A CALL TO THE WANDERER

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

The Shepherd Who Seeks

When someone goes missing,

the unanswered questions linger

—day after day, night after night

—refusing to let the heart rest.

When the sheep strays, the Shepherd does not shrug and move on. Jesus said, “What man of you… does not leave the ninety‑nine in the wilderness and go after the one which is lost, until he finds it?” (Luke 15:4). His pursuit is not casual—it is determined, deliberate, and unrelenting. He does not stop until the lost one is lifted onto His shoulders and carried home with joy.

The Lamp That Reveals

When the coin slips into the shadows, Jesus tells us the woman “lights a lamp, sweeps the house, and searches carefully until she finds it.” (Luke 15:8). She refuses to accept loss as final. She refuses to let darkness have the last word. Her lamp burns, her hands move —because value does not diminish simply because something is hidden.

The Father Who Restores

And when the son wanders into rebellion and ruin, Scripture says, “While he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion.” (Luke 15:20). The Father never stopped watching the horizon. His love outran the son’s shame. His embrace interrupted the son’s rehearsed apology. Restoration came faster than condemnation could speak.

These parables are not stories about human persistence—they are revelations of heaven’s heart. Jesus said plainly, “The Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.” (Luke 19:10). Whether the missing one is a mother like Nancy Guntrie, a friend who vanished without explanation, or a soul wandering far from God, the truth remains: no one is beyond the reach of the Shepherd, the search of the Spirit, or the love of the Father.

Nothing Is Hidden From God

Loss wears many faces, and Scripture refuses to limit God’s concern to only one kind.

Some are lost physically. Some are lost emotionally. Some are lost spiritually. But none are lost to Him.

David declared, “Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?” (Psalm 139:7). Even in the darkest places, “the darkness shall not hide from You.” (Psalm 139:12). What is hidden to us is never hidden to God. What is lost to us is never lost to Him.

Jesus promised, “There is nothing hidden which will not be revealed.” (Mark 4:22). He repeated it again: “Nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known.” (Luke 8:17). Paul echoes this truth: “God will bring to light the hidden things of darkness.” (1 Corinthians 4:5).

God uncovers what needs to be found. He reveals what needs to be seen. He brings into the open what the enemy tried to bury.

The God Who Restores

Restoration is not a side theme—it is the central promise of God’s covenant love.
Scripture does not whisper about restoration—it declares it again and again:

“I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten.” (Joel 2:25)
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)
“I will restore health to you and heal you of your wounds.” (Jeremiah 30:17)
“The God of all grace… will restore, establish, strengthen, and settle you.” (1 Peter 5:10)
“Behold, I make all things new.” (Revelation 21:5)

God does not merely repair—He restores. He does not patch—He renews. He does not discard—He redeems.

Heaven’s Joy Over the Found

And when the lost one is found—whether physically or spiritually—heaven does not whisper a polite welcome. Jesus said, “There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” (Luke 15:10). Restoration is not begrudging—it is celebrated.

We are not only recipients of this grace—we are participants in the search. We pray, we watch, we shine light into dark places, and we stand ready to embrace those who return, whether from miles away or from the far country of the soul.

Closing Declaration

What is lost will be found.
What is hidden will be revealed.
What is broken will be restored.
Amen!

HYMNS OF REDEMPTION

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A Passover – Season Devotional Series

Tell Me the Story of Jesus

Some hymns teach doctrine. Some stir emotion. But Tell Me the Story of Jesus does something deeper. It invites the believer to return to the center of the faith with childlike wonder. Written by Fanny Crosby, this hymn is a gentle, earnest request: Tell me again. Tell me slowly. Tell me like it’s the first time.

Crosby understood something profound: the gospel is not a story we outgrow. It is the story that shapes every other story. Her words carry the simplicity of a child and the depth of a saint. She doesn’t ask for theological complexity or poetic flourish. She asks for Jesus — His birth, His life, His suffering, His love. The hymn is a reminder that the heart never tires of hearing the truth that saves it.

The anchor comes from Luke 2:10:

“I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”

Crosby takes that angelic announcement and turns it into a lifelong prayer: Tell me the good news again. Let it steady me. Let it shape me. Let it fill me with joy.

As you listen to the meditation, you will hear the Irish flute, the accordion, and the acoustic guitar. You will also hear the shaker and the piano. Let it carry you like a traveling song. Let it feel like walking the dusty roads of Galilee. It feels like hearing the story of Jesus told around a fire. The story is passed from heart to heart.

This hymn is not about performance. It’s about remembrance.

Hymn and Lyrics: Tell Me the Story of Jesus

(Public Domain)

1
Tell me the story of Jesus,
Write on my heart every word;
Tell me the story most precious,
Sweetest that ever was heard.
Tell how the angels in chorus
Sang as they welcomed His birth,
“Glory to God in the highest!
Peace and good tidings to earth.”

Refrain
Tell me the story of Jesus,
Write on my heart every word;
Tell me the story most precious,
Sweetest that ever was heard.

2
Fasting alone in the desert,
Tell of the days that are past;
How for our sins He was tempted,
Yet was triumphant at last.
Tell of the years of His labor,
Tell of the sorrow He bore;
He was despised and afflicted,
Homeless, rejected, and poor.

3
Tell of the cross where they nailed Him,
Writhing in anguish and pain;
Tell of the grave where they laid Him,
Tell how He liveth again.
Love in that story so tender,
Clearer than ever I see;
Stay, let me weep while you whisper,
Love paid the ransom for me.

About the Hymnwriter

Fanny J. Crosby (1820–1915) was more than a hymnwriter. She was a messenger of Christ’s love to people most of society overlooked. Though blind from infancy, she walked with confidence. She stepped into New York’s rescue missions, tenement halls, and shelters. These were places where the poor, the addicted, and the forgotten gathered. She didn’t go to change systems; she went to tell people about Jesus. Her ministry was personal, face‑to‑face, heart‑to‑heart.

Her hymns were born from that same posture. Crosby never wrote by force or routine. She prayed until the Lord gave her the theme, the tone, and the words. Only then would she begin dictating the lyrics. Tell Me the Story of Jesus reflects both sides of her calling. She was the evangelist who longed for every soul to hear the gospel. She was also the prayer-soaked believer who wanted the story of Christ written on her own heart again and again.

Benediction Prayer

May the story of Jesus rest fresh on your heart today.
May His birth bring you joy, His life give you strength,
His suffering draw you near, and His resurrection fill you with hope.
And may the sweetest story ever told become the anchor of your soul.
Amen.

The Wayward Dresser

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A neighborhood finally sees the end of a long‑standing wooden menace

Somewhere in a small town in Pennsylvania — For months, a battered dresser stayed on a narrow strip of land. The township maintained this land. It lay sprawled there, unattended. Its warped frame and swollen drawers formed an eyesore. Residents could not ignore it, yet somehow never addressed it. It started as discarded furniture. Slowly, it evolved into a fixture of quiet defiance. The wooden intruder seemed to grow bolder with each passing week.

The dresser did not move or speak, but its presence carried a strange authority. It reclined on its side. It seemed to intentionally pose. Its puffed‑out drawers gave the impression of a chest lifted in pride. Neighbors walked past it with the same uneasy tolerance. It was akin to how one responds to a stray dog refusing to leave the porch. Drivers slowed down to stare. Children pointed out from car windows. Yet no one touched it. Not the landlord. Not the maintenance crew. Not even the township, responsible for mowing the very ground on which it rested.

Like Goliath standing in the Valley of Elah, the dresser’s power came not from action but from endurance. It simply remained, day after day, mocking the neighborhood with its refusal to budge. And like the armies of Israel, an entire community of capable adults adjusted their routines around it. They waited for someone else to take responsibility.

A Giant in the Grass

Residents described the dresser as if it possessed a personality. It seemed to smirk at passersby, daring anyone to challenge its claim to the land. Rain bloated its panels. Sun bleached its finish. Frost cracked its edges. Yet the dresser held its ground with the stubbornness of a giant that believed no one would ever confront it.

The longer it stayed, the more impossible it seemed to remove. What should have been a simple task gradually became a symbol of collective hesitation. The dresser was not strong, but it was unchallenged, and that was enough.

The Arrival of a David

The stalemate ended on an ordinary afternoon. A resident decided that the dresser’s reign had lasted long enough. There was no announcement, no committee meeting, and no official directive. A neighbor quietly offered a tool — a sledgehammer. This gesture was reminiscent of Jonathan placing his sword and shield into David’s hands before the battle.

With this borrowed weapon in hand, the resident approached the dresser. The resident had the calm resolve of someone who had reached the end of patience. The dresser, for the first time in months, appeared vulnerable.

The First Strike

The first swing landed with a sharp crack that echoed across the yard. A drawer burst open, releasing a puff of dust as if the dresser had been holding its breath. A second blow splintered a leg. A third sent fragments scattering across the grass. The giant that had lounged in smug defiance for months was suddenly reduced to a trembling heap of particle board.

As in the biblical account, once the first strike was delivered, help arrived from an unexpected source. A passing neighbor stepped out of her vehicle, surveyed the scene, and gladly joined the effort. Without hesitation, she gathered the fallen pieces. She carried them to the dumpster. She worked with the efficiency of someone who understood the importance of finishing what had begun.

Within minutes, the dresser was gone. The patch of ground it had occupied for so long stood empty. It was now restored to the quiet normality it had been denied.

The Moral of the Story

In the biblical account, Goliath stood in the valley for forty days, taunting Israel with his presence. He did not need to swing a sword or launch an attack. His mere existence, unchallenged, was enough to paralyze an entire army of trained, armored fighting men.

The dresser played the same role. It did not move, speak, or strike. It simply sat there, day after day. It occupied a space it was never meant to occupy. It grew comfortable in its defiance. It mocked the neighborhood with its stubborn refusal to leave. And like Israel’s soldiers, the community adjusted their routines around it. They walked past it. They ignored it and pretended it was not their problem.

That is the quiet danger of tolerated nuisances — and of unrepented sin. What begins as a small inconvenience becomes, over time, an obstacle that feels immovable. What starts as a minor irritation grows into a fixture of defeat. What should have been removed immediately becomes something we learn to live with.

Sin often arrives without fanfare. It simply appears, settles in, and occupies ground it was never meant to hold. It lingers. It mocks. It grows comfortable. It dares anyone to confront it. And the longer it remains unchallenged, the more unbeatable it seems.

The day the dresser fell is a reminder. Giants — wooden or spiritual — collapse the moment someone steps up. They take the first swing and refuse to tolerate what should never have been allowed to stay. Sometimes the greatest victories begin with a simple, decisive moment of clarity: enough.

When that moment comes, the giant falls, the nuisance is removed, and the ground it occupied is restored to peace.

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When a Nation Resists Its Own Healing

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

As America enters Her 250th year of existence, let’s take a moment to pause. We should think about the State of the Union before the President’s address to the Nation in a few days.

There are seasons in a nation’s life. The symptoms of decay rise so clearly to the surface. Even the untrained eye can see them. Corruption becomes normalized. Dishonesty becomes expected. Debt becomes a way of life. Institutions become self-preserving rather than people-serving. Truth becomes inconvenient, and justice becomes negotiable. These are not modern problems. They are ancient ones. Solomon captured it with piercing simplicity when he wrote, “There is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9)

What once was will be again, because human nature has not changed. And the spiritual laws that govern nations have not changed either. If we want to understand the moment we are living in, we must return to the Scriptures. We should not seek political commentary there. Instead, we should aim to find spiritual diagnosis.

The story of Jehoshaphat flows directly from the covenant promise of 2 Chronicles 7:14. It provides a lens to see our own national condition with clarity and sobriety.

The Symptoms of a Nation in Decline

Before Jehoshaphat ever stepped into leadership, Judah was already sick. The symptoms were visible everywhere. Judges accepted bribes. Leaders protected their own interests rather than the people’s. Alliances were forged out of fear rather than faith. The culture tolerated dishonesty because it had grown accustomed to it. The system rewarded corruption because corruption had become the system.

Scripture describes this kind of national decay with painful accuracy:

“Your princes are rebels and companions of thieves. Everyone loves a bribe and runs after gifts; they do not bring justice to the fatherless, and the widow’s cause does not come to them.” (Isaiah 1:23)

A nation does not collapse because of one leader. A nation collapses because of a culture that prefers darkness to light.

Jesus said, “People loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.” (John 3:19) When darkness becomes comfortable, truth becomes offensive.

The System Beneath the Symptoms

Corruption is never random. It is architectural. It is built into the bones of a nation when righteousness is neglected. By the time Jehoshaphat arrived, Judah’s institutions had become self-protecting organisms. They rewarded partiality, concealed dishonesty, and punished anyone who threatened the status quo.

This is the same pattern the prophets confronted:

“Shall I acquit the man with wicked scales and with a bag of deceitful weights?” (Micah 6:11)

“Hear this, you who trample the needy… saying, ‘When will the new moon be over, that we may sell grain… making the ephah small and the shekel great and dealing deceitfully with false balances?’” (Amos 8:4–5)

When a system becomes corrupt, it does not merely harm the weak. It eventually devours the very people who built it.

God Sends a Reformer, Not a Committee

Into this environment, God raised up Jehoshaphat—not as a politician, not as a celebrity, but as a reformer. His assignment was not to preserve the system but to purify it. He appointed honest judges, confronted corruption, restored accountability, and called the nation back to God.

Scripture records his charge to the judges:

“Consider what you do, for you judge not for man but for the LORD. He is with you in giving judgment.” (2 Chronicles 19:6)

Jehoshaphat understood something many forget: Reform is not a political act. Reform is a spiritual intervention.

The Resistance to Reform

But not everyone welcomed the light. Those who benefited from the corruption resisted the reform. Those who prospered under dishonesty opposed accountability. Those who feared losing influence fought the very changes that would have healed the nation.

This is the tragedy of every generation. People cry out for healing. However, when God sends the healer, they resist Him.

Jesus lamented this same pattern:

“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem… how often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Matthew 23:37)

A nation cannot be healed if it refuses the hand that heals it.

Miriam’s Warning: Do Not Resist the Vessel God Chooses

Miriam’s story stands as a sobering warning. She did not reject God. She rejected the vessel God chose. She questioned Moses’ authority, challenged his assignment, and believed she had equal standing in the mission. But God responded swiftly:

“Why then were you not afraid to speak against My servant Moses?” (Numbers 12:8)

Her leprosy was not punishment. It was revelation—a visible picture of an invisible rebellion.

When you resist the person God selects to bring deliverance, you are not fighting a man. You are fighting God. And when you fight God, you bring judgment upon your own head.

The Consequence of National Resistance

Jehoshaphat’s reforms were a mercy—a chance for Judah to return to righteousness before judgment fell. But Scripture is clear: when a nation refuses to repent, refuses to humble itself, refuses to turn, judgment becomes inevitable.

Not because God desires destruction, but because corruption collapses under its own weight.

“Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” (Proverbs 16:18)

“Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people.” (Proverbs 14:34)

A nation that resists reform is a nation choosing its own ruin.

The Cure That Flows From the Throne

The remedy for national decay has never been political. It has always been spiritual. God told Solomon exactly how a nation is healed:

“If My people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:14)

Healing begins with humility. Restoration begins with repentance. Deliverance begins with alignment.

And God’s healing always flows through human instruments. He raises a Moses, a Samuel, a Jehoshaphat, a Nehemiah—and when the people resist the vessel, they resist the healing.

A Prayer for a Nation in Need of Mercy

Father, we humble ourselves before You. We confess our national pride, our corruption, our injustice, and our dishonesty. We acknowledge that we have often resisted the very instruments You sent to heal us. We have misread our moment and preferred comfort over correction.

But today we turn. We seek Your face. We bow our hearts. We repent of our wicked ways. Hear from heaven, O Lord. Forgive our sin. Heal our land.

Raise up reformers in our generation. Give us discernment to recognize Your movement. Give us courage to align with Your purposes. And give us humility to follow the vessels You have chosen.

Heal our land, O God—not by might, nor by power, but by Your Spirit. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Navigating in the Fog: Finding Clarity When the World Turns Cloudy

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

The Fog That Follows Us

Driving home through dense fog tonight, the world shrank to a few feet of visibility. Familiar roads felt foreign. Landmarks vanished. The horizon dissolved into a gray wall. And as the mist thickened, I realized how closely this mirrors the spiritual climate believers face every day. We live in a world saturated with noise, misinformation, emotional manipulation, and a constant haze of competing voices. The fog is not accidental. It is a tactic.

Scripture warns us that confusion is a weapon of the enemy, not a condition of the Kingdom. “For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.” (1 Corinthians 14:33). When the atmosphere grows cloudy, it is never the Lord who has obscured the way.

Fog Lights for the Faithful

On the road, high beams only make fog worse. They bounce off the haze and blind you. But fog lights sit low, cutting beneath the mist, illuminating the next few feet with clarity. That is exactly how the Word of God functions in a world full of spiritual haze.

The psalmist declares, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105). A lamp for the feet is not a spotlight for the horizon. It does not reveal the entire journey. It reveals the next faithful step. When the world is filled with lies, distortions, and half‑truths, the Scriptures give clarity that nothing else can match. They cut through the haze.

Jesus Himself prayed, “Sanctify them through Thy truth: Thy word is truth.” (John 17:17). Truth is not merely an idea; it is illumination. It is the light that exposes the path when everything else is obscured.

Trusting the Light, Not Our Sight

Fog distorts everything — distance, direction, depth, even the shape of what stands right in front of you. In those moments, you can’t trust your eyes. You trust the light. Spiritually, this is where faith becomes more than a concept. This is where obedience becomes more than a virtue. This is where trust becomes more than a sentiment.

Scripture speaks directly to this moment: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.” (Proverbs 3:5–6). When visibility is low, understanding becomes unreliable. But the One who sees the end from the beginning never loses sight of the road.

Paul reminds us that our walk is not dependent on what we see: “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7). Fog does not hinder God’s vision. It only reveals the limits of ours.

Jesus: The Fog Light and the Lighthouse

Fog lights guide your next step. A lighthouse guides your direction. Jesus is both.

He declares, “I am the light of the world: he that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” (John 8:12). He is the immediate clarity for today and the fixed point that never moves. He stands above the haze. His voice cuts through the noise. He guides His people with unfailing constancy.

The prophet Isaiah echoes this promise: “And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it.” (Isaiah 30:21). Even when the fog is thick, the Shepherd’s voice remains unmistakable.

Hearing Becomes Sharper in the Fog

When sight is compromised, hearing becomes more important. The hum of the engine becomes more pronounced. The rhythm of the tires is more noticeable. The quiet voice of the GPS stands out. Spiritually, fog has the same effect. It heightens our dependence on the Shepherd’s voice.

Jesus said, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.” (John 10:27). Fog does not silence the Shepherd. It silences the distractions that kept us from listening.

David understood this deeply: “When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then Thou knewest my path.” (Psalm 142:3). Overwhelm does not confuse God. It draws Him closer.

The Light That Cannot Be Overcome

The world, though wrapped in haze, the people of God walk in a light the darkness can’t extinguish. John opens his Gospel with this triumphant declaration: “And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.” (John 1:5). Darkness has never once succeeded in overcoming the Light.

Even when the fog is thick, even when the path is unclear, the believer always has guidance. Even when the voices are many and the truth seems hidden, guidance is never absent. The Word is our fog light. Jesus is our lighthouse. The Spirit is our compass. And the Father is the One who knows the road even when we can’t see it.

Walking Forward With Confidence

The world may feel hazy. The path ahead might seem uncertain. Voices around you can be loud and contradictory. Take heart. You do not need to see the whole road. You need to see the next step. You need the lamp at your feet. You need the Light of the World who stands above the fog and guides His people with unfailing clarity.

The psalmist captures this assurance beautifully: “The Lord shall guide thee continually.” (Isaiah 58:11). Not occasionally. Not when the skies are clear. Continually.

Fog does not weaken faith. Fog reveals where faith actually rests.

A Closing Benediction

Father, in a world thick with fog, voices multiply. Truth is often obscured. We look to You—the Light that no darkness can overcome. We thank You for the lamp of Your Word. It has a steady glow that cuts through confusion and reveals the next faithful step. We thank You for Jesus, the Light of the World, who guides our feet and anchors our hearts. And we thank You for the Holy Spirit, who whispers direction when our sight is dim.

Lord, teach us to trust Your light more than our limited vision. Teach us to walk by faith when understanding fails. Teach us to listen for Your voice above the noise. And teach us to rest in the promise that “The Lord shall guide thee continually.” (Isaiah 58:11).

May Your people walk with confidence, not because the road is clear, but because the Guide is faithful. May Your truth cut through every haze. May Your presence steady every trembling heart. And may Your light shine through us into a world desperate for clarity.

In the name of Jesus—the Light that shines in the darkness—we pray. Amen.

A Call to Action

If the fog has been thick around you, take one step today: Open the Word. Turn on the fog light. Let Scripture illuminate the next few feet of your path.

Begin with the promise: “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105).

Read it. Pray it. Walk in it.