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Even when our hearts are as cold and dead as winter, Jesus’ words blow in like an early spring breeze, warm and welcomed through the window, awakening us to himself.

You don’t need to wonder whether he is growing weary of you, whether he is secretly suspicious of you. He is the friend who sympathizes and is moved by our weakness. He is a friend who loves at all times (Pr. 17:17). His loyalty is unwavering, his correction is most tender, and his goodness and love pursue us all the days of our lives.

We read four chapters later, this same Moabite woman is holding a baby. A baby not in the line of destruction but in the line of deliverance. Daring differently changed her destiny.

Death has no victory—the weakness of our fallen state, of our inherited guilt, of our inevitable death is completely undone.

God often uses unseen seasons to mend hidden hurts, destroy veiled beliefs, and remind our hearts of his unfathomable love for us.

The purpose of theology is to warm the heart. Every page of every theology book exists to fan the affections into flame for Christ! My sisters, let us be women of rock-solid doctrine in this generation.

Like Esther, we stand outside the door wondering what he will do, or what he will say. Will he listen? Is he a God of life or of death? Unlike Esther, we are not saved, nor do we save others, because we knock on the door and walk in. We are saved because someone like Esther did.

O Lord, make us like John in the wilderness, with our gaze, hearts, and lives consumed by Jesus, your glorious Son.

May we delight in our Saviour and ever look forward to the day when we will see him face to face. In the meantime, let us rejoice, for he is with us even now.

Eat this bread, for there are no benefits apart from him. He is good: eat of him. He is rich: delight yourself in him. For Christ is the true bread of heaven.