Our question today comes from 1 Samuel 16:2.

“How can I go? If Saul hears it, he will kill me.”

God had given Samuel a mission—to anoint a new king. But Saul, the current king, was still alive. Samuel’s fear was honest and understandable. “How can I go?” he asked. “If Saul hears it, he will kill me.”

I would have asked Samuel, “Don’t you trust God?” But then again, I see a bit of Samuel in myself. Maybe in you too.

We know what God asks, yet fear makes us hesitate. We sense a nudge to give generously, but we worry about tomorrow’s needs. We feel the pull to step out in faith, but we linger on the edge. Not rebellion—just reluctance. The fearful pause before obedience. 

It brings to mind the poem “The Weaving.”

“My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me…” So begins a simple verse that has steadied many hearts. It reminds us that God is always at work, even when life looks like a tangle of loose ends.

I picture God at the loom of my life—not rushing, not guessing—just patiently threading purpose through every moment. No strand is wasted. Even our fears find their place in His design.

We may not always understand the pattern, but we can trust the Weaver. Like Samuel, we may say, “Lord, I’m scared.” And still, God gently says, “Go. I’ve made the way.”

One day, He will turn our life’s tapestry over. And we’ll see what He saw all along, the upper-side and not just the tangled threads beneath.

We’ll understand it all, by and by.

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

Our question today comes from John 3:4.

“How can a man be born when he is old?”

It was late when Nicodemus came to Jesus. Maybe he feared what others might say. Maybe it was the only quiet moment in his busy day. Whatever the reason, this respected teacher of Israel found himself face-to-face with the Teacher of heaven.

He started with a compliment: “We know You are a teacher come from God.” But Jesus didn’t linger on flattery. He went straight to the heart: “You must be born again.”

That puzzled Nicodemus. “How can a man be born when he is old?” He wasn’t mocking. He was truly seeking.

Jesus wasn’t speaking of reentering a womb. He was speaking of a rebirth of the soul. A start-over that doesn’t come from effort but from faith. Grace doesn’t work on a schedule. It doesn’t care how old you are or what you’ve done. It just opens the door to begin again.

That’s the wonder of the gospel. It’s not about turning over a new leaf. It’s about receiving a new life.

Don’t let age, reputation, or regrets hold you back. Jesus still offers the same gift He offered Nicodemus—a new birth, a new life, a new start!

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

The question for today comes from Luke 10:29.

“Who is my neighbor?”

Jesus challenged a lawyer to love his neighbor. The lawyer then asked “Who is my neighbor?” Why would he ask such a thing? He was not looking for a lesson, he was hoping for a manageable answer. He wanted boundaries—something neat and tidy. Instead, Jesus handed him a story. A man left for dead. A priest who passed by. A Levite who looked the other way. And a Samaritan—an outsider—who crossed the road and showed mercy.

Jesus didn’t define “neighbor” with rules. He defined it with love.

The real question isn’t “Who is my neighbor?” It’s “Will I be one?” That’s where the challenge lies. Being a neighbor means more than liking those who look like us or live near us. It means loving whoever needs us.

It’s easy to love the lovable. But what about the overlooked? The hard to help? The ones who drain our time and test our patience? Jesus says: love them too. Be the one who sees. Be the one who stops. Be the one who crosses the street.

Love doesn’t ask for qualifications—it looks for need. And mercy doesn’t calculate cost—it just gives.

Today, let’s stop asking, “Who qualifies for my care?” and start asking, “How can I care for the one in front of me?”

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

The question for today is from John 6:68.

“Lord, to whom shall we go?”

The crowd had thinned. Jesus had fed their bodies, then fed their souls, and when the message got hard to swallow, many simply left. The bread was welcome. The truth, not so much. As the crowds were leaving, Jesus turned to His disciples and asked a question: “Will you also go away?”

Peter answered, not with a sermon, but with a simple question: “Lord, where else would we go?” He didn’t pretend to understand everything. He didn’t claim to be fearless. But he knew this—no one else held life in their words like Jesus did.

That’s what faith often looks like. Not certainty in every step, but trust in the One we’re walking with. When the road feels long and confusing—when friends drift and doubts come knocking—Jesus doesn’t leave. He stays.

Peter chose to stay too. That’s our choice today. Stay. Not because you understand it all. Stay because you know Who holds it all.

Jesus said, “I am with you always” (Matthew 28). He still is.

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

Our question for today comes from Judges 6:15:

“How can I save Israel?”

When he looked at himself, Gideon didn’t see a warrior. He saw a farmer from a small family, hiding in fear, hoping life would just leave him alone. Then came the call. God tapped him on the shoulder and called him “mighty warrior.”

Mighty? Him?

Gideon’s question makes perfect sense: “How can I save Israel?” Translation: “You’ve got the wrong guy.” But God hadn’t. God never does.

He doesn’t call the ready. He readies the called. He doesn’t scan for the strongest. He looks for the willing. That’s all Gideon had—an unsure heart and a mustard seed of faith. And that was enough.

God said, “I will be with you.” Not “You’ve got this,” but “We’ve got this.” That changes everything. The same God who stood with Gideon stands with you. Maybe you’re staring down a challenge, wondering, “How can I possibly do this?”

You can’t. Not alone. But you’re not alone.

When God is with you, weakness becomes strength, fear becomes courage, and small things become sacred.

So don’t back away. Step forward. Trust His voice more than your fear.

You’ll hear Him whisper: “Mighty warrior, I am with you.”

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

Our question for today comes from John 18:38.

On the most eventful day on earth, Pilate is questioning Jesus before condemning him to the cross. Jesus told Pilate, “I was born and have come into the world, to testify to the truth.” To this Pilate asked the deep question:

“What is truth?”

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It was the right question, but Pilate didn’t wait for the answer. Truth was standing in front of him, robed in humility, but Pilate would not see it. Pilate was the personification of the saying, “There are none so blind as those who will not see.”

X

Though Pilate would not see Him, Jesus is the truth—not just a concept, but truth in person. Truth is a steady hand in a spinning world. In a culture drowning in opinions, truth is not a moving target. Truth is a living Savior.

X

Don’t let a skeptical heart blind you to a Savior who’s right in front of you. Don’t ask the big questions only to walk off before the answer comes. Stay. Listen. Truth doesn’t shout in debates—it whispers through the life of Christ. He’s not just an idea to discuss—He’s the answer every honest heart is searching for.

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

Our question for today comes from Exodus 4:1:

“What if they do not believe me or listen to me?”

In today’s question, we see that even the great Moses wrestled with insecurity. God told him to go to Pharaoh and confront him, but Moses was human—and humans doubt. Even he questioned his own ability.

One fellow once said, “I’m not insecure; I just care a lot about what people who don’t know me think.” That sounds like Moses. He had a case of the “what if they won’t listen.” Eventually, he even asked God to send someone else.

Insecurity is loud. Sometimes, even louder than God’s voice. Moses wanted proof before he obeyed. He wanted assurance before he moved. So God gave him signs—but more than that, He gave Moses His presence. And that’s what we need most, isn’t it? Not just a miracle, but the God of miracles walking with us.

When we ask, “What if they don’t believe me?” God responds, “I’ll be with you.” Let your confidence rest, not in applause or approval, but in the quiet certainty that God stands beside you.

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

The question for today comes from Acts 8:30.

“Do you understand what you are reading?”

The Ethiopian official had the Scripture in his hands, but not in his heart. He needed more than a scroll. He needed a person. So God sent Philip, not to preach a sermon from a stage, but to ask a question to a man in a chariot.

“Do you understand what you’re reading?”

That’s how God still works. He sends people, not to impress with knowledge, but to offer kindness. Not to overwhelm with answers, but to walk alongside. Philip didn’t begin with a lecture. He began with care.

And care opens doors.

Theodore Roosevelt said it well: “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”

Often the best you can do is just be there, really there. It is often the most powerful way to share the gospel. We don’t need degrees to do it. Just ears to listen. Hearts to feel. Time to sit with someone who’s searching.

Maybe someone near you is holding a question they’re too afraid to ask. Don’t underestimate the quiet power of showing up. The gospel still travels best on foot, with a friend by your side.

You can be that friend.

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

Our question for today is Jeremiah 12:1:

“Why do the wicked prosper?”

Jeremiah asked what many of us have whispered in our hearts. He watched those who ignore God and yet succeed. He wondered why. His question wasn’t rebellion; it was honest faith looking for clarity.

Instead of turning bitter, Jeremiah turned to God. That’s what faith does. It doesn’t run from doubt; it brings doubt to the One who understands.

Sometimes life doesn’t seem fair. The wrong people rise. The right people wait. Prayers feel unanswered. Yet even in those moments, we hold to this truth:

“When you can’t see God’s hand at work, you can trust that His heart is still good.”

God’s justice doesn’t always run on our schedule. What seems delayed is not forgotten. God sees the whole story, not just the part we’re living in.

So what should we do? Keep trusting Him. Keep seeking. Keep coming back to the God who hears even the questions we’re afraid to say out loud.

Indeed, you may not see His hand, but you can be sure that His heart is still for you. He is just. He is good. He can be trusted.

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

Today’s question is found in Exodus 5:2.

When Moses tells the Pharaoh what God tells him to do, the Pharaoh responds, 

“Who is the Lord, that I should obey His voice?”

Pharaoh’s question wasn’t curiosity—it was contempt. He didn’t know the Lord, so he didn’t care to listen. For the Pharaoh that was about to change. As each of the ten plagues fell upon Egypt, God would make Himself known through power, justice, and mercy. The Pharaoh would learn that the Lord is not to be ignored. In the end, he realized we cannot ignore the wishes of God. 

This may surprise you, but I think the Pharaoh asked a good question. Unless we know who God is, we will hesitate to obey Him. When what we want to do conflicts with what God tells us to do, we too will say, “Who is the Lord, that I should obey His voice?”

We may never say it so boldly, but our hearts will echo the same question. The answer is, He is the Creator, our Creator and Redeemer. The One who parts seas and softens hearts. 

The better question is—will we trust and obey?

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

Our question for today comes from Exodus 3:11:

“Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh?”

Moses wasn’t being humble. He was being honest. Forty years of desert silence had worn down his confidence. He once thought he could save Israel with his bare hands. Now, all he could do was stare at the sand and stammer, “Who am I?”

It’s a question we know well. We feel the nudge to speak, to serve, to lead… and our first response is often a backward glance. We remember our failures. Our fears. The long stretch of years where nothing seemed to matter. And like Moses, we conclude we’re not the one.

But listen to God’s reply. He didn’t list Moses’ strengths. He didn’t recount a résumé. He simply said, “I will be with you.”

That’s the game-changer. Not who we are—but who goes with us.

God still whispers that promise to stuttering lips and reluctant hearts. He still chooses the weak to carry His strength. The unqualified to show His grace.

You may feel small, hidden, or broken. But God sees more. He sees someone He can use.

So maybe the real question isn’t, “Who am I?” Instead it’s, “Who is with me?”

And the answer to that makes all the difference.

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

The question today comes from Isaiah 1:5:

“Why will you still be struck down? Why will you continue to rebel?”

It’s not the voice of an angry judge—it’s the cry of a loving Father. The kind of voice you hear when someone you love is hurting themselves and won’t stop. Isaiah speaks to a nation spiraling in sin, and God asks the question every parent has asked: “Why do you keep doing what’s hurting you?”

Sin doesn’t just break commandments—it breaks us. It tears at the soul. The path of rebellion isn’t paved with pleasure—it’s lined with pain. God sees His children wounded by their own choices, and His heart aches.

I’ve seen it in others. I’ve seen it in myself. The habits that promised comfort but delivered emptiness. The shortcuts that only made the journey longer. And still, God asks—not with a fist, but with a whisper: “Why?”

He doesn’t ask to shame. He asks to rescue.

If you’ve been walking in circles of regret, hear Him again: “Why keep going?” There’s a better way. A way that leads to peace, not pain.

One last thing to remember, repentance is not when you cry. Repentance is when you change.

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

Our verse for today is Genesis 25:22.

“Why is this happening to me?”

Rebekah’s body was in turmoil, and so was her heart. What should have been a season of joy became a season of wrestling. Something didn’t feel right. So she did what we all do in confusing times—she asked the question: “Why is this happening to me?”

It’s not just a mother’s cry. It’s the cry of the weary, the confused, the broken. It’s the voice of someone caught between promise and pain.

What Rebekah didn’t know was that the struggle inside her was part of something much bigger. Two nations were forming. A divine story was being written. But all she could feel was the discomfort.

Sometimes God’s greatest plans are hidden inside life’s hardest moments. We want answers. He offers presence. We want clarity. He gives us Himself.

Rebekah went to the Lord—and so should we. When the struggle gets loud, let His voice be louder. When you can’t see the end, rest in the One who sees it all.

Your pain might just be the beginning of His purpose.

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

Our verse for today is 1 Kings 19:13.

“Then a voice said to him, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?'”

Elijah had just called down fire from heaven. Faced off with false prophets. Turned a nation back toward God. He was a spiritual giant—until fear whispered louder than his faith. Jezebel’s threat sent him running into the wilderness, then curling up in a cave.

God let him rest. Gave him food. Let him sleep. But eventually, God asked the question.

“What are you doing here, Elijah?”

No thunder. No fire. Just a whisper. A question gentle enough to be heard by a weary heart.

And He asked it twice. Not because Elijah hadn’t answered, but because Elijah hadn’t heard. Not really. His answer was stuck in fear. But God didn’t scold. He stayed. He listened. And then He spoke purpose.

That’s how God works. He doesn’t give up on the discouraged. He draws near. And when we’re ready, He calls us back into the story.

Maybe you’re in a cave of your own. Maybe God is whispering the same question to you: “What are you doing here?”

Not to shame. Not to punish. But to remind you—there’s still life ahead. Still mission. Still purpose.

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

The question in Isaiah 50:2 is haunting. “Why was no one there when I came? Why did no one answer when I called?” When God call them, His people were nowhere to be found—they had stopped listening.

In the same verse, God asks why. Is it because you think I can’t help. “Is my hand too short to redeem you? Or do I lack the strength to deliver you?”

Israel’s absence was not physical. It was spiritual. Their hearts had wandered. They had looked to idols, to alliances with foreign nations, to anything but the God who had always been faithful. His hand was not too short to redeem. His strength had not weakened. Their trust had.

It’s easy to judge them—until we realize we do the same. God calls today, but we’re often too busy or too broken to respond. We scroll and strive, but we don’t stop to listen. We look for strength in ourselves, for comfort in entertainment, for answers in everything but Him.

Still, He calls. Gently. Faithfully. Not to shame, but to restore. Not to accuse, but to awaken. Maybe that’s what He’s doing right now—asking if you’ve drifted. Asking if you’ll return.

Remember, the arm of the Lord is still strong. 

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

Our question for today comes from Isaiah 6:8.

“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?'”

Isaiah 6:8 gives us one of the most beautiful moments in Scripture. After a breathtaking vision of God’s glory, after trembling in the presence of holiness, after being touched by mercy, and after having his sins forgiven, Isaiah heard the question.

“Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”

God didn’t demand. He didn’t draft Isaiah into service. He asked.

It was a question not born out of need, but out of love. God could have thundered commands. Instead, He whispered an invitation.

Isaiah, newly forgiven and freshly awakened, stood up and said, “Here I am. Send me.”

That’s all God needed. A willing heart.

He still asks today. Not just in churches or pulpits—but in coffee shops, office breakrooms, neighborhoods, and nursing homes. He looks for hearts that will say, “Here I am.” Not perfect ones. Not polished ones. Just willing ones.

Is there someone in your life who needs a word of hope? A helping hand? A listening ear? That may be your mission field.

Just listen for the whisper.

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

Our verse for today comes from Ezekiel 37:3.

“He asked me, ‘Son of man, can these bones live?’”

A strange classroom, wouldn’t you say? God brings Ezekiel to a valley littered with bones. Not just dead, but long dead. Dry. Scattered. Forgotten.

And then the question: “Can these bones live?”

God wasn’t looking for a medical opinion. He wasn’t asking for Ezekiel’s logic. He was opening the door of hope. What God asked was impossible—but God was inviting him to believe the impossible.

That’s still how God works. He steps into our valleys. Our broken marriages. Our wandering children. Our ruined plans. He sees the places we’ve written off, and He asks, *“Can life come from here?”*

The right answer isn’t, “I don’t see how.” It’s “You know, Lord.” Because He does. He always has.

When God breathes, dead things rise. When His Spirit moves, graves become gardens.

So, what in your life feels too far gone? Too broken? Too dry?

Hear God’s question. And answer with trust.

“Yes, Lord. These bones can live.”

As Holocaust survivor, Corrie ten Boom  said, “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.”

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

Our question comes from Jonah 4:9.

“But God said to Jonah, ‘Do you have a right to be angry about the vine?'”

Jonah was angry—angry that a plant died. Not angry that a city might perish. Not angry that people had lost their way. He was mad about losing his personal shade.

That’s the heart of this question. It’s not really about the vine. It’s about what matters to you. What makes you angry reveals what you value most. It reveals your heart.

For Jonah, comfort had become more important than compassion. The loss of his personal ease stirred him more than the salvation of 120,000 souls. God wasn’t scolding Jonah—He was shining a light on his misplaced priorities.

Amos 6 paints a similar picture. People lounged on ivory beds, sang songs, and drank wine, but didn’t grieve over the plight of the hungry and lost. Their hearts had grown cold while their comforts grew rich.

So God asks us the same question: What makes you angry? Is it inconvenience or injustice? Personal discomfort or someone else’s suffering?

Maybe it’s time to trade our anger for empathy. To care more about what God cares about.

Ask Him to help you adjust your priorities. To stir your heart, not just when your comfort is lost, but when compassion for others is needed.

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

Our question comes from Genesis 3:11.

“Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?”

Adam and Eve knew they had violated God’s command, and so they did what we are all tempted to do—they tried to hide. When God found them, He asked one of the most tender questions in all of Scripture. Not because of what it asks, but because of who is asking.

God already knew what Adam had done. He didn’t need information. What He wanted was honesty. He wasn’t hurling an accusation—He was opening a door. A door back to relationship. A door to grace.

“Have you?” He asks, not with fire and fury, but with the voice of a Father who loves too much to stay silent. He’s not pointing a finger. He’s reaching out a hand.

We’ve all eaten from that tree, haven’t we? We’ve all crossed lines we shouldn’t have. And like Adam, we hide. Behind excuses. Behind shame. Behind silence. But God still asks.

“Let’s talk about it,” He says. “Let’s bring this into the light. I’m not here to condemn. I’m here to restore.”

Remember, we pray and confess to God, because the One who knows everything still wants to hear it from you.

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

Job had lost everything—his children, his wealth, his health. His heart was broken and his world shattered. Like many of us in suffering, Job wanted answers. He wanted to know why. He wanted to fix things and make things better. Instead of answers, God gave something better: he gave him perspective. He reminded Job that control never belonged to us in the first place.

God does this by asking the question in Job 38:31.

“Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades or loose the cords of Orion?”

In this question, He doesn’t explain suffering. He doesn’t defend Himself. He just asks questions—questions that lift our eyes from the dirt of earth to the dance of the stars. “Job, can you hold the stars in place? Can you command the stars of Pleiades or Orion to walk across the sky?”

Of course not. Job couldn’t. And neither can we.

When life feels like it’s unraveling, like Job we grasp at the strings, trying to pull it all back together. But God’s question invites us to loosen our grip. We can’t bind the stars, and we can’t fix what only He can restore. We can’t fix everything, or sometimes anything. God can. We need only to lean on him and trust that he knows best.

So what are you holding onto today? A fear? A future? A broken piece of your heart?

Let it go. The One who guides the galaxies is more than able to guide you too.

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