Take the First Step: Being the One Who Reaches Out First

"So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift." — Matthew 5:23-24 (ESV)

Let's be honest: most of us don't enjoy confrontation. For many of us, it's more than a dislike — it's a real fear. I understand it because I feel it too. But I recently learned what that fear can cost — and the quiet courage of taking the first step.

A while back, a friend and I hit a rough patch. There was no blowup, no single offense — just a string of unexpected events that led to misunderstandings and hurt feelings. Neither of us addressed it. What surprised me was how quickly my mind shifted into self-protective mode: I began assuming the worst about my friend, filling in the gaps with stories that cast me as the victim and him as the problem. Those stories triggered my fight-or-flight response, and eventually flight won out; I withdrew and told myself I was justified. Sad, but true.

Then one day, my friend did what I should have done. He reached out and confronted me — gently and honestly — with a strength that showed our friendship mattered more to him than his own comfort. That conversation cleared up misunderstandings and restored what we had; today it's as if none of it ever happened. I was humbled by his courage and disappointed in myself for not going first. But if I'm honest, what stung most runs deeper: my friend doesn't know Jesus. And I'm afraid that by waiting — by not being the one to reach out — I missed a golden opportunity to show him Christ's reaching, sacrificial love.

Now, observe what Jesus says. It's striking. Reconciliation matters so much that He puts it ahead of worship: if you remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother (Matthew 5:23-24). Notice who moves first — not the one who was wronged, but you, the moment you remember there's tension. Jesus doesn't tell us to wait for the other person to come around. He tells us to go. Now!

And that's hard, especially when fear whispers that withdrawing is safer. But taking the first step was never about winning the conversation, or even about it going well — sometimes it won't. It's about trust and obedience: doing right by the relationship and honoring the God who reconciled us to Himself while we were still enemies. And there's often more at stake than the friendship: when we move toward someone first — especially someone who doesn't yet know Jesus — we put Christ's reaching love on display, and people can see the gospel in someone willing to go first. Whatever the outcome, you'll have done your part — and God grows something in us every time we choose courage over self-protection.

One honest caveat: some relationships aren't safe to re-enter or pursue — so don't hear today's post as a blanket order to reconcile with everyone. Sometimes, unhealthy and unsafe relationships are meant to be avoided, and the Lord sometimes uses conflict to protect you. Scripture only asks that you do your part, as far as it depends on you (Romans 12:18), to live peaceably with all people. Today's post is about the ordinary tensions we avoid out of fear — not about walking back into harm. But for most of us, most of the time, the distance is just waiting for someone to be brave. You don't have to be the one who was wrong to be the one to go first.

Big Idea

We can find a hundred excuses to avoid reconciliation, but Scripture is clear: we can't wait for the other person to move first. Jesus tells us to go — the moment we remember there's tension — because obedience matters more than our comfort. Take the first step, and leave the outcome to God.

Questions to Ponder

When you read this, does a name or a situation come to mind — a relationship that's quietly gone cold, or one that keeps flaring into conflict? Sit with how you tend to handle tension. Some of us flee — we withdraw, go quiet, and let the distance grow. Others fight — we get defensive, rehearse our case, and confront to win rather than to mend. Which is your reflex — and what does it look like when it plays out in real life? And underneath it, what is that reflex really protecting: your comfort, your pride, your need to be right, or a sense of safety you're afraid to lose?

Application

With your journal in hand, start by getting the whole picture. Name the person, the tension between you, the assumptions and stories you've told yourself — true or not — and the actions on both sides that contributed to it. Then take it to the Lord, and ask Him to help you see it clearly and fill in what you've missed. From there, ask Him plainly: Lord, is this mine to mend? If you sense a yes, pray again: ask Him to prepare both hearts, give you the right words, and make you quick to listen and slow to speak (James 1:19). Then go — a call, a message, or a shared cup of coffee — but check your aim first: you're there to restore the relationship, not to win it. If you tend to flee, don't clam up; share your heart. If you tend to fight, come humble and slow, ready to listen as much as to speak. Either way, lead with love. And carry three things: humility comes before honor (Proverbs 18:12); vulnerability invites vulnerability; and the Lord is with you.

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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.

God's Will Is a Light in Dark Times: Finding Light When Nothing Changes

"Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." — Matthew 6:10 (ESV)

Years ago, I was stuck in a long, grinding trial — the kind that drags on for more than a year and slowly wears you down. One day, it got worse. Bad news came in the morning, and then more bad news came over dinner. Two waves in a single day. It devastated me. But that night, God did something I've never forgotten: He gave me light in the dark — without changing a single one of my circumstances.

It started with something ordinary. I'd been watching The Chosen, and I usually watched only one episode at a time. But that night, I felt drawn to watch a second episode. I love this show, and the way the series portrays Jesus touches my heart. As I watched Simon talk with his wife about the Lord, I felt an unexpected nudge to go back to something I'd read that very morning.

That morning, I'd been working through Henry Blackaby's Experiencing God with a few friends, and one section had caught my eye. His point was that before you can even begin to discern God's will in a hard situation, you have to settle one thing first: commit — ahead of time, before you even know what He'll ask — to do whatever He says. In his words: "Two words in a Christian's language cannot go together: No, Lord. If you say no to God, He is not your Lord." The answer, always, has to be yes. I'd read it, nodded, and gone on with my day.

But that night, nudged back to it after that episode, it stopped me cold. I won't pretend the "yes" came easily — surrender rarely does when you're hurting — but as I reread the words, something in me settled. I picked up my pen and wrote three things in the margin: the name of my trial, the date, and a phrase that landed like a gift — God's Will = Light. Because that was it. I didn't need my circumstances to change to have light. I needed to stop staring at the darkness and fix my eyes on Him — to surrender the whole mess and say, "Whatever You ask of me here, Lord, my answer is yes."

That's the light God gives in the dark. It usually isn't an answer, an escape, or a change in circumstances. It's Himself — and the strange peace that comes when you stop demanding a way out and simply hand the trial back to the One who holds it. The circumstances didn't change that night, but I could breathe again. I fixed my eyes on Him, trusted Him to give me what I needed, and let Jesus carry the rest. The darkness didn't lift — but it lost its grip because my eyes had finally moved off the trial and onto the One who holds it. And a light in the dark isn't only for comfort — it's for walking. God doesn't want us frozen in the trial; His will becomes the light, and we follow it — one trusting, obedient step at a time. So don't just rest in the peace. Move in it.

Big Idea

Before you can find God's will in a dark season, you have to settle one thing first: an unconditional "yes" — committing to obey before you even know what He'll ask. That surrender is what opens the door to the light. It's not a changed circumstance; it's God Himself — enough to steady you and enough to show you the next step.

Questions to Ponder

Have you ever come to God this way before — committing to follow before asking Him for direction? Sit with that for a moment. What would it be like to have your unconditional "yes" already on the table before you even approach Him? When you imagine doing that, what stirs in your heart — fear, apprehension, relief, or freedom?

Application

With your journal in hand, call the darkness to mind — the kind of trial that presses in and tempts you to stare at it rather than at God. Maybe it's a past one, or one you're in right now. Then consider how you usually meet it. Most of us come to God with our requests first — asking, pleading, sometimes bargaining for a way out — and there's nothing wrong with bringing Him our needs. But there's one thing we tend to skip: surrender. Begin by putting your unconditional "yes" on the table — committing, ahead of time, to do whatever He asks, even before you know what it is. Surrender invites the light in. Then fix your eyes on Him rather than the circumstances — through His Word, through worship, or whatever pulls your heart back to Jesus — and seek His will. Ask Him, "Lord, my yes is on the table — please show me Your will." And then move: when He shows you the next step, even a small one, take it — in obedience and trust, without waiting for the whole path to be lit. One obedient step at a time.

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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.

Lord, I Am Struggling: Where You Turn When Life Presses In

“But he answered, ‘It is written, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”’” — Matthew 4:4 (ESV)

On September 17, 2019, I wrote in my journal: “Lord, I am struggling. Help me to be nourished by your Word. Search my heart and direct me in your ways, according to your will, to serve your purposes for your glory. May all that I am and do be for you.”

I don’t remember the specific struggle behind that prayer, but I remember the instinct behind it — and it’s one worth paying attention to. When I was struggling, the thing I reached for was nourishment from God’s Word.

Here’s what I’ve learned about struggle: it always sends us looking for something. When life presses in, we go hunting — for relief, for comfort, for something to steady us. The question isn’t whether we’ll reach for something. We will. The question is what.

Out in the wilderness, Jesus faced that exact fork in the road. After forty days without food, at the very end of His strength, the tempter shows up with the most reasonable offer imaginable: turn these stones into bread. Feed yourself. Reach for the thing right in front of you. And Jesus answers, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4, ESV). At His weakest, hungriest, and most vulnerable moment, He reached past the substitute and took hold of the Word instead.

That’s the choice every struggle sets before us. We can reach for the bread — the quick relief that’s always within arm’s reach. Numbing out. Scrolling until we feel nothing. Control. The approval of others. A drink, a distraction, a fantasy of escape. None of it is nourishment. It fills the moment and leaves us emptier than before. Or we can reach for the Word — and be fed by the One who truly sustains.

I know which one holds. A few years ago, I walked through a season of deep loneliness and isolation. It would have been easy to sink — to let loneliness pull me into despair or to numb it however I could. But the Lord met me in His Word. He spoke to me through Isaiah 40:11: “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young” (ESV). That was the nourishment I needed. Not a fix for my circumstances, but a promise: I had a Shepherd who would tend to me in my loneliness, gather me up, carry me close, and lead me. That single verse kept me from sinking. Not because it made the loneliness disappear, but because it reminded me I wasn’t alone — I was being carried.

That’s what the Word does when we let it feed us. It doesn’t always change the struggle, but it changes us in the struggle — it steadies us, holds us, and reminds us who’s with us. So when you’re struggling and you feel that familiar pull, pause long enough to notice what your hand is going toward.

When the struggle sends you looking, don’t settle for bread that leaves you empty. Reach for the Word that holds you.

Big Idea

Every struggle sends us looking for nourishment. Only God’s Word truly feeds us — everything else just fills the moment and leaves us emptier.

Questions to Ponder

Are you struggling today? When you’re in it, what do you instinctively reach for first — and does it actually nourish you, or just fill the moment? Is there a substitute you keep turning to that leaves you emptier every time? What would it look like to reach for God’s Word in this specific struggle — to let Him feed you rather than numb the ache?

Application

With your journal in hand, name the struggle you’re carrying right now. Then be honest about what you’ve been reaching for to cope with it — write it down, whatever it is. Ask the Lord to show you whether it’s nourishing you or just numbing you. Then open His Word and ask Him to feed you. If you don’t know where to start, begin with a passage about His care — Isaiah 40:11, Psalm 23, or Matthew 11:28. Sit with it. Let it be your nourishment today instead of the substitute. And when the pull to reach for something else returns, come back to the Word again.

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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.

Blessed Are the Peacemakers: Peace Starts Before the Conversation

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God." — Matthew 5:9 (ESV)

In an ideal world, our efforts to create peace would always be reciprocated. But that's not always the case. So what does one do when called to make peace, yet the other party isn't peaceable? This question becomes especially complicated among believers — where you'd expect peace to be possible, but it isn't always.

I keep coming back to two things. First, not every broken relationship requires the same response. Sometimes the conflict isn't rooted in sin — it's a disagreement, a misunderstanding, or simply two people who see things differently. In those cases, pursuing peace is almost always the right path.

But when sin is involved, discernment is required. If you lack closeness or the Lord's leading to speak into someone's life, pursuing peace may still be the wisest path. But when you have the relationship, permission, and the Spirit's prompting, confronting sin must take precedence — even at the cost of peace. The goal is always restoration: to love the person in a way that creates space for repentance and a renewed relationship with the Lord. This kind of love is messy and uncomfortable, and peace is often sacrificed in the process.

The second thing that keeps coming back to me — and this is where it gets personal — is that living peaceably with others first requires an internal peace rooted in a close, personal relationship with the Lord and in His love, nature, and will.

Romans 12:9–21 offers some of the best guidance for living peaceably with others, especially those who persecute us. Paul writes that we are to love genuinely, show brotherly affection, outdo one another in showing honor, and bless those who persecute us — all while resisting the temptation to repay evil with evil. We cannot do any of this on our own. Only through Christ, who strengthens us, can we love those who make peace difficult.

And when we have the love of Christ in us — when we are rooted and at peace in Him — we are then able to practice what Paul writes in Romans 12:18: "If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all" (ESV). That verse is the centerpiece. Do what you can. Bring what you have. Love as genuinely as Christ enables you to love.

And sometimes, even when you've done everything you can, peace still doesn't come. That's the hard truth behind "as far as it depends on you" — it acknowledges that the outcome doesn't always depend on you. At some point, you may need to entrust the outcome to the Lord and move on — not because you've given up, but because you've done what was yours to do and now the Lord needs to do the rest.

Big Idea

You can't make peace with someone else until you're at peace in Christ yourself.

Questions to Ponder

Are you in a situation where you desire peace with another believer, but they are unwilling or struggling to reciprocate? Does anything in today's post speak to how you might move forward? Where is your relationship with the Lord right now — and what would it look like to go deeper?

Application

If there's a relationship in your life where peace feels out of reach, start with the one you can control — your relationship with Christ. Before you strategize, confront, or try again, ask the Lord to settle your heart first. Then, prayerfully consider what the conflict requires. If sin is involved and the Lord is prompting you to address it, trust His leading — even if it's uncomfortable. Otherwise, take a step toward peace: a conversation, an apology, or simply an outstretched hand. Let Romans 12:18 guide you: do what you can, as far as it depends on you, and trust Him with the rest.

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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 Wrong Table: Who Jesus Chose to Eat With

"Go and learn what this means: 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.' For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners." — Matthew 9:13 (ESV)

In first-century Jewish culture, sharing a meal was never just about eating. It was personal. It was a way of saying, "I belong with these people." Who you ate with said something about who you were. So when Jesus sat down at a table full of tax collectors and sinners, every religious leader in the room knew exactly what He was doing. He was choosing them.

As you can imagine, the Pharisees were offended: "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?" (Matthew 9:11, ESV). The question wasn't curiosity — it was an indictment. If Jesus were truly sent by God, He wouldn't be caught dead at that table. A real teacher of God wouldn't associate with people like that. If He were truly who He claimed to be, He'd be at their table — with the devout, the disciplined. With the people who had earned their seats.

But Jesus doesn't go to their table. He stays right where He is. And His response reframes everything: "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick" (Matthew 9:12, ESV). Then He tells them to go study their own Scriptures — "Go and learn what this means: 'I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice'" — quoting Hosea 6:6 back to the men who had memorized it. They knew the words, but they missed the point.

The Pharisees believed closeness to God was something you earned — through discipline, ritual, and moral performance. Jesus says the opposite. He doesn't move toward the people who've cleaned themselves up. He pulls up a chair next to those still sitting in their mess.

And that's where you and I have to be honest. Most of us live somewhere between those two tables. We believe in grace and acceptance, yet in practice we act as if our access to Jesus depends on how put-together we are.

When we're doing well — consistent in our spiritual disciplines, relationally present, and spiritually sharp — we feel close to God, as if we've earned His attention. When we're not — inconsistent, distracted, and spiritually dull — we feel distant from Him, as if we've earned His silence. And for the person who hasn't yet come to faith, the distance feels even greater — as if God isn't just silent but unavailable or uninterested altogether.

But here's the reality: When you've failed again in the same way you swore you wouldn't — when guilt is loud and your Christ-likeness feels more like Christ-unlikeness — Jesus wants to be with you. When you're convinced that someone like you doesn't belong anywhere near a God like Him — that you've somehow disqualified yourself from His attention — Jesus wants to be with you. That's the whole point of the passage. He didn't come for the people who thought they'd earned their seat. He came for those who knew they hadn't.

The question isn't whether you're worthy of a seat at His table. You're not — and neither were the others sitting there. The question is whether you'll stop performing your way toward Him and just sit down.

Big Idea

Jesus didn't come for people who earned their seat. He came for the ones who knew they couldn't. The table was never about worthiness — it was about need.

Questions to Ponder

When you fall short, is your first instinct to clean yourself up before coming to God (Pharisees) — or to come as you are (tax collectors and sinners)? The Pharisees knew Hosea 6:6 by heart but missed its meaning. Is there a truth about God's grace you could recite but haven't really let change the way you live? How is that, and why is that?

Application

The next time you catch yourself pulling away from God — after a failure, in a season of doubt, or in a moment when you feel spiritually disqualified — don't try to earn your way back first. Just come. Open your Bible, get on your knees, or simply start talking to Him — not with a polished prayer, but an honest one. In the mess, not after the cleanup. That's not lowering the bar — that's believing what Jesus said about why He came. He chose the table everyone else avoided. He's not waiting for you to be worthy of a seat. He's waiting for you to take 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.