“The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.” – John 10:10

Jesus once told Nicodemus in John 3:3, “…unless you are born again, you cannot see the Kingdom of God.” If He were speaking to many modern Christians today, He might say something just as unsettling: You must be bored again.

When you first read the phrase “You must be bored again,” your natural reaction is probably, Huh?—because boredom is not something we associate with spiritual growth.  We equate faith with excitement, passion, and a sense of constant movement, not repetition. We do not dislike the mundane because it lacks meaning; we dislike it because it refuses to entertain us. We resist boredom because it confronts our expectations of God. We often want Him to be dramatic, surprising, and emotionally affirming. When He works slowly—through routine prayers, ordinary work, and repeated obedience—it feels like something is missing.

The Bible has no shortage of repetition. Israel gathered manna every morning—same food, same instructions, same dependence. The Psalms repeatedly rehearse the same truths. Jesus taught His disciples to pray the same words daily. Even spiritual maturity itself is described not as intensity, but as endurance.

Boredom exposes whether we are following God for the experience or for God Himself. Anyone can worship when they feel inspired. Anyone can pray when answers come quickly. But boredom invites a quieter obedience—the kind that keeps kneeling when heaven feels silent and keeps loving when nothing feels dramatic. What remains is simple faithfulness: praying because God is worthy, not because it feels powerful; obeying because He is Lord, not because it feels rewarding.

Being bored again also teaches patience with God’s pace. We live in a culture of instant results and constant updates. God, however, seems committed to slow formation. He grows fruit in seasons, not moments. Much of what He does in us happens beneath the surface, invisible and unspectacular.  It is a declaration that God’s presence is independent of our emotional state.

When Jesus speaks of new life, He does not promise constant exhilaration. He promises abiding—remaining, staying, continuing. That kind of life requires us to be bored again and again, without abandoning trust. It asks us to believe that God is just as present on the thousandth ordinary day as He was in the first moment of wonder.

Perhaps boredom is not a signal to escape, but a call to stay. To keep praying. To keep loving. To keep showing up. And to trust that the God who formed galaxies is also forming us—slowly, quietly, faithfully—one ordinary day at a time.

You must be bored again—not because God has gone silent, but because He is teaching you to listen more deeply.

 Discussion Questions:

1. What do you tend to assume about God’s presence or activity when your spiritual life feels routine or boring, and how might those assumptions reveal where your trust actually lies?
2. In what ways might boredom be forming you spiritually rather than hindering you, and what practices could help you remain faithful when growth feels invisible?
3. Where in your life are you tempted to seek novelty or intensity instead of consistency, and how might choosing steady obedience reshape your understanding of faithfulness?

“Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” – Philippians 2:12-13 (ESV).

Few struggles are as common—and as quietly discouraging—as lost motivation in the Christian life. We begin with passion, resolve, and good intentions, yet somewhere between the altar call and ordinary Tuesday, our energy fades. Paul’s words in Philippians 2:12–13 meet us precisely in that tension, offering a vision of unlimited motivation that does not depend on personality, discipline, or emotional momentum, but on God’s active presence within us.

Paul exhorts believers to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” At first glance, this sounds demanding—even exhausting. The phrase “work out” implies effort, intentionality, and perseverance. Paul does not sugarcoat the Christian life. Following Christ requires obedience, resistance to sin, and faithfulness over time. Growth is not accidental; it requires motivation.

Yet Paul immediately anchors this command in grace: “For it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” This single sentence transforms effort from burden to partnership. Paul is not calling believers to manufacture motivation from sheer willpower. He is calling them to respond to a God who is already at work within them.

The phrase “work out what God is working in” captures the heart of Paul’s teaching. God initiates. God empowers. God sustains. Our role is not to replace God’s work with our own, nor to sit passively and wait for change to happen. Instead, we actively cooperate with what God is already doing in us.

This is where unlimited motivation becomes possible. Human motivation is finite. It rises and falls with circumstances, emotions, and energy levels. God’s motivation, however, does not run dry. Paul teaches that God works in us at two crucial levels: desire (“to will”) and action (“to work”). When we lack the desire to pray, obey, forgive, or persevere, God is still at work shaping our hearts. When we lack the strength to follow through, God is still supplying power.  If God is working in us, then we are never operating alone.

Unlimited motivation does not mean endless enthusiasm or flawless consistency. It means we are never disconnected from the source of renewal. When motivation falters, we do not quit—we return. We pray not only for strength, but for desire. We show up not because we feel powerful, but because God is faithful.

Paul’s message in Philippians 2:12–13 is deeply hopeful. You are not stuck with limited motivation. You are not dependent on your own strength. God is at work in you—shaping your desires, empowering your obedience, and guiding you toward His good purposes. Our calling is simple, though not easy: keep working out what God, in His unfailing grace, is faithfully working in.

Discussion Questions:

1. What does “working out what God is working in” look like in your daily life, and where do you find that most challenging?
2. How does knowing that God shapes both our desires and our actions change the way you approach obedience, discipline, or spiritual fatigue?
3. Where might you be relying on pressure, guilt, or self-effort for motivation instead of trusting God’s ongoing work within you?

“Wow, I can’t believe the year is over already. I didn’t accomplish half of what I planned, I’m not sure where the time went, and I’m ending the year older, tireder, and slightly more confused than I started. Next year will definitely be better—because I say that every year, and one of these times it has to be true.” – Northstar Nate (Nate is a fictitious persona—a composite representing the everyday experiences of an average member of Northstar Church. This character is not a real person, but their story is meant to help illustrate spiritual truths and encourage reflection on your own faith journey).

“I can’t believe another year has passed. I tried to savor moments,” said Nate, a regular attender of Northstar, “but my ‘moments’ were swallowed whole by what some experts are calling the ‘temporal blur phenomenon.’ Scientists have yet to explain how January can both exist and not exist simultaneously.”

Nate stared at his calendar with the quiet suspicion that someone had been flipping pages without telling him. The year didn’t pass—it sprinted, tripped, got up, and kept running. January arrived confidently. February waved briefly and left. Easter showed up right on time, and then immediately turned into “Wasn’t it just Easter?” By the time Nate finished asking that question, Christmas music was already playing in the background at Target. The calendar used to turn pages. Now it just refreshes.“My resolutions didn’t get a chance to start before the year ended, ” Nate said. 

Just yesterday it was January 2025—full of resolutions, spiritual enthusiasm, and a dangerously optimistic Bible-reading plan. Today, it was somehow the end of the year, and Nate was pretty sure he had skipped at least four months without consent.  

Scripture, of course, had warned him. “Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.” (James 4:14). Nate didn’t remember signing up to be a fog, but here he was—evaporating between meetings, meals, and mildly productive evenings. 

What surprised Nate wasn’t that the year moved fast, but that Jesus never seemed rushed at all. While Nate sprinted from obligation to obligation, Jesus walked. While Nate planned twelve months ahead, Jesus said things like, “So don’t worry about tomorrow…” (Matthew 6:34), which felt wildly irresponsible given Nate’s 37-color-coded, meticulously labeled calendar—each hue representing a different level of productivity, spiritual devotion, or social obligation. “Red is urgent,” Nate explained. “Blue is prayer. Yellow is ‘maybe I’ll get to this.’”

Somewhere around mid-year, Nate realized he had spent most of his time either replaying what already happened or preparing for what might happen. Very little time was spent noticing what Jesus was doing at present. And yet, Jesus never promised to meet Nate in last January’s regrets or next year’s resolutions. He promised His presence today.

The Gospels don’t show Jesus panicking about schedules. He stops for people when everyone else rushes past. He rests. He prays. He allows interruptions. And somehow, He accomplishes everything the Father gives Him to do—without once saying, “I can’t right now, I’m behind.”

By the end of the year, Nate had to admit something uncomfortable: He realized that the year didn’t fly because God was absent. It flew because Nate was distracted. Christ was present in ordinary days—in conversations, inconveniences, quiet moments Nate labeled “unproductive” and hurried through anyway. Nate learned that it’s not about cramming more into less time. It’s about abiding in Christ.

As the calendar turns again, the invitation isn’t to run faster next year. It’s to walk more closely with Jesus. Time will still move quickly. The months will still blur. But a life centered on Christ is not measured by speed—it’s measured by faithfulness.

The year may have vanished. Jesus did not. And He will still be here tomorrow. 

Discussion Questions: 

1. Where do you most notice yourself rushing through life while Jesus seems content to walk—and what might it look like to slow down and abide with Him in those moments?
2. Looking back on this year, where might Christ have been present in ordinary or “unproductive” moments that you were tempted to overlook or hurry past?

“You will remember all the way the Lord your God led you in the desert these forty years, so you would not have pride, and how He tested you to know what was in your heart to see if you would obey His Laws or not.” – Deuteronomy 8:2.

Life can be quite a ride.  We’ve faced ups and downs and dealt with challenges. As the 2025 calendar year draws to a close, it’s natural to pause and reflect on the months that have passed. For a Christian, this reflection is more than a casual review of accomplishments or failures—it is an opportunity to see God’s hand at work in our lives and to grow in faith and gratitude. How we view the past year can shape our approach to the new one.

The Bible calls us to remember God’s faithfulness. Psalm 77:11-12 says, “But then I recall all you have done, O Lord; I remember your wonderful deeds of long ago. They are constantly in my thoughts. I cannot stop thinking about your mighty works.” Reflecting as a Christian means intentionally recalling moments when God provided, comforted, guided, or transformed our hearts. Even in trials, His presence has sustained us. Looking back through the lens of faith allows us to see blessings we may have overlooked in the busyness of life.

A faithful reflection also involves honesty. 2 Corinthians 13:5 urges us to “ Examine yourselves to see if your faith is genuine. Test yourselves. Surely you know that Jesus Christ is among you; if not, you have failed the test of genuine faith.” As Christians, looking back on the year includes acknowledging both our spiritual victories and shortcomings. Perhaps there were moments when we acted in patience and love, and moments when we fell short.

Gratitude is a central part of Christian reflection. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 reminds us to “Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.”As we reflect on the past year, we can make a conscious effort to acknowledge the ways God has blessed us—through relationships, provision, opportunities, or lessons learned during difficult times. Gratitude shifts our focus from what went wrong to what God has done right, nurturing contentment and joy even amid challenges.

Reflection also calls for discernment about what to carry forward. Philippians 3:13-14 encourages, “No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.”

As the year draws to a close, many of us feel a mix of relief, gratitude, and perhaps a little anxiety. The end of a year is a natural time for reflection—a moment to pause, to look back on the path we have traveled, and to consider where God has been at work in our lives. It’s a time to remember both the victories and the challenges, and to see His faithfulness in the midst of it all.

Discussion Questions:

1. Faithful Reflection: As you look back on the past year, how can you identify moments where God’s guidance or provision was evident, even in challenges or setbacks?
2. Lessons and Growth: What lessons or spiritual growth from the past year can you carry forward into the new year, and how might they shape the way you follow Christ in the months ahead?

“God bless us, every one!” – Tiny Tim.

Each Christmas, certain stories call us to pause and reflect: It’s a Wonderful Life, Home Alone, Elf, A Christmas Story, The Polar Express, and A Christmas Carol. These films are more than nostalgia—they remind us of timeless truths: the value of generosity, the power of forgiveness, the joy of family, and the hope that comes from God’s love made manifest in Christ. Watching these stories is not merely tradition; it is a way to meditate on the heart of Christmas—the gift of Christ, who comes to awaken, redeem, and fill our lives with hope.

Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol is more than a holiday story; it is a powerful illustration of the transforming work of God in the human heart. At the start, Ebenezer Scrooge is cold, selfish, and isolated. He counts money, not blessings, and measures life in profits, not relationships. In his heart, there is no room for joy, generosity, or love.   

Scrooge’s journey begins with confrontation. The ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come invite him to see the truth of his life. The past reveals lost opportunities and the slow hardening of his heart. The present depicts the joy, kindness, and love that continue to surround him, even among those less fortunate. The future, if he continues on his current path, holds a lonely and forgotten end. Dickens’ story underscores the power of reflection: God often meets us through an honest examination of our lives, revealing both the cost of sin and the beauty of His mercy.

The turning point comes when Scrooge surrenders. He does not merely feel fear or regret; he chooses change. He reaches out, makes restitution, and opens his heart to love, generosity, and joy. In that moment, Dickens captures a spiritual truth: genuine surrender brings transformation. Just as Scrooge discovers, our hearts can be reshaped when we give control to God, letting Him guide our desires, actions, and relationships.

Scripture echoes this truth: “Create in me a clean heart, O God. Renew a loyal spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10). Like Scrooge, we are invited to lay down our pride, selfishness, and fear, and allow God’s light to penetrate the shadows of our lives. True surrender produces fruit: joy, generosity, peace, and reconciliation with others.

As we reflect on this story, we are reminded that Christmas is not only about celebration, but also about transformation. The gift of Christ is the ultimate invitation to surrender, to allow God to soften our hearts and restore our souls. In surrender, we move from a life of isolation and fear to one filled with love, purpose, and joy.

As we get ready to embark on the new year, consider: What parts of your heart need to be softened? Where is God calling you to surrender today? Like Scrooge, we can embrace God’s grace and walk into the light, renewed and ready to live fully in His love.

Discussion Questions:

1. Reflection on the Past: Like Scrooge, we all have moments in our past that shape our hearts—some with regret, some with missed opportunities. What areas of your life do you feel God is calling you to reflect on and surrender to Him this Christmas?
2. Fruit of Surrender: Scrooge’s transformation brought joy, generosity, and the restoration of    relationships. In your own life, what changes might God be inviting you to make that would allow His love to flow more freely through you to others?

“…Gideon son of Joash was threshing wheat at the bottom of a winepress to hide the grain from the Midianites. The angel of the Lord appeared to him and said, “Mighty hero, the Lord is with you!” – Judges 6: 11-12.

Transformation in Scripture rarely begins with confidence. More often, it begins with fear, questions, and a deep sense of inadequacy. Few stories capture this better than the life of Gideon. When we first meet him in Judges 6, Gideon is not standing on a battlefield or leading an army—he is hiding in a winepress, threshing wheat in secret, trying to hide the grain from the Midianites. This is not the portrait of a hero. Yet it is precisely here that God meets him.

The angel of the Lord greets Gideon with words that seem almost ironic: “Mighty hero, the Lord is with you!” Gideon’s life does not match the title, and he knows it. He questions God’s presence, recalls Israel’s suffering, and points out his own weakness—his clan is insignificant, and he is the least in his family. Gideon’s honesty reminds us that transformation does not require pretending we are strong; it requires bringing our weakness into the presence of God.

God does not argue with Gideon’s self-assessment. Instead, He gives a promise: “I will be with you.” Transformation begins not when circumstances change, but when God’s presence becomes the defining reality. Gideon’s calling is rooted not in who he is, but in who God is. This is a crucial lesson for anyone who feels “not yet heroic.” God’s call often precedes our courage.

The transformation continues slowly. Gideon asks for signs—not once, but repeatedly —the fleece revealing a man still wrestling with fear and doubt. Yet God meets Gideon with patience. He does not shame him for needing reassurance; He strengthens his faith step by step. Transformation is often gradual rather than instantaneous. God is more interested in shaping trust than showcasing bravery.

Perhaps the most striking moment of Gideon’s transformation comes when God reduces his army from 32,000 to just 300 men. While this can seem unnecessary and counterproductive, God explains His purpose clearly: Israel must not boast that its own strength saved them. Gideon learns that transformation includes surrender—letting go of what feels safe so that God’s power can be seen clearly.

When the battle finally comes, Gideon does not win through superior strategy or force. The victory belongs unmistakably to the Lord. Torches, jars, trumpets, and obedience become instruments of divine power. Gideon’s transformation is complete not because he becomes fearless, but because he becomes faithful. He moves from hiding to obeying, from doubting to trusting, from surviving to leading. Transformation, then, is not about becoming impressive; it is about becoming available.

If you feel overlooked, uncertain, or unqualified, Gideon’s life offers hope. God specializes in transforming ordinary people who say yes, even trembling yeses. He meets us in our hiding places and calls us into His purposes. And in His hands, the not-yet-heroic are slowly, faithfully transformed for His glory.

Discussion Questions:

1. Where do you see yourself most in Gideon’s story right now—hiding, questioning, or stepping out in obedience—and what might God be inviting you to trust Him with in this season?
2. How does God’s choice to reduce Gideon’s army challenge our reliance on our own strength, resources, or confidence when responding to God’s call?

“I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year” — Charles Dickens.

The day after Christmas is quiet in a way December never is. The music softens. The wrapping paper is gone. The house exhales. After weeks of anticipation, celebration, and noise, we wake up to an ordinary morning carrying the weight of an extraordinary truth: Christ has come.

Scripture gives us no details about “the day after.” Luke tells us about angels and shepherds, songs and wonder—but then life resumes. Mary still pondered. Joseph still worked. The shepherds returned to their fields. The miracle did not remove responsibility; it transformed it. The Incarnation did not pause the world. It entered it.

This is where faith often feels most real—and most difficult. Christmas Day is bright and declarative: God is with us. The day after asks a quieter question: What does that mean now?

The temptation on December 26 is either letdown or relief. Letdown that the moment passed too quickly. Relief that expectations are over. Yet the gospel was never meant to be a moment we survive, but a reality we live. Emmanuel did not arrive to be admired once a year. He came to dwell—on ordinary days, in unremarkable moments, amid unfinished chores and lingering fatigue.

The shepherds teach us something crucial here. After seeing the Christ child, “they went back to their flocks, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen” (Luke 2:20). They returned—to the same fields, the same sheep, the same responsibilities—but they did not return unchanged. Christmas didn’t relocate them; it reoriented them.

That is the invitation of the day after Christmas.

God’s presence does not depend on decorations or hymns. It abides when the tree comes down, and the calendar turns. The incarnation declares that God is not allergic to normal life. He sanctified it by entering it—crying as an infant, sleeping in borrowed space, growing quietly before ever teaching publicly.

The question is no longer “Did we celebrate well?” but “Will we live differently?” Will patience last longer than the leftovers? Will generosity outlive the season? Will hope endure when joy feels quieter?

Jesus did not come to be a holiday. He came to be Lord of kitchens and commutes, of conversations and conflicts, of the long, ordinary stretch between celebrations. The story did not end yesterday. In many ways, it just began.

Discussion Questions:

1. When the decorations come down and life returns to normal, how do we continue living as people shaped by the truth that God came near? What practices help keep our faith active beyond the season?
2. After Christmas, are we more likely to return to routine or to mission? How does the incarnation call us to carry Christ’s light into ordinary days, relationships, and challenges?

“The central miracle asserted by Christians is the Incarnation. They say that God became Man. Every other miracle prepares for this, or exhibits this, or results from this.” – C.S. Lewis.

One of the quiet dangers of Christmas is familiarity. We know the story so well that we risk losing our sense of wonder. Angels, shepherds, a manger, a star—we can recite the details almost by heart. Yet Christmas was never meant to be merely remembered; it was meant to be marveled at. Jesus coming to Earth is an “unfathomable” concept because it is something the human mind cannot fully grasp: the eternal God stepped into time. The Creator entered His creation. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). This is not poetic exaggeration; it is holy truth. The infinite became infant—the One who spoke the universe into being arrived on earth in a Bethlehem stable. That alone should stop us in awe.

The wonder deepens when we consider how God chose to come. Jesus was not born into privilege or power. He arrived quietly, humbly, almost unnoticed by the world. Shepherds—working the night shift, overlooked by society—were among the first invited to see Him. A teenage girl carried the Son of God. A feeding trough became a cradle. Heaven’s glory was revealed not through spectacle, but through simplicity.

Still, wonder can be fragile. Busy schedules, unmet expectations, grief, or long-held disappointments can dull our awe. For many, Christmas carries both joy and sorrow. Yet even here, the wonder remains. Christmas does not deny the darkness; it enters it. The light of Christ shines not because the world is cheerful, but because it is broken. And that light, Scripture promises, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it” (John 1:5).

To recover our awe this Christmas, we must slow down long enough to marvel. Awe grows when we remember that God did not remain distant. He came close. He took on our limitations, our pain, and our vulnerability—not to observe us, but to redeem us. The Incarnation tells us that no part of human life is untouched by God’s love.

This Christmas, may we move beyond routine and rediscover wonder. May the familiar story awaken fresh gratitude, deeper worship, and renewed hope as we stand in awe of Emmanuel—God with us.

To recover the wonder of Christmas, we may need to slow down and look again. Look at the manger—not as a decoration, but as a declaration. God is with us. God is for us. God has come not to impress us, but to rescue us. Wonder grows when we remember that Christmas is not about what we bring to God, but about what God has given to us.

May we never lose sight of the awe of Christmas—not just in December, but throughout our lives. May the familiar story continue to astonish us.

Discussion Questions:

1. Why do you think familiarity with the Christmas story can cause us to lose a sense of wonder, and what practices can help us see the story with fresh eyes again?
2. How does the humility of Jesus’ birth (the manger, the shepherds, the ordinary setting) deepen our understanding of God’s character and love?

“For the Son of Man came to seek and save those who are lost.” – Luke 19:10.

On Christmas Eve, the world seemed much as it always had. Shepherds tended flocks under a quiet sky. Families prepared for the Sabbath. The powerful continued in their palaces, and the ordinary labored in ordinary ways. Darkness lingered, and the night felt like any other night. Yet the smallest, most humble of events was about to reshape history in a way that the world would never be the same.

By Christmas morning, everything had changed. The eternal Word had become flesh. God entered His creation not as a king surrounded by splendor, but as a vulnerable infant in a manger. This single act—so quiet, so unassuming—shifted the axis of human history.

The shepherds’ experience illustrates this change vividly. On Christmas Eve, they were ordinary laborers, overlooked by society. But after seeing the newborn Messiah, they could not remain the same. They returned to their fields “…glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen…” (Luke 2:20). The shepherds’ lives were forever changed the moment they saw the baby Jesus. They were witnesses to God’s miraculous arrival in the world. Their fear and routine gave way to awe, joy, and a renewed purpose. They returned, spreading the good news, their hearts transformed by the wonder of the Savior lying in a manger.

Christmas changed the world not through force, but through presence. The Savior’s arrival was a declaration that God was with us, Emmanuel, not to dominate, but to redeem. The promises of God, whispered for generations, now had a face, a heartbeat, and a cry that pierced the night. God’s covenant love was no longer distant—it was tangible, touchable, and real.

Even the cosmos joined in the transformation. The star that appeared over Bethlehem was not merely a light in the sky; it was a cosmic sign pointing humanity toward the Prince of Peace. Heaven and earth intersected in the most humble way imaginable. Angels proclaimed good news, proclaiming great joy for all people. The song of heaven echoed through the stillness, inviting the world to look, to marvel, and to respond.

And yet, the world did not immediately recognize the change. Power, politics, and pride remained. Herod would still plot, and empires would still rise and fall. The radical implications of Christ’s birth unfolded slowly, transforming hearts one life at a time. But the trajectory had shifted irreversibly: God had entered His creation, and nothing would ever be the same.

From Christmas Eve to Christmas, the world was changed by love incarnate. God’s presence entered human history quietly but decisively. What had been distant was now near. What had been abstract was now tangible. What had been silent was now proclaimed in songs of angels and cries of newborn wonder. From Christmas Eve to Christmas, everything changed—because God chose to come.

Discussion Questions:

1. In what ways did the birth of Jesus transform the world immediately, and how does His coming continue to change lives today?
2. How can reflecting on the shift from Christmas Eve to Christmas inspire us to see God’s presence and power in the ordinary moments of our own lives?