There are moments in life when we feel like a dead tree stump—cut down, lifeless, left behind. Maybe life didn’t turn out the way we hoped. Maybe we’ve made choices we regret. Or maybe we’re walking through seasons of suffering that have left us feeling empty, forgotten, and wondering if God has a plan for us anymore.
And it’s in those moments that we need to remember one of the most beautiful titles ever given to Jesus: the Root of Jesse.
Isaiah writes:
“There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.” (Isaiah 11:1 ESV).
What a picture. Not a mighty tree. Not a thriving kingdom. A stump—cut off, dead, finished. And yet, from that stump, God says a new shoot will grow. Life will come from what looks like death. Hope will spring out of hopelessness.
But here’s what really strikes me: why does God say Jesse? Why not David? After all, David is the famous king, the man after God’s own heart. Wouldn’t it make more sense to say that a shoot will come from David’s line?
I think God is telling us something very personal and very powerful.
Jesse was just a regular man from Bethlehem. When Samuel came looking to anoint one of his sons as king, Jesse didn’t even bother to call David in from the fields. David was so unlikely in the eyes of men that his own father left him out (1 Samuel 16:11).
By pointing to Jesse, God is reaching back to the humble beginnings—before the glory days, before the kingdom, before David. It’s like God is saying, “I bring life out of nothing. I raise up the lowly. I work My greatest plans through the forgotten and the overlooked.”
And isn’t that what Jesus is?
When Jesus came, He didn’t come as a conquering king in a palace. He was born in a stable, to a poor family, in a town no one thought mattered. He didn’t rise up through the ranks of human power—He came as a servant. And yet, from Him, the true King, the Messiah, the Savior of the world, was revealed.
Paul writes in Philippians:
“who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped,
but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.” (Philippians 2:6-7 ESV).
That is our King, the Root of Jesse.
But there’s more.
Isaiah also says:
“In that day the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples--of him shall the nations inquire, and his resting place shall be glorious.” (Isaiah 11:10 ESV).
Jesus, as the Root of Jesse, isn’t just for Israel. He is for all nations. He is a banner for all peoples. The One who comes from humble beginnings is the One who brings salvation to the entire world.
And if Jesus is the Root of Jesse, then there is hope for us—because no matter how broken, how forgotten, how small our lives may feel, God brings life from stumps.
Maybe today, we feel like the tree has been cut down. Maybe sin has left us in pieces. Maybe the trials of life have worn us down to nothing. But if God can bring Jesus from the stump of Jesse, then God can bring new life out of us too.
God doesn’t need our strength. He doesn’t need our success. He doesn’t need us to be mighty oaks. All He needs is a heart that turns to Him—because He is the one who makes the shoot grow out of the stump.
Zechariah reminds us:
“Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the LORD of hosts.” (Zechariah 4:6 ESV).
So if today we feel like we’ve been cut down, remember Jesus, the Root of Jesse. He is proof that God works miracles in unlikely places. He is proof that God exalts the humble. He is proof that God keeps His promises even when everything looks dead and lost.
And because of Jesus, our story is not over.
We serve a King who comes from stumps. A King who makes dead things live. A King who gives hope to the hopeless.
Maybe today, the simple prayer we need to pray is, “Lord, let new life grow from my stump. Let Jesus, the Root of Jesse, bring hope into my life again.”
And the beautiful truth is—He will.
I am in the book of Genesis in my daily Bible reading. Today, chapter 18 has me thinking about Abraham’s remarkable conversation with God about the city of Sodom.
We often reflect on this scene and conclude Abraham was mainly thinking about his nephew, Lot. Surely, Lot’s safety was a key concern. Yet, if this were Abraham’s only worry, wouldn’t it have been simpler for him to just ask God directly, “Please let Lot escape unharmed”?
But Abraham didn’t do that. Instead, he approached God boldly, carefully negotiating down the number of righteous people needed to spare the whole city—from fifty all the way to just ten.
“So the men turned from there and went toward Sodom, but Abraham still stood before the LORD.
Then Abraham drew near and said, ‘Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?
Suppose there are fifty righteous within the city. Will you then sweep away the place and not spare it for the fifty righteous who are in it?’” (Genesis 18:22-24 ESV).
Abraham continued bargaining until God agreed to spare the city if only ten righteous souls could be found there. Think about this for a moment: Abraham didn’t negotiate just for his family. He negotiated for an entire city—knowing full well how wicked it was.
Why?
Maybe Abraham had a genuine heart for the lost people around him, even those steeped in wickedness. Perhaps he genuinely desired mercy for souls that didn’t yet understand the severity of their condition.
This challenges us deeply, doesn’t it? As followers of Jesus, shouldn’t we share Abraham’s heart for the lost souls around us? It’s tempting to look at the darkness in this world and feel some quiet satisfaction that wicked people might “get what’s coming to them.” Jonah felt that way about the people of Nineveh, but this attitude isn’t what God desires from us.
Instead, we’re called to love—even when it’s difficult—remembering that every person around us bears God’s image. Our role is to be a beacon, shining the hopeful and transforming light of Jesus into the very darkest places.
As we reflect honestly, let’s ask ourselves this: would we intercede earnestly, as Abraham did, for the souls of people we know to be wicked, or would we turn away in silence, thinking they deserve whatever comes?
Abraham truly earns his name as the father of the faithful, teaching us by example how deep, selfless compassion for the lost should look in our own lives.
My friend Benjamin Lee sent me a text early this morning:
“Those who make $34,000 a year puts them in the top 1% of the WORLD. We’re richer than we think.
1 Timothy 6:17-19”
I replied back to him:
“Yes. It’s harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. We always think someone else is the rich man, but there are many more rich men than we’d like to admit, including ourselves.”
It’s easy to think that living in one of the most prosperous countries in the world makes it simpler to follow Jesus. But the truth may be the opposite. Our wealth grants us access to nearly every sin imaginable. In the privacy of our homes, we can pursue whatever our hearts desire. What we often see as blessings—our freedom, comfort, and affluence—may instead be serious spiritual obstacles.
Jesus said to the church at Laodicea:
“For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.” (Revelation 3:17 ESV).
Is it possible that our comfort and prosperity have quietly made us lukewarm followers of Jesus—neither fully committed nor entirely distant, but spiritually numb? If so, we’re warned clearly: Jesus finds lukewarmness repulsive. He tells us plainly that such complacency makes Him want to spit us out of His mouth.
Let’s take a serious look inward today, together. Are we letting our wealth become our weakness?
Part of walking with Jesus is not treating others badly.
But it’s also asking them for forgiveness when we do.
I’m in the book of Genesis in my daily Bible reading, and chapter 23 tells us about the death of Sarah. Sarah was a strong-willed and influential mother. It was her insistence that led Abraham to send Ishmael away. Yet despite her flaws, she was a godly woman, remembered as a hero of faith in Hebrews.
What catches my attention is that Abraham waited until Sarah passed away before finding a wife for their son, Isaac. When he finally does, Genesis 24 reveals that Abraham chooses a wife from among his own people.
Rebekah, Isaac’s new bride, is the granddaughter of Nahor—Abraham and Sarah’s brother. This ensured the family bloodline continued through her.
But family traits can run deep, can’t they? Rebekah, just like Sarah before her, showed her own headstrong nature. She was determined enough to devise a plan to secure the blessing for her younger son, Jacob, instead of the older son, Esau.
Family tendencies are powerful, and they often repeat from one generation to another—sometimes as blessings, sometimes as struggles. Yet, even with these powerful influences, we aren’t trapped by our genetics or family culture. As people made in the image of God, we have the freedom and responsibility to rise above these inherited patterns.
Knowing our family’s strengths and weaknesses can make us wiser. It allows us to watch carefully for signs of trouble in our children and grandchildren. And just as importantly, it helps us nurture the good traits we see, encouraging them toward godliness.
Family weaknesses don’t have to define us, and family strengths don’t automatically guarantee success. But as parents and grandparents, when we’re honest about our family history, we can better guide the next generation into a closer walk with God.
Do we truly believe God would rather we take away the noise of our songs to Him if we do not live a godly life Monday through Saturday, as Amos told the people of his day? Are we so deluded that we can convince ourselves, like the Israelites did, that we can throw God a bone of worship one day a week to satisfy Him and then He will ignore the willful way we live our lives?
“I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.
Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the peace offerings of your fattened animals, I will not look upon them.
Take away from me the noise of your songs; to the melody of your harps I will not listen.
But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:21-24 ESV).
Is this how little respect we have for the sovereign God Almighty; the Creator; the great I AM? I fear that sometimes I think the same way the Israelites thought in the days of Amos. I fear that sometimes I can soothe my conscience by peddling my worship to God and feel vindicated before Him when I turn toward my own way in my life.
Amos teaches me that God does indeed want me to worship Him, but He wants me to worship Him as an obedient believer who submits my life wholly to Him. Offering worship is no “get out of jail free” card we can expect to get from God.
Amos teaches me something about God. The prophet teaches me that God cannot be mocked or placated, manipulated into accepting me and my sinful life by offering Him a few trinkets of worship that He will greedily devour so that I might live unto myself and follow my own way.
We treat God as an idol when we live this way toward Him.
I’m continuing my journey through the book of Genesis in my daily Bible reading. A few posts ago, we considered that Joseph was only 17 years old when he was betrayed and sold into slavery by his own brothers. Reuben, the oldest, was likely around 23, while the others fell between 18 and 22 years old. They were all young men—still very much boys.
Before their jealousy toward Joseph boiled over, these brothers had already revealed their callous hearts. Earlier, driven by vengeance, they plotted against the men of Shechem and slaughtered them. It’s shocking to think of such violence from boys barely into adulthood.
So when Joseph approached them as they tended the sheep, it’s no wonder their hearts quickly turned to evil thoughts again. Genesis tells us exactly how it happened:
“They saw him from afar, and before he came near to them they conspired against him to kill him.
They said to one another, ‘Here comes this dreamer.
Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits. Then we will say that a fierce animal has devoured him, and we will see what will become of his dreams.’” (Genesis 37:18-20 ESV).
The troubling truth is these young men were already comfortable with violence. They had learned to silence their consciences at a young age. It was only many years later, in maturity and under God’s discipline, that they finally felt remorse for the sins of their youth.
Yet those youthful sins brought lasting pain, heartbreak, and regret. Their decisions didn’t just impact their own lives, but deeply wounded their entire family.
As we reflect on their story, may we all—especially the younger among us—commit to drawing closer to Jesus. And those of us who have matured, let’s lovingly guide the next generation, reminding them gently yet firmly that decisions made today can echo painfully into tomorrow when we choose to disregard God and His Word.
Once you truly grasp the sovereignty of God, your question changes from,
“How much can I do before I sin?”
To
“How much more can I do to glorify You?”
I believe there are good people in the world;
but after watching some terrible news stories, I’m beginning to believe that there are more and more people whose every intention of the thoughts of their hearts is only evil continually.