Verse of the Day – July 18, 2026
As God’s chosen people, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. — Colossians 3:12
This past week has been a doozy. The last post I shared referenced having to turn off comments here on the blog. That’s not where the strain began. I’ve also faced battles with censorship and losing other social media/public writing accounts due to my stance on Islamism, which I honestly half expected but… it’s still a blow. Beyond that, the whole week has been laden with heavy spiritual warfare from health issues to technology failing to cabinets once more filled with water to vehicle anxiety (will it make it!?) to struggles in relationships and within myself.
Spoiler alert: the devil is a liar.
This morning’s verse stopped me in my tracks after a long, sleepless night, and it deserves a personal post rather than our usual Verse of the Day format. The verse came on the heels of a video I poured my heart into — words I felt God speaking straight to the weary, the heavy, the ones who feel like failures and burdens, much like I have since the Holy Spirit began convicting me yesterday about my own failures and burdens, about what is a less positive side of humanity but is very real in all of us.
Listening to the audio moved me deeply… and then the verse landed. Suddenly everything clicked. God used both to show me where I needed to step back, pause, and truly seek Him to guide my words. I had been quick to speak truth, but I wasn’t clothing myself with the very compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience He calls us to wear. My own anger, stress, and grief had bled through in ways I regret.
In short? The message I needed to hear first was the one I was trying to share with others.
The Sound That Moved Me
Here is the video I shared from that sound, and the transcript — God’s tender words to His tired child:
How Could You Love Me, God?
How could You love me, God?
What do You even see when You look at me?
I fail so much more than I succeed. Some days I’m so heavy in my thoughts I can barely move. I can’t find the energy to do the next thing. I feel like I’m barely making it. Maybe I’m a burden. I feel like a failure to my family so many days. I’ve messed up so many times—I swing from all in to completely checked out. I try to remember the important things, but then I forget. I fall behind others, and it feels impossible to catch up.
Why would You want to help someone like me? What do You even see in me? Why do I feel so doomed?
My Child, Come Here.
I saw you before you ever knew you needed to be seen. I formed you in a secret place. I knew every part of you before the world spoke your name.
You ask, “What do You see?” I see what I made. I see someone I delighted to create. I don’t measure you by the list of your successes or the size of your bank account. I measure you by My love—and I loved you into being.
When you say you fail more than you succeed, oh child, please listen: Failure never surprised Me. I’m not shocked by your mistakes. My Son walked into the worst the world could do—betrayal, shame, the cruelest ending—and took it into Himself.
You asked if I would even help you. Oh, I’m not distant, child. I’m not watching from the sky with folded arms. I’m your Father—the One who runs to the child who stumbles home. So I run to you.
When the heaviness of depression pins you down, I am there in the stillness. I do not dismiss your pain as weakness. I meet you in it. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted…” (Psalm 34:18). I carry you when your feet have no strength.
You say you feel like a burden. Oh, please hear Me with all the tenderness you can hold: You are never a burden to Me. When you bring Me your small, exhausted prayers, I gather them like treasure. Your need is not an annoyance—it is the very thing I delight to carry with you.
I numbered every hair on your head. I know the hidden places where you feel defective. I made your brain, and I see your effort. I honor the courage it takes to try again after you forget.
You feel far behind others. I know what it is to be counted by the world and found lacking. But I call you My own regardless of the world’s scoreboard. Your worth isn’t measured in speed or comparison, but in being held in My hands.
That ache of feeling doomed is real, but the enemy is a liar. I will not leave your story unfinished. I am the God who makes beauty from ashes…
I love you—not for what you can do for Me, but because I made you. You are My workmanship.
When your heart is raw and you think you’re too broken, remember: I did not spare My Son from suffering. He bore it all because of you. If I sent Jesus into that darkness for you, how could I withhold My help now?
Come with your hands empty and say, “I can’t.” That is enough. Lean on Me. Rest in Me. Let My Spirit breathe into your exhausted places.
When the voices of shame rise up, ask Me: “Father, what do You say about me?”
I see your all-in heart. I hold the parts that broke, and I mend them with gentleness, not shame. My grace is sufficient—My power shows up most clearly in your weakness.
I am with you. I will not leave you. Bring the trembling prayers. Lay the weight on Me.
You are never alone.
I love you, My child.
A Prayer for Us All
Father, thank You that You see us — not as the world does, not by our failures or how far behind we feel, but as Your beloved children. Help us clothe ourselves with Your compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience — starting with how we treat our own hearts. Teach us to come to You with empty hands and to extend the same grace we so desperately need.
We are never a burden to You. Thank You for running to us, for carrying us, and for never leaving us.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.