When most of what we read and see is governed by some soulless algorithm built to anger us or sell us something—it’s hard to know if joy is real, if love is kind, if gentle words are really meant to bless. 

And yet joy lingers, gentleness persists, and tens of millions of times a day, someone whispers “I love you” to a child, a spouse, a friend, a former enemy.   

This is true for both those who do not own the name of Jesus and for those who celebrate His power and love:  “God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us” (Rom 5:5). 

The tenderness we witness, the patient words we find when stressed, the arms with which we wrap the hurting and the sinful—these are the remnants of the love once given at Creation and now given us preeminently in Jesus: “This grace was given us in Christ Jesus before the beginning of time, but it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior, Christ Jesus, who has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Tim 1:9-10).

Resist the anger amped by code. Love with the grace by which you are forever loved. 

And stay in it. -Bill Knott

“He’s so much better than I am,” we say, proving just how little we know of someone else’s life.

“She’s a saint,” we say admiringly, assuming that the woman we can see is always just as good as we imagine.

We assign a top-notch grade to behaviors we observe, and make assumptions that the life consistency we can’t achieve is somehow available to others.

But grace reminds us of the brokenness we share—each one of us—regardless of the estimate of others.

Behind the fair façade of piety and cool, we each know just how far we fall below the expectations of our God—and how each well-lived life is only, always, saved by grace.

All ranks, all grades, all estimates are vanities and not realities. If you can find a soul not absolutely saved by grace, then you have found the rarest form of human life.

Give up your search: there is no other way.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Going underground is one of humanity’s oldest responses to fear, war, or pestilence.

Archaeologists have uncovered vast subterranean cities, carved out by those who believed that living in the light made them vulnerable. Victims of persecution, fugitives—even families fleeing natural disasters or climate shifts—all chose to dwell where only torches and flickering lamps could pierce the darkness.

But human beings weren’t made for life underground. Our bodies, our minds, and even our food sources depend on what’s green and growing and bathed in sunlight. Only fear—without and within—could cause us to live where we otherwise bury our dead.

And the darkness is never only physical. Living without sunlight distorts our grasp of reality, and even of God. If we never see the sun or the stars of the Milky Way, we think He is no bigger than what scares us.

Yet there is light for us—warm, welcoming, life-giving. God’s Word declares the good news of our liberation: “He has rescued us from the kingdom of darkness and transferred us into the Kingdom of His dear Son, who purchased our freedom and forgave our sins” (Colossians 1:13–14).

You were made to live in the light. Be done with all that’s buried, fearful, and dark.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

“I just can’t catch a break,” he sighs, watching floodwaters climb five feet up the walls of his ruined home.

“I’ve got plenty of luck,” she weeps over the crumpled fender of her old Toyota. “It’s just all bad.”

The weary chorus of this world is a dirge about how little control we truly have. Medical bills crush us. Friendships we cherish grow distant and cold. The machines on which our lives depend break down with unnerving frequency. Those we love get sick and die.

Is any of this seen by Someone—anyone—who can do something about it?

To doubting, disheartened people just like us, the apostle Paul wrote one of history’s most radiant lines: “God’s Son was before all else, and by Him everything is held together” (Col. 1:17). With all their seeming randomness and pain, our lives and our futures are held in the embrace of One whose arms stretched wide for us from a broken tree: “God was pleased for Him to make peace by sacrificing His blood on the cross, so that all beings in heaven and on earth could be brought back to God” (v. 20).

“I am the Alpha and the Omega—the Beginning and the End,” Jesus said of Himself. Nothing escapes His notice. Nothing lies outside His control. Our pain is real—but it is temporary.

Hope endures. The grace of God outlasts our brokenness.

So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Most of us inherited a God no kinder than we were—a deity whose major role seemed meting out tough penalties for willful or impetuous mistakes.

Like primitive believers everywhere, we read His displeasure in thunderstorms, bruised knees, and lost puppies—for was there anything for which we weren’t somehow to blame?

So it is that finding grace is the great unlearning of our past, the sweet and joyful discovery that in Jesus, our sins aren’t being counted against us. What we sang in innocence was actually, fundamentally true: “Jesus loves me”—genuinely loves me. He can’t imagine a greater happiness than enjoying my trust and affection.

How glorious to have been wrong about it all—to celebrate the truth that undermines our youthful foolishness and fear. His perfect love still casts out fear, and makes us wise unto salvation.

By grace, our thinking—and our living—is renewed. So stay in grace. -Bill KNott

Ever thought of running away from God?

Like naive children in moments of hot shame and brokenness, we imagine there’s some deeply-hidden spot where what we’ve done cannot be seen, where we can huddle with our guilt. Perhaps in some dark mountain cave. Perhaps beneath the blankets of our bed. Perhaps beneath the cellar stairs.

But God—and grace—are inescapable, and our most private hiding spots are never hid from Him. The psalmist said it best: “Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to the heavens, You are there; if I make my bed in the depths, You are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast” (Ps 139: 7-10).

Grace seeks us even when we’ve blown it big—to heal and forgive us, not in vengeance or to punish. We hide in foolishness and fear: God teases us into His light. And when we’re found, hot tears blend into easy, grateful smiles.

Be sensible: choose not to hide.

And stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Sometimes through the dust and smoke, we trace the features of a friend—someone whose rich, remembered kindness soothes the soul and calms the turbulence. We hold on to such people for good reason: they have held us—gripped us, even—when the world seemed topsy-turvy and every voice was loud.

They were—they are—God’s grace in human form, a bit of heaven lingering to give us hope and get us through. In some faint way, they call to mind the one Who came to live among us and be one with us: “And the Word became flesh and lived among us. . . . full of grace and truth” (John 1:14).

Friends hold us for a minute, or perhaps an hour: He holds us for eternity, and promises to never willingly let go. “Be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matt 28:20). Knowing how we doubt His love, Jesus repeatedly reminds us, “Now you are my friends, since I have told you everything the Father told me” (Jn 15:15).

Grace visits us through selfless souls, and heals us through their acts of kindness. The God who motivates such generosity is no further from you than a friend who shares dark roads and waits with you for dawn’s first light.

So when you pray, thank God for friends who live His grace.

And stay in it. -Bill Knott

What is the speed of trust?

It’s an odd question, since rapid acceleration and safe, human connection seem antithetical—moving in opposite directions.

And there’s the point—and the reason we don’t attempt lasting friendships while driving Formula 1 cars, in the backstretch of an 800-meter race, or while racing each other to the top of the corporate ladder.

Speed implies competition, a desire to be better than the other. Trust cannot rush, for it unfolds only when our usual pride and combativeness have been set aside.

The God who inhabits a universe where stars collide and light itself moves at more than 670,000,000 miles per hour sent His Son to a tiny planet. He came to walk long, winding roads with us, start conversations in homes and at wells, and play with children. “Though He was God, He did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, He gave up His divine privileges; He took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being” (Phil 2:6-7).

There is no hurrying the pace of trust, and trust is the Father’s fondest hope for us. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Eph.2.8).

When we trust His grace, we give ourselves to the One who has loved us through all eternity.

Now stay in grace. -Bill Knott

We come naturally by our self-absorption. From our earliest moments, we’re congratulated for taking first steps, trying new foods, mastering new skills, for learning how to navigate the myriad complexities of an ever-widening world. The story is, and has always been, about us—our goals, our striving, our gaining, our getting.

But then one day the world refused to be our private oyster.  There was no pearl inside—just grit and sand and disappointment. And we began to long from somewhere deeper than the ocean floor for rescue from our pain, our foolishness, our disillusion with ourselves.

Enter the selfless hero who became one of us to teach us how to find the joy. The Pearl of great price offers each of us His priceless grace. In Jesus, we discover One who never disappoints, who never falls short of saving us, who never walks away in righteous indignation from our follies and our failures. He’s the friend who knows both when to speak and when to be silent, when to laugh and when to weep—the incomparable companion who merged His story with our own. “In Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28).

His gracious offer of relief and liberation alters every other storyline. And yes, this hero always gets the last word.

 So stay in grace. -Bill Knott

Grace isn’t fully knowable inside the monuments we’ve built. Our finest structures merely hint at what the Scriptures call the “breadth and length and height and depth” (Eph 3:18) of love the Father gives us.

Cathedral arches just suggest the soaring kindness of our God. Our well-stocked libraries of knowledge—comprehensively collected; exquisitely curated—tell but a fraction of the story, deeper than our minds can grasp and gentler than our hearts can feel.

Until you stand upon the ocean shore, calling actively to mind that all your sins have been cast into its depths when you believe in Jesus (Mic 7:19), you’ve only sampled moments of God’s grace.

Until you stare in wonder at a midnight sky replete with billions of star galaxies—unknown to us yet still within the orbit of God’s grace—you cannot grasp the promise made to Abraham, whose faith was counted righteousness: “I will multiply your descendants beyond number, like the stars in the sky and the sand on the seashore” (Gen 22:17).

We fall in awe before the love that wouldn’t let this planet go: “For this is how God loved the world: He gave His one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). 

The impulse to adore the God whose love for us is infinite is one sure sign that grace has found a home in you.

So stay in it. -Bill Knott