A word to Yahweh’s Delight

I don’t know how to promise you an easy year, and I don’t think I should try.

I’ve learned that when we dress the future in neat optimism, we often miss what God is actually saying. Scripture doesn’t do that. It doesn’t pretend. And love doesn’t either. So instead of predictions or pep talks, I want to tell you what I believe matters as we step into this new year.

Jesus is coming soon.

I know that phrase can sound dramatic or distant, but it was never meant to be either. It was a steady truth the Church carried from the beginning, and it shaped how the early believers lived.

They didn’t speculate about Jesus’ return; they ordered their lives around it. Paul spoke of the night being nearly over so believers would wake up and live differently now. Peter didn’t point people to timelines, but to holiness, asking what kind of lives made sense if Jesus was truly coming. And John ended Scripture not with a plan, but with a longing: Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

That expectation didn’t make them passive. It made them faithful

Jesus once told a story that keeps coming back to me and I have 3 blogposts on this (Come Jesus, Come Part 1 & Part 2 and Keep Oil in the Lamp). 

Ten virgins. All waiting. All expecting the bridegroom. All with lamps in their hands. And yet, when the moment came, not all of them were ready. What separated them wasn’t excitement or effort or intention.

It was oil.

Oil you can’t borrow at the last minute.
Oil that’s formed quietly, over time.
Oil that comes from staying close, staying awake, staying responsive.

The bride has to be ready. And I say that as someone still learning what that even looks like.

This year won’t reward casual faith. Jesus warned that when lawlessness increases, love grows cold. 

Not belief. Love. 

That hits close to home. Cold hearts don’t show up suddenly. They happen slowly, when attentiveness fades and devotion becomes routine.

So what should you expect?

Probably pressure.
Probably some shaking.
Definitely some exposure.

But also grace that holds, strength that endures, and clarity when you actually stop and seek it. Jesus said when these things start happening, lift your head. Redemption is drawing near. Nearness isn’t meant to terrify the Bride. It’s meant to wake her up.

Paul says we’re not in darkness, that the day shouldn’t overtake us like a thief. That tells me something. A thief only surprises the asleep. Not the watchful. Not the ones paying attention.

So maybe this year is less about doing more and more about staying awake.

Watching your heart.
Watching your devotion.
Watching your love.

Not in an anxious way. In an honest one.

Scripture says the Bride has made herself ready. That doesn’t sound like perfection to me. It sounds like posture. Like lamps trimmed, garments washed, hearts anchored, allegiance settled.

This doesn’t feel like a year to blend in. Or coast. Or rely on borrowed oil.

It feels like a year to love deeply, forgive quickly, repent often, and obey even when it’s inconvenient. A year to live like we actually believe Jesus meant what He said.

Because the same Jesus who left promised He would return. And He’s not coming for a flawless Bride. He’s coming for a faithful one.

So as we step into this year, I’m not asking you what you plan to achieve. I’m asking what you’re guarding. What you’re laying down. Whether your lamp is burning or just sitting there looking nice.

The Bridegroom is coming.

And the most loving thing I can say to you is this: stay awake. Stay ready. Stay in love with Him.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

And staying awake won’t look dramatic most days.

It will look like opening your Bible even when you don’t feel particularly inspired. Not to rush through chapters or keep a streak alive, but to let God’s voice recalibrate you. Scripture has a way of waking us up gently, then honestly. Even a few verses, read slowly, can keep your heart from drifting.

It will look like praying not polished prayers, not long speeches but real ones. Talking to God about what’s heavy, what’s confusing, what you’re tempted to ignore. And then learning to sit long enough to listen. Prayer keeps us responsive. It keeps our oil from running dry.

It will look like returning quickly when you notice yourself going cold. Not disappearing in shame. Not pretending you’re fine. Just coming back. Again and again.

These are quiet disciplines. Ordinary ones. But they are the very things that keep lamps burning and hearts ready.

That’s my challenge to Yahweh’s Delight this year: stay close. Stay honest. Stay awake.

And as for me, I’m committing to obedience in the small, unglamorous ways. I’ll keep writing as the Spirit leads. Blogs when there’s something to say. Screwtape letters when there’s something to expose. Resources when there’s something to share. Not on a strict schedule. Not to keep up appearances. Just in step with what God is actually doing.

Pray for me as I pray for you.

Because I’m increasingly aware that not everyone has someone close enough to whisper truth when they’re tired or drifting. And if God allows these words to be that nudge for you, even briefly, even quietly, I count that as grace.

Not replacing His voice.
Not competing with it.
Just pointing you back to Him.

That’s part of my resolve this year. To stay attentive. To stay faithful. To stay available. And to trust that God will speak exactly what is needed, right on time.