JUNE 12, 2025

   “Just 'cause I'm leavin'

It don't mean that I won't be right by your side

When you need me

And you can't see me in the middle of the night

Just close your eyes and say a prayer

It's okay, I know you're scared when I'm not here

But I'll always be right there

Even though I'm leavin', I ain't goin' nowhere” 

Luke Combs

EZRA 1-2

68When they arrived at the house of the Lord in Jerusalem, some of the heads of the families gave freewill offerings toward the rebuilding of the house of God on its site. 69According to their ability they gave to the treasury for this work 61,000 darics^b of gold, 5,000 minas^c of silver and 100 priestly garments.

70The priests, the Levites, the musicians, the gatekeepers and the temple servants settled in their own towns, along with some of the other people, and the rest of the Israelites settled in their towns. (2:68-70)

JOHN 19:23-42

25Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 26When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman,^b here is your son,” 27and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.

JOURNAL 

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about the promise in that Luke Combs lyric:
“Even though I’m leavin’, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Just like the moment at the foot of the cross in John 19:25–27 - when Jesus, in the middle of his suffering, made sure his mother wasn’t left alone. Even in excruciating pain, he looked down and said, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” It wasn’t just about providing a place for Mary to stay- it was a sacred reminder: even in loss, we are never abandoned. Even though he was leaving, he wasn’t going anywhere.

I’ve always struggled with the fear of being left behind or forgotten. It’s that deep, almost primal fear of being truly alone. Historically, isolation meant vulnerability, danger, maybe even death. And maybe that’s why, deep in our wiring, we long for someone to say: I’m still here. I won’t let go.

The truth is, we were made for connection. For family. For community. And God, from the beginning, has woven that into the story. When the exiles returned in Ezra 2:68–70, their first instinct wasn’t to build personal homes, it was to restore the house of God. Together, they gave according to their ability; gold, silver, garments, not out of duty, but out of deep gratitude. They settled not just physically, but spiritually. Side by side. Tribe by tribe. Family by family.

They weren’t alone anymore.

And neither are we.

The cross looked like an epic failure. The end of hope. The death of a movement. To those standing there, it had to feel like the last page of a story written in tragedy. But in reality, it was the beginning of everything. The brokenness became beauty. The silence birthed the promise. What felt like abandonment was actually rescue.

God doesn’t just show up in our strength, He meets us in our most fragile, fearful moments. And He turns them into something redemptive. Something holy.

That’s why 2 Corinthians 9:8 echoes so loudly in this moment:
“And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”

Even when we feel like we’re at the end, when we’re hanging by a thread, God is not done. He provides. He multiplies. He restores.

So today, I rest in this truth: Even though I may not see Him, I am not alone. Even if I can’t feel Him in the moment, I can trust His presence is closer than breath.

He left, so He could stay with us forever.

And that changes everything!

 8And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.

2 CORINTHIANS 9:8