We’ve got 1,440 minutes in a day.

“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly.”

Pause for a brief moment (not too long), and let that sink in. Squint at the last word. Richly. Not sparsely. Not occasionally. Not just enough to keep your head above water. Richly. Like rain soaking into parched earth. Slowly seeping in, penetrating, Touching roots. Like fire warming the bones in the chill of winter. That’s Colossians 3:16. And it doesn’t whisper. It declares. It’s looking you right in the eye. Unblinking. Unwavering. Just staring …

“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom.” That’s not five minutes before bed. That’s not skimming a single verse while the kettle boils or the adverts finish. That’s not ticking a box to quiet the conscience. It’s a lion-roar to a life soaked, saturated, overflowing with the Word that made the world and then came to redeem it. It’s easy to move on here, but don’t – just don’t! Paul is saying to let the Word, that eternal, forever word of Christ dwell in you. Let it build in and on you in such a way that even when they extend the hurricane maximum alert to F6, the equivalent won’t affect you.

You are not alone in this, fighting your corner. Take time to pray a quick 2 or 3 sentence prayer for someone you know that this verse will erupt into life for them too! Pray it for me if you like, here’s why. “Let the word of Christ dwell in y’all richly.” It’s plural. This is for you and me… and ‘them’.

We need to stop pretending that reading a single verse a day(placing one little pebble on the wall) is going to form radical, Christ-exalting disciples. It won’t. It can’t. A man or woman can’t live on crumbs and think they’re feasting – and what a feast! That’s ludicrous. A soldier can’t train once a week for less time than it takes to change the bed linen and be ready for war. And yet somehow, we’ve convinced ourselves that a verse a day is enough to confront the darkness, silence the lies, and stir up holy passion for the God who gave His Son to bring us near.

What a challenge.

Ctrl + Alt + Delete / Task manager / Close session
The off-line comment here is that not everyone is struggling to read the bible – my guess is that you are not either, but we do have to address the elephant in the room, especially when it is getting restless and causing some damage! This post reads a little passive-legalistic, but do keep up your good work and drawing near to God as you discover him in the pages before you each day!
Exit / resume /all

We’ve got 1,440 minutes in a day. Maybe ten of them with the Word, and we call that devotion. That’s not devotion. That’s neglect with a halo. That’s scraping by when the King of glory has laid a banquet before us. We’ve got podcasts, playlists, YouTube sermons, Bibles in every translation and yet the Word of Christ sits unopened while we chase what cannot satisfy.

And here’s the thing: you cannot do exploits for God on a diet of spiritual fast food. You want to see the dead raised? Want to speak and see hearts pierced with the gospel? Want to walk in holiness, joy, fire and power? You won’t get there by nibbling on Scripture like it’s an optional sushi side dish. Let the Word dwell in you richly. Let it take up residence. Let it challenge, correct, comfort, and commission.

This is not for the average. I’m not speaking to people content with mediocrity. I’m expecting more from you. If you’ve stuck around here long enough, you already know this isn’t for the faint-hearted.

You were born to do something world-class for the kingdom. Something costly. Something obedient. Something others won’t do because they’re too distracted, too lazy, too safe. But not you. For you, the call is clear. Give yourself – intentionally, sacrificially, joyfully – to a radical Scripture-reading lifestyle.

Let the Spirit breathe on that obedience, and everything begins to shift. Your mind. Your priorities. Your affections. Your speech. Your posture. This isn’t academic. It’s holy. It’s weighty. And it touches every corner of your life. The Word gets in, and the Spirit ignites it. And before long, your entire life becomes combustible with purpose.

Don’t give yourself grace to not follow hard after God. That’s not humility. That’s permission to drift. This isn’t legalism. It’s life. It’s discipleship. It’s the faith that actually costs something. The kind that looks like Jesus, walks like Jesus, and talks like Jesus because it’s been shaped by His Word and formed by His Spirit.

Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly. That’s not a suggestion. That’s the invitation. To be set apart. To become fire in a world grown cold. To live what others only quote.

That’s my challenge to you – because I like you, and He loves you.

Helping you find hope in hard times

I once travelled across the Sinai desert and as my camel veered into a wadi sheltered from the wind the silence hit me, surreal and total. I could hear the noise of my thumb and forefinger as I rubbed them together, clearly! There was no chance of a snake sneaking up on me.

It’s a crunching gear-change, but a good place to ask, have you ever noticed how quiet the world becomes in the Psalm 23 ‘valley of life?’ Not the noise of traffic or voices or the endless whirl of media distraction, but that inner stillness that settles eventually when the gadgets are turned off, when unsocial media comfort has packed up and left, and all you’re left with is the echo of your own questions. That’s the thing about valleys – they rarely shout. They whisper. And often, they whisper fear, anxiety and apprehension.

You are probably so familiar with Ps 23 that you might benefit today from me showing you what might be the elephant in the room, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…” Not because the valley isn’t dark. Not because you’re strong enough to make it through on your own. Not because evil isn’t real. But because of one profoundly steady truth: you are not alone. The Shepherd is near.

Now, that’s easy to quote. It’s been printed on enough tea towels and sympathy cards to make it feel like a spiritual slogan. But when the valley is your lived reality – when you’re walking with a limp and your prayers feel like unanswered voicemails you need more than a verse. You need a Shepherd. You need to know, not in theory but way deep, in the marrow of your bones, that the darkness doesn’t get the last word. Never does. Never will.

Here’s what’s easy to miss; shadows only exist because there is light, and without light, there’s no shadow, just total darkness. If figuratively speaking you’re seeing or experiencing ‘shadows’, no matter how ominous or grey they may seem, it means light is still present. Somewhere behind you, beside you, above you – the light of God’s presence is breaking in. Things might not always go the way we want, but, all things work together for our God. We might not understand how, but God’s grace, kindness and will for us is always for us.

David never wrote, “Though I live in the valley.” He said, “Though I walk through.” The valley isn’t a destination. It’s not a place to settle or build theology around or start defining God by your experience of silence. It’s a passage. It’s a ‘through’ place, yet many of us are tempted to pitch tents in the shadows, convincing ourselves that God has left the building because we can’t trace His hand. But faith, real faith, learns to walk through what it doesn’t yet understand.

It’s in the walking, not the understanding, where the Shepherd, your Shepherd, does His finest work.

He doesn’t promise to make the valley disappear. He promises to be with us in it. There’s a difference. We keep looking for escape; He keeps offering presence. We demand clarity; He offers Himself. We want answers; He gives us His rod and staff as comforts we didn’t know we needed, until fear started clutching at our heels like some childhood monster that lives under our bed…

The psalmist doesn’t flinch from naming the shadow of death. He doesn’t soften the threat. But he refuses to let it define his confidence. So should you. “You are with me.” That’s the turning point. It always is. The Shepherd doesn’t promise a detour around the valley via the M6 or the M1; He leads us right through the middle of it. And He does so not from a distance, not barking orders from the hills, but with us. Right there. Sometimes silent, yes. But never absent. With us.

You don’t have to feel the Shepherd to follow Him. You just need to trust that if there’s a shadow, there’s light. And if there’s light, He’s near. And never forget the way things were always meant to be, and will be eternally – that command of God; “Let there be light.”

So keep walking. Don’t camp in the confusion. Don’t knit a theology out of the fog and mist. And don’t let the shadow convince you that it’s the source of truth. The valley is not the end. There’s a table on the other side. There’s oil, there’s a cup overflowing, there’s goodness and mercy that don’t just follow you – they chase you, catch and overtake you.

Jesus, our formidable, great shepherd always leads through. He hasn’t stopped now.