Stay Present: Facing What's Real Instead of Fleeing It

“For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” — Mark 10:45 (ESV)

Picture yourself walking the road to Jerusalem with Jesus. He's just told you plainly what's coming: He'll be mocked, beaten, spit on, and killed. Mark even captures the group's mood — “they were amazed, and those who followed were afraid” (Mark 10:32, ESV). Real fear, hanging in the air. And what do two of His closest friends do with that fear? James and John pull Him aside and ask for the best seats in His coming kingdom — one at His right, the other at His left.

It's easy to read that and shake your head at the selfishness. Here's Jesus, about to give His life for them, and they're angling for status. And that's fair — it is stunningly self-absorbed. But if we stop there, we miss what's really going on underneath.

Look at the timing. The fear was already in the air. Jesus had told them three separate times that He was going to die, and it terrified them — none of it fit the earthly kingdom they were expecting. So what do you do with a reality that scares you and won't fit? You escape the present. James and John fled into the future — daydreaming about thrones and glory — because that imagined future was much easier to sit in than the terrifying now. Their grab for position wasn't only selfishness. It was fear, wearing a disguise.

And look at what it cost them. Jesus was walking toward the cross, needing His closest friends beside Him — and they weren't really there. Their feet were on the road, but their minds were off in a future that hadn't come, arranging their own glory. They missed it: the chance to simply be present with their Lord in His pain, to comfort Him in the hardest hour of His life. That's what fleeing the present always steals — it pulls you out of the one moment where God, and the people who need you, actually are.

We all have our disguises. When a hard reality shows up — a diagnosis, a conflict, a fear we can't shake — most of us do one of three things instead of facing it. Some of us deny it — bury ourselves in busyness, insist we're fine, and hope it just goes away. Some of us try to control it — white-knuckle every detail so we never have to feel the fear underneath. And some of us future-cast — we leave the painful present and live in another moment: a brighter one down the road, or a feared one we've already scripted, reacting to a version of events that's only happening in our heads. Different disguises, same move: anything to not be here, now, with what's real.

Now look back at Jesus on that road. He did the opposite. He didn't deny what was coming, didn't scramble to control it, and didn't escape into a rosier future. He walked straight toward the hardest reality imaginable, staying present the whole way, because He came “not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45, ESV). He could stay present because He was anchored in His Father. And that's the secret for us, too. The courage to face what's real instead of fleeing it doesn't come from gritting our teeth. It's the difference Paul draws in Romans 8:5 — between a mind set “on the things of the flesh” and a mind set “on the things of the Spirit” (ESV). Fleeing the present — in any of its forms — is a mind set on the flesh, chasing what isn't here; staying present with God is a mind set on Him.

So the next time fear tempts you to run — to deny, to control, to race ahead — try the harder, holier thing: stay. Stay in the room. Bring the real thing, and your real fear, to your real Father. The peace you keep chasing somewhere else — in a managed outcome, a buried reality, an imagined future — is found right here, with Him, in the present. And so is the person right in front of you who needs you to simply be there.

Big Idea

When a hard reality scares us, we flee — into denial, control, or future-casting — rather than face it. But the peace we're chasing isn't in some other moment; it's found by staying in this one — with the Father.

Questions to Ponder

When something hard or frightening shows up, which way do you tend to run — denial, control, or racing ahead into a future you've already scripted? Think of a recent time your fear pulled you out of the present — what did that flight cost you, and what were you really afraid of beneath it? And be honest: is there a reality you're working hard not to face right now? What would it look like to stay present with the Lord instead?

Application

With your journal in hand, name the reality you've been avoiding — the conversation, the diagnosis, the fear, the thing you keep managing or scripting instead of facing. Then catch your move: do you deny it, control it, or future-cast around it? Bring the real thing to God, in the present tense — not the imagined version, the actual one. Ask Him for the one thing that makes staying possible — a deeper sense of His nearness. Then take the present-tense step you've been dodging: the honest conversation, the phone call, the thing you know is yours to do. Faith isn't fleeing to a better moment. It's meeting God in this one.

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Before the Lord — a daily devotional by Blake S. Crawford. Read more and subscribe free at blakescrawford.com/before-the-lord.

The Little Things: Depending on God Before the Storm

“Keep watching and pray that you may not come into temptation.” — Mark 14:38 (NASB)

It's the night before the cross, and Jesus is in agony. In the Garden of Gethsemane, the weight of what's coming presses down so hard that Scripture says His soul is grieved to the point of death. He brings Peter, James, and John deeper into the garden and asks them to do one simple thing: stay awake and keep watch while He prays.

Three times He withdraws to pray and three times He returns to find them asleep. Three times He wakes them with the same plea: “Keep watching and pray that you may not come into temptation” (Mark 14:38, NASB). And three times they drift right back off.

Why did Jesus ask them to pray about their own temptation? It seems odd, given what He was about to walk into. He's on the edge of the greatest agony in history — and still, in that moment, He turns to the three and tells them to pray for themselves. Here's why: He wasn't only asking for company in a hard hour — He was warning them. A temptation was bearing down on every one of them that night: the pull to abandon Him and save their own skin. Watchful prayer was the one thing that could have prepared them to meet it — “watch and pray that you may not come into temptation.” And notice what He tells them to pray — not for the strength to survive the temptation, but that they wouldn't come into it at all. That's the quiet power of watchful prayer: it doesn't just help you win the fight; it keeps you from wandering into it half-asleep.

And that's what makes their sleep so tragic: they slept right through the armory. Peter had just sworn he'd die before he'd ever deny Jesus. But self-confidence without watchfulness and prayer beneath it isn't strength — it's a setup. So when the soldiers came with torches and seized Jesus, the disciples failed the very test He'd warned them about. They scattered into the dark. And Peter denied even knowing Him — three times.

And that's the part I can't get past: they couldn't stay awake for even one hour on the most important night of their lives. Not because they didn't love Jesus — they did — but because watchful, dependent prayer had never become their everyday habit — the kind of dependence you build not in dramatic moments but in ordinary ones, by leaning on God for the small stuff we assume is too small for Him to care about. That's astonishing, considering how often Jesus modeled an active prayer life. You can't summon in the big moment what you never practiced in the small ones.

I learned this in the most unexpected place. I owned a landscaping company for eighteen years, and a few years in, we set out to build a world-class safety program. We brought in a safety expert, and one thing he told me reshaped how I saw it all. He said, “Blake, in safety, a whole lot of little safety issues turn into one large safety issue.” My takeaway: ignore the small stuff long enough, and it compounds into the accident you never saw coming. So if you want to prevent the big one, you go to war on the little ones.

The same is true of our walk with God — it's what undid the disciples, and it's the quiet danger for the rest of us. A lot of small, skipped moments of leaning on Him — nothing dramatic, nothing anyone would notice — quietly add up, until the big thing comes and there's nothing in the tank.

But it runs the other way too, and that's the hope: you can't manufacture dependence in the storm; you can only draw on what you've already built. So build it now, in the little things — the small, ordinary moments no one sees. Sadly, many of us save God for the big stuff and figure we shouldn't bother Him with the rest. That's backward. He wants it all — the small decisions, the low-grade worries, the daily nuisances. Lean on Him there, and when the big things come, they won't loom as large, because you're already leaning on the Rock.

Because the big moment never builds your faith. It only reveals what the little moments already built.

Big Idea

We don't rise to the big moments; we fall back on the habits we've built. Depending on God in the little things is what prepares us for the big ones.

Questions to Ponder

What's the honest state of your spiritual alertness right now — are you awake to God in the small, ordinary moments, or asleep to Him there, like the disciples were? Is your dependence on God a daily habit, or something you reach for only when the big stuff hits? And if it is a daily habit, what does that actually look like? What are the “little things” in your life you've been handling on your own, without ever thinking to bring them to Him?

Application

With your journal in hand, start the habit that keeps a soul awake. First, name three “little things” you've been carrying on your own — a nagging worry, a small decision, a routine task you never think to pray over — and begin handing them to God, one at a time: “Lord, I need You in this too.” It'll feel too small to bother Him with. Do it anyway — because every time you turn to Him in something small, you're waking up, training yourself to stay aware of Him through an ordinary day. Then take it toward watchfulness. Jesus didn't just say pray; He said watch and pray, so you wouldn't fall to temptation. So stay alert to the small pulls before they grow — the flash of anger, the quiet compromise, the subtle drift — and bring them to Him early. That's how spiritual alertness is built: one small turn toward God at a time. Keep at it, and you won't be caught asleep. You'll be awake, steady, and aware that He's with you in everything — ready to stand when your Gethsemane comes.

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Before the Lord — a daily devotional by Blake S. Crawford. Read more and subscribe free at blakescrawford.com/before-the-lord.

Asleep in the Storm: When God Feels Distant

"And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, 'Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?'" — Mark 4:37-38 (ESV)

The disciples are in a boat with Jesus. A violent storm hits — waves crashing over the sides, the boat filling with water, their lives in real danger. And Jesus? Asleep on a cushion in the stern. So they wake Him. But notice what they say. They don't say, "Jesus, help us — we're afraid." They say, "Do you not care that we are perishing?"

That's not a cry for help. That's an accusation. They're not just scared — they're questioning whether Jesus cares about them. These aren't strangers. These are the men who walk with Him daily, hear His teachings, and witness His miracles. Yet when the storm hits, their first instinct isn't to trust Him — it's to indict Him.

Be honest — have you been there? Not just afraid, but convinced that God is indifferent to your situation? The marriage that's falling apart, the diagnosis that won't change, the prayer that feels like it's hitting the ceiling. It's one thing to cry out for help. It's another to look at God and think, "You don't care." That's a different kind of storm — one that rages inside you even as the circumstances rage around you. Talk about a tough spot to be!

But look at what Jesus does. He doesn't defend Himself. He doesn't explain why He was sleeping. He stands and speaks directly to the chaos: "Peace! Be still!" — Mark 4:39 (ESV). The wind stops. The sea grows calm. Then He turns to His disciples with a question of His own: "Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?" — Mark 4:40 (ESV).

Jesus doesn't answer the accusation. He doesn't prove He cares with words. He proves it by His authority. The same God who seemed asleep in your storm is the same God who can silence it with a word. His silence is not His absence; it's His sovereignty — the quiet confidence of a God who is never caught off guard, never out of control, always working His plan, and never for a moment unaware of what you're going through.

The next time you find yourself in a storm and God feels distant, pay attention to what comes out of your mouth. Are you crying out for help, or are you accusing Him of not caring? The difference matters — because one is faith under pressure, and the other is a Christ-follower who has Christ in the boat yet has forgotten who He is.

Big Idea

God's silence in your storm is not indifference. The same Jesus who slept through the waves is the one who silenced them with a word. When fear turns into accusation, it's not because He stopped caring — it's because you've forgotten who's in the boat with you.

Questions to Ponder

When life feels overwhelming, does your first instinct lean toward "Jesus, help me" or "God, do you even care?" Can you identify a specific storm in your life when God felt distant — and, looking back, can you see how He was present the whole time? What's the difference in your heart between crying out in faith and accusing God of indifference?

Application

This week, when anxiety or fear rises — and it will — catch yourself before you speak. Notice whether your words are moving toward trust or accusation. If you find yourself drifting toward "God doesn't care," pause and remember who's in the boat. Write down one storm you're facing right now, and next to it write Mark 4:39: "Peace! Be still!" Let that be your anchor for the week.

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Before the Lord — a daily devotional by Blake S. Crawford. Read more and subscribe free at blakescrawford.com/before-the-lord.

Depth Requires Time: No Shortcuts to Knowing God

"And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed." — Mark 1:35 (ESV)

If Jesus — the Son of God — made time to be alone with the Father, what makes us think we can skip it?

George Muller was among the most remarkably faithful men who ever lived. He cared for more than ten thousand orphans, received millions of dollars in unsolicited provision, and did it all without ever once asking anyone for money. He simply prayed — and God answered. When asked about the source of his strength, Muller didn't point to strategy or discipline. He pointed to time spent with God. He wrote, "No one should expect to see much good resulting from their labors if he does not spend time in prayer and meditation."

That line has stayed with me for years. I've returned to Muller's autobiography more times than I can count, especially during seasons of difficulty. Every time, I land on the same truth: God sustains those who walk with Him. I am also reminded that depth with the Lord doesn't happen by accident. It takes time. Consistent, intentional, unhurried time.

Most of us know this. And most of us still treat our time with the Lord like a box to check. A quick devotional. A prayer on the way to work. A verse screenshot on Instagram. Then we wonder why our relationship with Him feels shallow and our struggles feel so big. We're giving God our margins and expecting the closeness that only comes from giving Him our mornings.

Spending time with Jesus isn't about logging hours — it's about showing up with your full attention. It's time to observe how He works. Time to think critically about His Word. Time to ask honest questions and wait for answers. Time to weave the details of your life into Him and His larger story. It's not a task. It's a relationship. And like every meaningful relationship, it demands a consistent, quality presence.

There's no shortcut to knowing God. There never has been. If you want depth, you have to show up — and stay awhile.

Big Idea

You can't microwave a deep relationship with God. Knowing Him requires what it has always required — consistent, intentional, unhurried time spent in His presence.

Questions to Ponder

Are you in a place where you wish your relationship with the Lord were more profound, meaningful, and heartfelt — and if so, what's actually standing in the way? How much of your time with God is spent checking a box rather than genuinely seeking to know Him? Why is that?

Application

This week, set aside fifteen uninterrupted minutes each morning — before the phone, email, or the day takes over — and spend them with the Lord. Not rushing through a reading plan, but sitting with Him. Read a passage slowly. Ask Him what He wants to show you. Write down what comes to mind. Do this for five consecutive days, and notice what shifts in your heart and your week.

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Before the Lord — a daily devotional by Blake S. Crawford. Read more and subscribe free at blakescrawford.com/before-the-lord.