might have walked on, muttering about mirages and heat. But Moses didn’t. Scripture says he “turned aside.”

Those two words changed everything. The divine moments rarely shout. They whisper. God does not force Himself on distracted hearts. He waits for a turning. Every “burning bush” begins with curiosity, attention, and pause.

How many bushes do we pass each day? A phrase that lingers from a verse. A tug in prayer we silence with hurry. A hurting soul who needs our listening. Perhaps God is there, hidden in plain sight, waiting for us to turn aside.

When Moses did, heaven spoke: “Moses, Moses!” What began as observation became a life’s work. The shepherd met his calling not in a palace, but by looking closer at a burning bush.

So today, turn aside. Let ordinary moments become holy ground. God still surrounds your life with small burning fires that call you to serve him. Just notice!

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

Our text today is Psalm 14:1

“The fool has said in his heart, ‘There is no God.'”

Really? There is no God!

Here are 5 things that lead people to such a conclusion. 

1. Sometimes it’s pain—suffering so deep that a good God seems impossible. 

2. Sometimes it’s pride—that stubborn self-sufficiency that refuses to admit dependence. “I can handle life on my own” becomes the creed of the self-made soul.

3. Sometimes it’s culture. In our broken world, faith gets labeled as outdated and unsophisticated. People absorb this attitude like secondhand smoke and assume disbelief is the intelligent position.

4. Sometimes it’s moral resistance. Believing in God means accepting His standards. Denying Him becomes a way to quiet an inconvenient conscience. 

5. Sometimes it’s simple distraction. Life moves fast, and reflection takes time. Many never pause long enough to consider eternal things.

But here’s the heart of it: whether God exists is the most significant question you’ll ever face. Scholars have devoted lifetimes to studying the evidence. Others have given it a few hours and walked away convinced He’s not there.

That’s the fool the psalmist describes—not someone who lacks intelligence, but someone who dismisses the most important question without real study. The question remains: does God exist? It is the most important question of all, because everything else hangs on it. To dismiss it casually is to gamble eternity on a passing opinion. The wise seek, the proud dismiss, but the honest heart that searches will find Him—because He is there to be found.

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

Our Verse is 1 Corinthians 11:1

 “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.”

In this verse Paul shows us that he understood something we often forget: leadership isn’t about the rulebook you carry—it’s about the path you walk.

Notice what Paul didn’t say. He didn’t say, “Do what I tell you.” He said, “Follow me.” There’s a world of difference between the two. One demands compliance. The other invites companionship.

Paul lived what he taught. His letters weren’t penned from an ivory tower but from prison cells and dusty roads. He didn’t hand down commands he himself refused to obey. He walked the narrow way first, then turned around and said, “Come on. Follow me as I follow Christ.”

Someone once said, “My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.” That’s the heart of genuine influence. Whether you’re raising children, leading a team, or mentoring a friend, your life is the loudest sermon you’ll ever preach.

Ralph Waldo Emerson reminded us: “What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.”

Your kids are watching. Your coworkers are watching. Your neighbors are watching. Not to catch you in a mistake, but to learn how to live.

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

Let’s read Romans 8:28

“We know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”

My Ginger and Jeff love this verse and can tell you about hard days. When flames consumed their apartment, they didn’t lose just possessions—they lost their sense of order. She and Jeff moved to a noisy place. Their business ground to a halt. Routines crumbled. Days grew heavy with uncertainty.

But God doesn’t waste our pain. He recycles it.

Within two weeks of the fire, Ginger and Jeff closed on a new home on a quiet cul-de-sac. A fresh start and a dream realized! I couldn’t help but smile, because sometimes the thing we’re running from is actually pushing us toward the thing we’ve been praying for.

This is what Romans 8:28 really means. Not that bad things don’t hurt. They do. Not that loss doesn’t sting. It does. But God doesn’t leave us in the wreckage. He’s working, even when we can’t see His hand moving.

I told Ginger and Jeff something I’m telling you today: “For Christians, everything works out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out yet, then it is not the end.”

Some answers come in two weeks. Some take two years. Some we won’t understand until eternity. But if you love God and follow His calling, He promises to weave every thread—even the dark ones—into something beautiful.

Your ending isn’t written yet. Trust the Author.

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

Our reading for today is Psalm 56:3–4:

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You. In God, whose word I praise—in God I trust.”

David knew fear. He wasn’t writing from an ivory tower but from caves and battlefields. His words aren’t from a man who never trembled—they’re from a man who did, but who found a place to stand when everything around him shook. He’s saying, “Fear comes—but faith answers.”

We all have our own list of fears. Failure. Rejection. The unknown. Loss. Aging. Financial strain. Change. Even death. Fear whispers in a hundred different voices, but faith only needs one reply: I trust in God.

When David’s men turned against him and spoke of stoning him, Scripture says, “David was greatly distressed…but he found strength in the Lord his God” (1 Samuel 30:6). He didn’t wait for courage to find him. He went and found it in God.

Maybe that’s where you are today—standing in the middle of something that scares you. Don’t deny the fear. Just don’t let it have the last word. Like David, talk back to it. Remind yourself that God’s promises are still good, His presence still near, His love still strong.

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

Our verse today is Proverbs 19:3.

“A man’s own folly subverts his way, yet his heart rages against the Lord.”

When you understand this verse, you will understand that it says we do things that hurt us and then wonder why God did this to us!

It reminds me of the story of the father who walked up on his son and his dog. The dog (named Kelly) and the four-year-old Josh had a wonderful relationship. Although the dog and the boy loved each other, the dog often had to put up with the boy’s behavior. Josh loved to hug the dog. Kelly would take as much as he could, but would eventually turn around and nip at the boy to make him turn loose.

One day, the father walked up on Josh and Kelly. Josh had his arms around the dog and his head tucked into the dog’s body so that Kelly could not bite him so easily. As Dad noticed that Josh’s eyes were closed and he heard him say a little prayer, “Dear God, please don’t let Kelly bite me.”

“Josh,” the father said, “God would be more apt to answer your prayer, if you would let go of the dog.”

We, too, are like the little boy holding on to the dog. He knows the dog will bite him, but prays that he won’t bite. We also do things that will bite us, but we don’t want to feel the bite. What do we do to stop the biting? We pray. We only pray!

We pray for a happy marriage and then neglect one another. We pray for a closer walk with God, but do not read His Word. We pray for peace, yet we live life at a frantic pace.

Each of us should examine the things that we pray for and then decide what we can do to help make the prayers come true. 

Continue praying, but also do your part.

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

Our reading is Genesis 27:1-2

It is the story of old Isaac asking a favor from his son. 

“Now it came to pass when Isaac was old and his eyes were so dim that he could not see, that he called Esau his older son and said to him, ‘My son,’ and he answered him, ‘Here I am.’ Then he said, ‘Behold now I am old, and I do not know the day of my death.'”

Isaac feels his life ebbing away and seeks a favor of his son. He used the line, “I do not know the day of my death,” and then asks his son for a favor. Interestingly, Isaac lived somewhere between 20 and 40 more years, before he died. Maybe Isaac would have done well to hear the old adage, “If you ain’t dead, you ain’t done.”

What is the point of remembering that story? Simply this: Wake up each day and remember that God has given you the gift of another day, rejoice and use it. 

I close with the story of a teacher who lost her mother. On her first day back teaching, one little girl gave her wisdom beyond her years. She told the teacher, “I’m sorry about your mother,” and then added, “But I hope you live until you die.” 

Maybe Isaac’s story will remind us all to live until we die. 

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

Our verse for today is Psalm 4:4.

“Be angry, yet do not sin; on your bed, search your heart and be still.”

There are nights when sleep won’t come. The mind replays the day’s unfair words, the undeserved wounds, the things you wish you’d said—or hadn’t. David knew that kind of night. He’d been betrayed, slandered, and hunted by those he loved. Anger was natural. But God whispered a different path: “Be angry, yet do not sin.”

It was natural for David to feel what he felt. But it would be wrong to let that feeling rule his heart. So, God invited him to the quiet—“on your bed, search your heart and be still.” The Hebrew word for “be still,” means more than silence. It means to quiet the storm inside—to stop striving, stop being anxious. We can when we stop rehearsing the hurt.

God calls us to take our clenched fists and open them. To take our anxious thoughts and surrender them. When we do, the night changes. The bed becomes an altar. The silence becomes holy ground and the God who calmed the sea will calm us too.

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

Life hands us moments—brief intersections where kindness waits on our decision. Will we help or hesitate? Will we act or assume someone else will?

Paul’s words in Galatians 6:10 are clear: 

“As we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone.” 

I learned this truth in a doctor’s waiting room. An elderly woman struggled to stand. My wife whispered, “Go help her.” I hesitated. “She’ll be all right,” I said. But Liz didn’t debate. She simply rose and offered her arm. When Liz was finished, she came back and sat beside me and whispered, “She has cancer of the spine.”

That moment haunts me still—not with guilt, but with clarity. I wasn’t cruel. I was cautious. Unsure if a stranger wanted my interference. But sometimes caution is just fear wearing a respectable coat.

You see, we only pass this way once. This hallway, this waiting room, this moment—they won’t circle back. The woman needing help today won’t need it tomorrow in the same way. The opportunity will vanish like a coin dropped into the ocean.

So do good now. Don’t wait for perfect timing or confidence or courage. Let love make you awkward. Let compassion make you bold. The household of faith thrives when we stop overthinking kindness and simply extend our hand.

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

Two days ago, my nearly three-year-old granddaughter fell and broke her clavicle. Her parents didn’t scold her or demand explanations. They simply scooped her up and held her close. The doctors assure us she’ll heal in a few weeks, but the moment reminded me of Psalm 91:4:

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is your shield and rampart.”

Have you watched a mother hen with her chicks? At danger’s first whisper, she doesn’t lecture about bravery or distribute miniature armor. She spreads her wings wide and calls them near. “Come here, little ones. Come under my wings.”

This is God’s heart toward you.

When storms rage and your world tilts dangerously, God doesn’t demand proof of your worthiness. He doesn’t require eloquent prayers or flawless behavior. He opens His arms and whispers, “Come to me.”

Today’s battles aren’t yours to face alone. You don’t need to summon extraordinary strength, wisdom, or courage. You simply need to draw close enough to hear His voice: “Under my wings, you are safe.”

A toddler with a broken bone belongs in her parents’ loving arms. You belong under the wings of the One who loves you most—not because you’ve earned it, but because that’s where you’ve always belonged.

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

Our Scripture for today is Romans 12:12

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, persistent in prayer.”

I love people whose prayer life is like keeping a finger poised over the “1” button of prayer.

Let me explain. When my youngest daughter was barely a teenager, she was very afraid of the dark. One night she was upstairs in bed when she heard a sound downstairs. She grabbed the phone, pulled the cover over herself and the phone, and then dialed 9-1. After that she held her finger over the last “1.” She was prepared to call for help!

That picture shows what it means to be “instant in prayer.” Prayer is always just a breath away. In the Psalms, David often spoke about his troubles, then suddenly lifted a one-sentence prayer (Psalm 69:13). Nehemiah, too, prayed in short bursts, like a man who knew God was listening (Nehemiah 2:4).

Being instant in prayer doesn’t mean saying a prayer with every step you take. It means living with your heart ready to press that last “button” toward God. And it means pressing it often.

So today, let your heart be ready. Whisper a short prayer when fear comes, when joy rises, or when you don’t know what to do. God is listening.

Be instant in prayer.

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

Imagine a husband gazing into his wife’s eyes, declaring with dramatic flair, “I’d die for you!” How does she take it? She rolls her eyes and shoots back, “Die for me? You won’t even take out the garbage for me!”

It’s funny, but it makes a point. We love grand promises. Heroic gestures capture our imagination. But in the end, real love—and real faith—are proven in the small, daily choices we make.

That’s why Luke 9:23 matters.

 “If anyone wants to come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me.”

Do you know what it means to deny yourself? Denying self means slamming the door on selfish ambitions that tug at our hearts, the ones whispering, “Me first.”

It means starting the day with prayer. Even when you’d rather just relax with your coffee, choose to pray.

It means serving others selflessly. Whether it’s helping a neighbor or listening to a friend, small acts of kindness reflect Jesus’ love.

It means reading and reflecting on God’s word, practicing gratitude, and choosing forgiveness. 

Saying “I will die for Jesus” is easy. But are you willing to live for Him? That is what it means to take up the cross.

Today, choose to live for Him in the small, faithful steps.

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