To consider God’s glory, the Bible says He made all the stars and knows them by name.
Let that settle in for a second.
Psalm 147:4 says:
“He determines the number of the stars; he gives to all of them their names.” (Psalm 147:4 ESV).
We nod our heads and whisper “Amen,” but do we really grasp the weight of what this means? How many stars are there, exactly?
Current scientific estimates say there are about 200 sextillion stars in the observable universe.
That’s 200,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.
Two hundred billion trillion.
Or written as 2 × 10²³.
Every one of them—named by God.
We could try to imagine naming that many stars, but even our biggest attempts fall short.
The English language—one of the most expansive in the world—has around 1 million words. That’s including every technical term, archaic phrase, and obscure entry in the Oxford English Dictionary.
So if we gave every English word its own star, we’d still be short by 199,999,999,999,999,999,000,000 stars.
Even if we gathered all words in all languages—from the 7,000 or so spoken tongues on Earth—and gave each language an imaginary total of 1 million words, we’d only have 7 billion words.
That still wouldn’t be enough.
In fact, we’d fall short by about 28 trillion times.
We don’t even have enough words in all human tongues combined to name the stars that God has already named.
So what does this tell us?
It tells us that God’s knowledge and power are not measured in our terms.
He doesn’t run out of memory.
He doesn’t lose track.
And He doesn’t forget.
Isaiah 40 reminds us:
“Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these?
He who brings out their host by number, calling them all by name,
by the greatness of his might, and because he is strong in power
not one is missing.” (Isaiah 40:26 ESV).
Not one is missing.
Not from His universe.
And not from His care.
He knows the names of stars no telescope has ever seen.
And He knows yours.
Yours, and mine.
When we feel forgotten, ignored, or unseen—remember:
The God who cannot run out of names
Has already spoken ours in love.
We’re not lost in the crowd.
We are seen.
We are named.
We are known.
And that, my friend, is glory beyond words.
I’m in the book of Job in my daily Bible reading. As a father, I love the way the book starts off, especially coming off of Father’s Day.
We focus on his tremendous wealth, but listen to what this father did for his children:
“His sons used to go and hold a feast in the house of each one on his day, and they would send and invite their three sisters to eat and drink with them.
And when the days of the feast had run their course, Job would send and consecrate them, and he would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all. For Job said, ‘It may be that my children have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts.’ Thus Job did continually.” (Job 1:4–5 ESV).
That last line gets me every time: “Thus Job did continually.”
This was his habit. His reflex. His rhythm.
It wasn’t just a father checking a box—it was a man walking with God and carrying his children with him into every conversation with the Lord.
Fathers, we know this feeling, don’t we?
How many prayers have we whispered into the darkness, asking God to protect our children’s minds and hearts? How many times have we bowed our heads over our meals, and then lifted up thanks for our children’s meals too—whether they’re sitting beside us at the table or living thousands of miles away?
That’s what Job did.
And it’s what we’re invited to do as fathers who walk with Jesus.
You may be traveling for work. You may navigate distance, disagreements, or the long silence of an unanswered prayer. But when your heart walks with God, your children are never far from your prayers.
Job offered sacrifices on their behalf.
We lift up the incense of our prayers daily on theirs.
And just like Job, we do it continually.
How filled with the Spirit would we be if we converted the time we spent in our mindless social scrolling media to reading God’s Word!
One of my favorite books in the Bible is the book of Esther. We see an ordinary person used by God to accomplish extraordinary things—and God’s name isn’t even mentioned in the entire book. But His fingerprints are everywhere.
Esther wasn’t raised in royalty. She didn’t grow up in a palace. She came from humble roots, a Jewish orphan living in a foreign land under Persian rule. And even though she wore the crown, she must have known how fragile that crown could be. The last queen—Vashti—was dismissed at a whim. Esther may have been queen, but she was still replaceable.
So when the moment came to speak up and save her people, I don’t think she entered the king’s presence with unshakable confidence. I think she stepped forward with trembling faith and a thousand unknowns swirling in her heart.
And maybe that’s what makes her so relatable.
She had a plan. She invited the king—and Haman, the very man plotting her people’s destruction—to a private banquet. This was her moment. A chance to speak. A moment that could change everything.
But when the moment came… she paused.
The king asked what she wanted. He offered her up to half his kingdom.
And she said, Come back tomorrow, and I’ll tell you.
Was she intimidated? Possibly. Haman wasn’t just powerful—he was dangerous. And he was sitting right there next to the king. Maybe the words caught in her throat. Maybe fear pressed in. Maybe she just wasn’t ready.
How many times have we done the same?
We pray for courage. We build up resolve. We make the plan.
But when the moment arrives… we freeze.
We stall.
We say, Come back tomorrow.
And that’s not failure. That’s human.
Sometimes we need a second breath. A second prayer. A second step. Esther had an entire nation praying for her, and still—she needed another night before she could follow through.
But the next night came.
The second dinner came.
And so did the courage.
She spoke. She exposed Haman’s plot. And God used her voice to save an entire people.
Esther didn’t walk into that throne room without fear. She walked in despite it.
And maybe that’s what real faith looks like—not the absence of fear, but obedience in the face of it.
Sometimes we set up two dinners, too. Sometimes we need to pause, to pray, to gather our courage before we speak the hard truth or do the bold thing God is calling us to do.
And that’s okay.
It’s not our hesitation that defines our faith—it’s the step we eventually take anyway, trusting that God will meet us there.
You’re not stuck—you’re being shaped.
In my daily Bible reading, I just finished the book of Job. What an amazing, sobering journey. Job and his friends wrestle with the same haunting questions we still ask today: Why do we suffer? And what part does a sovereign, all-powerful God play in that suffering?
It’s one thing to ask these questions when life is smooth. But when we’re in the valley—when we’re gasping for breath and everything feels out of control—they take on a weight that can shake our faith to its core.
By the end of the book, one truth becomes clear: everyone except the young man Elihu got it wrong.
Elihu, with wisdom well beyond his years, stands alone in defending God before Job and his three friends. And while God rebukes the others for speaking wrongly about Him, Elihu alone escapes God’s wrath.
God never tells Job why he suffered. But He does make one thing very clear—His ways are not our ways, and His wisdom is far beyond ours.
“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding.” (Job 38:4 ESV)
Those words still echo today. Because when we demand answers from God as though He owes us something, we forget who He is—and who we are.
We may not always understand why we suffer. But we can be sure it’s not because God is unfair, unloving, or uninvolved. That’s never the reason. Suffering is part of living in a broken world marred by sin. But even in our pain, our faith leads us—not to accusation—but to submission.
Like Jesus in Gethsemane, we learn to say:
“Nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.” (Matthew 26:39 ESV)
In my book The Sovereignty of God, I explore the story of Job and his friends in great detail. I dig into the hard questions we all face—and show how we might be guilty of the very same missteps that provoked God’s anger against Job’s friends.
But the lesson we walk away with is the same one that has echoed across the ages:
God is sovereign. He reigns over creation, over our lives, over our suffering. And even when we don’t get the answers we’re looking for, we can trust the One who holds the answers in His hands.
The book of Job may not always lessen our pain—but it will help us walk through it in a way that honors God, if we let it.
I am in Isaiah in my daily Bible reading.
The opening chapters are full of bold confrontation—God, through His prophet, calling out the rebellion, hypocrisy, and idolatry of His people. Isaiah never flinched. He didn’t soften the truth or angle his message to gain approval. He stood before kings and crowds and said what needed to be said—even when no one wanted to hear it.
And it made me wonder: how did a man like that finish his race?
The Bible never tells us how Isaiah died. We’re left with no final scene, no closing chapter, no record of his last words. But Jewish tradition, in a work called The Martyrdom of Isaiah, fills in the gap. It tells the story of an aging prophet during the dark reign of King Manasseh—the son of Hezekiah—who violently opposed everything Isaiah had lived for. The story goes that Isaiah fled from the king, but was eventually captured and sentenced to a brutal death. They sawed him in two, the account says. With a wooden saw.
We can’t prove that’s exactly how it happened. But the tradition was well known by the early Jews—and it lingered into the New Testament church. When the writer of Hebrews lists the unnamed heroes of faith, he includes this chilling line:
“They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword…” (Hebrews 11:37 ESV).
It’s not hard to imagine who the original readers thought of in that moment. The prophet who stood his ground when others bowed. The one who proclaimed the holiness of God in chapter six, and lived that holiness through every season of his calling.
Now again, to be clear—Scripture doesn’t confirm this account. We don’t base our faith on stories outside the Word. But we can recognize that this tradition likely reflects the same memory and history that ancient Jews and early Jewish Christians carried with them when they heard about someone being sawn in two. For them, Isaiah wasn’t just a prophet with powerful words. He was a man who lived and died with total devotion to God.
And that leads us here:
What’s worth dying for?
Most of us won’t face a saw. We won’t have to run from kings or hide in caves. But we’ll still face choices that test our loyalty to God. Some moments will ask us to speak up when it would be easier to stay quiet. Others will call us to stand firm when the crowd moves the other way. And every day, in the ordinary corners of our lives, we get to decide whether we’ll follow the God who called us—even if it costs us something.
Isaiah reminds us: God doesn’t just want our words. He wants our witness. And the most powerful witness is the one that remains faithful all the way to the end—whatever that end may be.
Let’s live with that kind of courage.
Not only do we choose to let sin and blasphemy into our homes through our TV, more times than not, we pay for it.
The enemy was everywhere.
Philistines swarmed the land like locusts—armed to the teeth, bold in their numbers, camped on the high ground of Michmash. The Israelites had barely any swords left. Many had scattered. And King Saul? He was under a pomegranate tree… waiting.
But not Jonathan.
He turned to his armor-bearer and whispered a daring plan. No reinforcements. No signs from heaven. Just a hope.
“Come, let us go over to the garrison… it may be that the Lord will work for us…” (1 Samuel 14:6 ESV).
That’s it. No guarantee. Just “it may be.”
It’s what happened next that still catches our breath.
“Do all that is in your heart. Do as you wish. Behold, I am with you heart and soul.” (1 Samuel 14:7 ESV).
Those words might sound noble on paper. But they came at the foot of a climb… toward enemy spears… with death waiting at the top.
And this nameless armor-bearer didn’t flinch.
Now, pause the story for a second—because this is where we enter it.
What happens when we hear Jesus call us into something hard?
When He asks us to forgive someone who cut deep.
Or serve when no one notices.
Or walk away from something comfortable to follow Him somewhere costly.
Don’t we feel the same tightening in our chest?
The same pull to pause, to second-guess?
We wonder:
What if this ruins everything?
What if I’m left alone?
What if I obey and it doesn’t go the way I hoped?
What if I give everything—and it still hurts?
These are the moments when our fear preaches louder than our faith. When our flesh begs for security. When our hearts whisper, “Is this really worth it?”
And yet… that’s where the armor-bearer’s words become more than just ancient dialogue. They become the posture of a heart fully given to the King.
Not fearless.
But willing.
Not certain of the outcome.
But confident in the One who leads.
Because trust doesn’t mean we don’t feel the fear.
It means we follow anyway.
And submission doesn’t mean we love the risk.
It means we’ve already settled who the King is—and what He’s worthy of.
So here’s the question we must ask:
When Jesus turns to us with a hard path, will we reach for safety… or say to Him:
“Do all that is in Your heart. I am with You, heart and soul.”
Not because we’ve mapped the road.
Not because it’ll be easy.
But because we trust Him more than we trust our comfort.
In the end, the armor-bearer didn’t follow Jonathan because he liked the odds.
He followed because he knew the heart of the one who was leading.
So let’s be that kind of follower.
Let’s be those heart-and-soul disciples.
Let’s rise to the moment—and go with King Jesus, no matter the hill we must climb.
I am in the book of Isaiah in my daily Bible reading. What an amazing life and service this prophet had. He is one of the most revered prophets among the three great religions of the earth today. Yet, he speaks of the coming Messiah, Jesus, like few others.
“Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14 ESV)
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6 ESV)
“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief… But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities… and with his wounds we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:3-5 ESV)
The details of the coming of King Jesus are stunning in their precision and powerful in their message. Yet, only those who bend the knee to King Jesus recognize these passages as speaking of Him—though He is the only possible fulfillment.
God didn’t give these prophecies in a vague way that could be claimed by many. He gave them with specificity. With intention. With the kind of detail that narrows it down to one person—and one only.
Only Jesus could be the One whom Isaiah speaks of.
And woven throughout these prophecies is the firm reminder that our God is sovereign. No nation will continue in its evil forever. No empire will go unchecked. No ruler will rise above the throne of Heaven.
This is the God Isaiah saw—and the God we serve.
Listen to how the Spirit speaks of the Lord’s judgment in Isaiah 24:
“Behold, the Lord will empty the earth and make it desolate,
and he will twist its surface and scatter its inhabitants.” (Isaiah 24:1 ESV)
“The earth shall be utterly empty and utterly plundered;
for the Lord has spoken this word.” (Isaiah 24:3 ESV)
“The earth lies defiled under its inhabitants;
for they have transgressed the laws, violated the statutes,
broken the everlasting covenant.
Therefore a curse devours the earth,
and its inhabitants suffer for their guilt…” (Isaiah 24:5-6a ESV)
“They lift up their voices, they sing for joy;
over the majesty of the Lord they shout from the west.
Therefore, in the east give glory to the Lord;
in the coastlands of the sea, give glory to the name of the Lord, the God of Israel.” (Isaiah 24:14-15 ESV)
There is judgment. But there is glory. There is desolation. But there is also majesty. There is ruin. But there is hope.
And through it all, we see the hand of the Lord—executing justice, preserving the remnant, and making way for the King.
We can put our trust in King Jesus today because He wasn’t an accident of history. His coming was foretold by the only Being powerful enough to speak prophetic words, fulfill them, and render judgment at His leisure.
Isaiah is a powerful testimony as to why we should bend the knee to King Jesus today.