Have you ever resonated with the deep longing expressed in U2’s iconic song “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”? It’s a powerful anthem of human desire—searching, striving, and yearning for something more. Bono’s lyrics are raw and honest, capturing the experience of seeking fulfillment but not quite finding it. For many of us, it feels like the theme song of our lives.

What is it that we’re looking for? Love? Purpose? Freedom? Healing? This song acknowledges the struggle, but it also hints at the answer. The gospel shines through the cracks of this searching anthem, pointing us to the One who is the fulfillment of every longing.

Have you ever felt like life is an endless journey, full of searching and striving for answers that seem just out of reach? Led Zeppelin’s "Over the Hills and Far Away" beautifully captures the human experience of longing—longing for love, meaning, and freedom. The lyrics explore themes of searching, reflecting, and striving, but ultimately leave the listener with unanswered questions. From a Christ-centered perspective, this longing isn’t something to fear—it’s a signpost, pointing us to the One who is our true fulfillment.

For many believers, the Ten Commandments stand as the pinnacle of godly living—a set of rules to strive toward in order to please God and live a righteous life. This view seems noble, even biblical, but when we dig deeper into Scripture, we find something far more liberating.

Have you ever stood in awe of a night sky, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the stars and galaxies? Even our universe, vast as it is, pales in comparison to the infinitude of God. It’s an attribute so immense that our finite minds can scarcely grasp it, yet it is a truth that anchors our hearts and shapes our lives.

For years, I thought I understood God—but it wasn’t until I tried to comprehend His infinitude that my understanding was shattered. The box I had created for Him was blown to smithereens as I realized that He is not just infinite in presence but in every one of His attributes—love, mercy, wisdom, and power. It hit me: My God is far bigger than I ever imagined.

Have you ever found yourself saying, “This time will be different. I’ll do better. I won’t mess up again,” only to fall into the same old patterns? Maybe it’s anger, impatience, or a struggle that keeps coming back, no matter how hard you try to resist it.

If that resonates with you, you’re not alone. For years, I thought the key to overcoming sin was simply trying harder. I memorized verses, made promises to myself, and tried to follow every step of “how-to” plans. But instead of finding freedom, I found frustration.

That’s because change doesn’t come from our effort. It comes from living out the life Christ has already given us. The key isn’t in striving harder but in abiding deeper. Let’s explore how this truth can transform the way you think about overcoming sin.

One of the most thought-provoking objections to Christianity is the claim that it’s “too perfect” at addressing humanity’s existential struggles. It answers the deepest questions of life—meaning, morality, suffering, and eternity—with precision and hope. But some skeptics suggest that this is evidence not of divine revelation but of human invention. They argue that Christianity was created to soothe human fears and explain the mysteries of existence, rather than being the revealed truth of God.

Have you ever found yourself exhausted from trying to muster up enough faith? Maybe you’ve read God’s promises and thought, "I should believe this more. I need to trust harder." But no matter how hard you try, it feels like your faith just isn’t enough to match the vastness of what God promises or the depth of what you need.

For over 20 years, I tried to drum up my own faith, striving in my own strength to meet life’s challenges. But no matter how hard I tried, my efforts always came up short. It wasn’t until I exchanged my life in Adam for the victorious life of Christ that I began to understand true freedom.

Have you ever felt the tension between the fleeting nature of time and the deep, unshakable longing for something eternal? Maybe it hits you in quiet moments—when you watch a sunset, hold a newborn, or stand at the graveside of a loved one. In those moments, something within us seems to whisper: "Surely this isn’t all there is."

A.W. Tozer, in Chapter 7 of The Knowledge of the Holy, reminds us why this longing exists: we were made for eternity. The ache for permanence, the thirst for meaning—it’s not an illusion or a flaw. It’s a mark of God’s image within us, an echo of eternity placed in our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Let’s sit with this truth today: God is eternal. He stands outside of time, unbound by beginnings and endings. In a world that constantly changes, His eternity is our anchor, our home, and our hope.

The process of guiding someone into the exchanged life—where they discover their new identity in Christ and begin to walk in His indwelling life—is a deeply transformative journey. It’s amazing to witness someone grasp the truth that their old self has been crucified with Christ and that they now live as a new creation, drawing from His life as their source.

But what happens after this guiding process? The exchanged life journey isn’t meant to be an end in itself. It’s a starting point—a foundational step that equips believers to live in victory and freedom. The next phase of growth involves plugging into their local church, engaging in discipleship, and walking out their new life in community.

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where nothing seems to be going your way? Maybe your plans are unraveling, circumstances feel out of control, and the familiar reaction of your flesh kicks in—frustration, fear, or even doubt. You’re not alone. I’ve noticed this tendency in myself too. When life doesn’t cooperate with my expectations, my flesh resists.

Have you ever wondered if you’re overanalyzing your spiritual walk? I know I have. It’s so easy to slip into a pattern of constantly evaluating ourselves: Am I growing? Am I producing the right fruit? Is Christ’s life shining through me? While it might seem wise to ask these questions, I’ve often found that excessive self-focus can leave me feeling discouraged and drained rather than joyful and refreshed in the Lord.

But here’s the question I’ve been wrestling with: Is self-analysis really the key to spiritual growth, or is there a better way?

Have you ever thought about what it means for God to need absolutely nothing? It’s a mind-bending concept. Everything in our world relies on something else to survive—plants need sunlight, we need food and water, and even our hearts need oxygen to keep beating. But God stands alone, completely self-sufficient, needing nothing and no one to sustain Him.

In Chapter 6 of The Knowledge of the Holy, A.W. Tozer delves into the incredible truth of God’s self-sufficiency. This truth humbles us, confronts our self-centered tendencies, and invites us into a deeper understanding of God’s greatness and grace. Let’s explore what it means for God to be self-sufficient and how this reality changes the way we see Him and ourselves.

The story of Job is one of the most wonderfully complex narratives in all of Scripture, and the dialogues within it continue to challenge us today. We often focus on Job’s three friends—Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar—who misrepresented God and received a stern rebuke for it (Job 42:7-9). But what about Elihu? His speech stands out as different, yet God does not acknowledge him in His final response.

Here’s the intriguing thought: Elihu speaks more about God than for God. While his words are filled with truth about God’s greatness and justice, Elihu still seems preoccupied with explaining Job’s suffering rather than truly leading Job back to God.

This distinction is worth exploring: Are we speaking about God—defending, analyzing, or explaining Him—or are we truly representing Him, pointing others into His presence?

When we think of the book of Job, we often focus on Job’s three friends—Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar—and how their well-meaning yet flawed counsel misrepresented God. By the end of the story, God rebukes them for their words: “You have not spoken of Me what is right” (Job 42:7).

But there’s another voice in Job’s story, one that often gets overlooked: Elihu. This younger man steps in after Job and his three friends have exhausted their arguments. He speaks for six chapters (Job 32–37), yet when God finally addresses Job and his situation, Elihu’s words go unacknowledged. God neither rebukes him nor affirms him.

So, who was Elihu, and what do we make of his counsel? Was he wise, misguided, or somewhere in between?

I was talking with a friend tonight about Job’s three friends and the counsel they gave him. On the surface, much of what they said sounds like good advice—wise, moral, even rooted in Scripture-like principles. But as we know from the conclusion of Job’s story, God was displeased with their words. Why? Because they misrepresented Him. Their counsel, though seemingly “right,” lacked a true understanding of God’s character, His purposes, and His grace.

Today’s Abide Above devotional, “Unwarranted Disappointment,” struck a chord with me in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve been reflecting lately on how easy it is to slip into self-effort, even without realizing it—setting expectations for ourselves that inevitably end in disappointment. The reminder in today’s devotional was both refreshing and convicting: self-disappointment comes from expecting something good from the flesh, rather than leaning fully on the grace of God and the indwelling life of Christ.

Have you ever stopped to think about how everything around us has a beginning? Trees grow from seeds, rivers flow from springs, and even you and I were born at a specific time. Everything we know has an origin—except for God.

In Chapter 5 of The Knowledge of the Holy, A.W. Tozer talks about an amazing truth: God has no origin. He is the one who has always existed and who depends on no one. This idea is hard to understand because it’s completely different from how we see the world. But it’s also a truth that can change the way we see God and ourselves.

This poem is written in honor of a precious brother in Christ whose life has been a radiant testimony of unwavering focus on Jesus. Inspired by book we are currently reviewing in this blog, A.W. Tozer’s Knowledge of the Holy, the poem weaves together Tozer’s reflections on God’s attributes. Each stanza explores a unique aspect of God’s nature, drawing us deeper into awe, love, and trust. The poem builds with an expectancy that mirrors our own journeys of faith—beginning with glimpses of His majesty through the mists of life’s trials and culminating in the joy of finally seeing Him in all His splendor.

“He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?…What do you have that you did not receive? Now if you did indeed receive it, why do you glory as if you had not received it?” (Romans 8:32 and 1 Corinthians 4:7)

God’s grace is breathtaking. It’s through this grace that He rescues and transforms lives. At the heart of His plan is the sacrifice of His Son: “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all.” If God didn’t hold back His greatest gift, how could He not also graciously give us everything we need? “How shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?”

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ." (Ephesians 1:3a)

The measure of our growth comes from where we fix our gaze. When our focus rests on Jesus, everything else in life—its joys, trials, and uncertainties—finds its proper place. This truth takes on deeper meaning when we watch someone we love live it out so faithfully, even in the face of life’s hardest moments.