“We often miss opportunity because it's dressed in overalls and looks like work”
1 KINGS 6-7
51When all the work King Solomon had done for the temple of the Lord was finished, he brought in the things his father David had dedicated—the silver and gold and the furnishings—and he placed them in the treasuries of the Lord’s temple.(7:51)
JOURNAL
Solomon finished the temple—a masterpiece crafted with devotion, detail, and great cost. What began with David’s vision was brought to completion by Solomon’s obedience. The temple was filled with treasures set aside for God—gold, silver, fine furnishings—all devoted, all holy. It was the culmination of sacrifice and faithfulness, a physical space where heaven and earth would meet.
But centuries later, heaven and earth would meet again—this time not in a building, but on a hill called Golgotha.
Jesus, the true temple (John 2:21), was nailed to a cross between two criminals. He was stripped, mocked, and left to die. Instead of being surrounded by gold and priests, He was surrounded by sneers and soldiers. Yet even there, Jesus did what Solomon could not: He became the offering. The temple required gifts; Jesus gave Himself.
His entire life was lived in service and love—never in selfishness. And this, I confess, is where His life confronts mine. While Jesus gave everything, I often find myself pulling back. Retreating. I avoid discomfort. I look for ways around the struggles of honesty, love, and hard work. At its core, sin is often a step backward—a refusal to press into the challenges of obedience and truth.
But Jesus doesn’t confront me to shame me. He confronts me to free me.
The cross reveals not just my sin, but His mercy. Jesus looked at those who crucified Him and said, “Father, forgive them.” That same mercy reaches me. And with it comes a promise: “God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7).
Through Christ, I’m invited to stop running and start building—just like Solomon did. Only now, the temple is my heart. I can offer the ordinary pieces of my day—my honesty, my work, my presence—as sacred acts of worship.
Joy isn’t found in escape. It’s not hidden in the next big moment. It’s here—in the now. In choosing love over selfishness, service over comfort, and truth over convenience.
Today is a new altar. Will I place my best on it?
Solomon finished the temple—a masterpiece crafted with devotion, detail, and great cost. What began with David’s vision was brought to completion by Solomon’s obedience. The temple was filled with treasures set aside for God—gold, silver, fine furnishings—all devoted, all holy. It was the culmination of sacrifice and faithfulness, a physical space where heaven and earth would meet.
But centuries later, heaven and earth would meet again—this time not in a building, but on a hill called Golgotha.
Jesus, the true temple (John 2:21), was nailed to a cross between two criminals. He was stripped, mocked, and left to die. Instead of being surrounded by gold and priests, He was surrounded by sneers and soldiers. Yet even there, Jesus did what Solomon could not: He became the offering. The temple required gifts; Jesus gave Himself.
His entire life was lived in service and love—never in selfishness. And this, I confess, is where His life confronts mine. While Jesus gave everything, I often find myself pulling back. Retreating. I avoid discomfort. I look for ways around the struggles of honesty, love, and hard work. At its core, sin is often a step backward—a refusal to press into the challenges of obedience and truth.
But Jesus doesn’t confront me to shame me. He confronts me to free me.
The cross reveals not just my sin, but His mercy. Jesus looked at those who crucified Him and said, “Father, forgive them.” That same mercy reaches me. And with it comes a promise: “God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7).
Through Christ, I’m invited to stop running and start building—just like Solomon did. Only now, the temple is my heart. I can offer the ordinary pieces of my day—my honesty, my work, my presence—as sacred acts of worship.
Joy isn’t found in escape. It’s not hidden in the next big moment. It’s here—in the now. In choosing love over selfishness, service over comfort, and truth over convenience.
Today is a new altar. Will I place my best on it?
COLOSSIANS 3:22-24
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