Our Loving Hearts Inc.

12/13/2025

04/19/2025

Day 40 of 40:
“Between the Stone
and the Sunrise”
Scripture: Matthew 27:62‑66 (NIV)

“The next day, the one after Preparation Day, the chief priests and the Pharisees went to Pilate.
‘Sir,’ they said, ‘we remember that while He was still alive that deceiver said, “After three days I will rise again.”
So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day.’ …
Pilate answered, ‘Take a guard. Go, make the tomb as secure as you know how.’
So they went and made the tomb secure by putting a seal on the stone and posting the guard.”

Reflection
Holy Saturday is the overlooked page in the gospel story—the white space between black‑inked agony and golden‑inked triumph. From the outside, it appears nothing is happening: the cross is behind us, the stone is secured, soldiers stand watch. Heaven seems silent; earth seems unchanged.



Yet this silent day is pregnant with promise. Christian tradition calls it the “Great Sabbath,” the day Christ rests from His redemptive work even as He descends to proclaim victory over death’s domain (1 Peter 3:19).



Underground, seed‑like, resurrection is beginning to pulse.



For the disciples, though, Saturday feels like defeat. The One who redefined their worth is gone. They have no miracle to photograph, no marketplace of preaching to return to, only the unsettling quiet of unanswered questions.



Your forty‑day fast has trained you for this very silence. Each time you resisted the click of “add to cart,” you practiced sitting in unmet desire. Each ad you scrolled past without engaging taught your heart to breathe in stillness. You discovered that emptiness is not always loss; sometimes it is preparation.



Consumerism hates Holy Saturday. It cannot monetize waiting or market hidden hope. But the kingdom of God is built on seedtime before harvest, gestation before birth, silence before song. What looks sealed off is being pressurized with resurrection power.



So do not rush past the stone today. Stand with Mary and Mary opposite the tomb. Let the weight of waiting do its shaping work. In every place that still feels unresolved—finances, relationships, addictions, secret shames—believe that the guarded grave is not the last sentence. Dawn is already scheduling its arrival.



The Fast is finished; the Feast is near.
Tomorrow the tomb will be empty, and everything you have made room for will be filled with resurrection life.

Prayer
God of hidden midnights, teach me to honor the times when heaven is quiet and the grave look final. I confess my impulse to fill every gap with buying, scrolling, and noise. Today I choose Sabbath stillness. Hold my unanswered questions in Your steady hands. Press resurrection life into the sealed places of my heart. And when the stone rolls and morning breaks, let me rise with Christ into a freedom no tomb can threaten.
Amen.

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04/18/2025

Day 39 of 40:
The Curtain Torn
Scripture: Mark 15:37‑39 (NIV)

“With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last.
The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.
And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, saw how He died, he said,
‘Surely this man was the Son of God!’”

Reflection
Jerusalem’s temple held a secret: a thick, floor‑to‑ceiling curtain guarding the Most Holy Place. Only one priest, on one day each year, could step behind it—and only with blood in hand. The curtain was God’s velvet “Do Not Enter,” a living reminder that sin keeps us separated from a holy God.



At 3 p.m., as Jesus releases His final cry, that curtain rips from top to bottom—heaven’s hands tearing the barrier no human could reach. The holiest space is suddenly wide open, its once‑hidden glory spilling out onto common ground.



The cross doesn’t just pay our debt; it opens access.
No more velvet ropes.
No more elite credentials.
No more buying favor with sacrifices or offerings.



Our forty‑day fast has tugged at smaller curtains—false partitions built by consumer culture:

Stuff as status.
Spending as self‑medication.
Buying as belonging.



Each “no” to needless consumption was a tiny rip in the fabric that once separated us from simple, undistracted fellowship with God. Now Good Friday finishes the tear. The Way is open—paid for, not by our restraint, but by His blood.



And the centurion—Rome’s hardened executioner—becomes the first to walk through, confessing what Israel’s leaders refused to say: “Surely this man was the Son of God!”



If a soldier who wielded the hammer can recognize the Savior, then there’s hope for every over‑spender, doom‑scroller, and approval‑addict among us. The curtain is down. Come close.



Prayer
Jesus, Your final breath tore every barrier, including the ones I’ve built with my own striving and stuff. Thank You that I no longer hustle for a place near You—the veil is gone. Draw me past the ruins of my old defenses into honest, open communion. May my life stay curtain‑free, wide open to Your presence and Your people.
Amen.

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04/18/2025

Day 38 of 40:
"The Weight of the World"
Scripture: John 19:28–30 (NIV)

“Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, ‘I am thirsty.’

A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips.

When he had received the drink, Jesus said, ‘It is finished.’ With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.”

A Slow Walk to Golgotha


The hill is called Golgotha—The Place of the Skull—a rubbish mound outside Jerusalem’s walls. Rome means it to be a billboard of fear: Step out of line and end up here. But heaven means it to be an altar: Bring every sin here and watch it die.



The journey is methodical and humiliating. Jesus is forced to carry the crossbeam—about 90 pounds. Every forward step grinds splinters into shredded shoulders. Simon of Cyrene is conscripted when Jesus collapses; even the Son of God allows help in His most human moment.



Nails pierce wrists and ankles; iron bites into median nerves. The cross is raised, dropping into a socketed hole with a thud that dislocates joints.



Crucifixion executes by slow suffocation—the lungs drown in their own fluids. Every breath costs a push of torn feet, a pull of ripped arms. Seven sentences escape those dying lungs; the last three words change everything:

“It is finished.”

Greek: tetelestai—an accounting term stamped on paid‑in‑full receipts.


The Fast Meets the Cross
For forty days we’ve tracked smaller debts:
• impulse purchases we declined
• appetites we questioned
• ads we silenced
• receipts we crumpled.



Good Friday stares beneath every subtotal and sees the deeper debt—the moral overdraft we could never clear.



Consumerism tells us worth can be earned, identities can be bought, satisfaction is one more upgrade away. The cross exposes the lie: No wallet could afford redemption; no self‑help plan could erase guilt. Only a perfect, willing Substitute could pay humanity’s invoice.



When Jesus says “It is finished,” He doesn’t mean “I’m finished.” He means the debt ledger standing against us has been stamped PAID. Your soul is debt‑free, not because you budgeted better, but because Christ bankrupted heaven to settle your account.



Prayer:

Jesus,
I stand beneath Your cross with empty hands.
The weight that should have crushed me fell on You instead.
Every debt—moral, emotional, spiritual—has been erased by Your blood.
I renounce the urge to keep paying for what You already purchased.
Let this finished work quiet my striving and awaken my gratitude.
May the shadow of the cross become the place I live from,
not just today, but every day You grant me breath.
Amen.

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04/17/2025

Dear God, thank You for this day and the gift of another chance to trust You. Thank You for being my constant peace and hope through every moment in my life. I’ve battled doubt, fear, anxiety, and even pain—but You’ve never walked away from me. Your word in 2 Timothy 1:7 says, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” I’m so grateful for the way You calm my mind and surround me with Your supernatural peace. You’ve always been in my corner, always had my back, and nothing in this world compares to You. I refuse to let fear take the lead. I choose to walk in boldness, trust in Your promises, and carry joy with me no matter what happens. You are greater than anything I face, and I praise You for that. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

The Lord is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; Of whom shall I be afraid? -Psalms‬ ‭27‬:‭1‬ ‭

04/17/2025

Day 37 of 40:
"Quiet Power"
Scripture: Isaiah 53:7 (NRSV)

“He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,

yet he did not open his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.”



-------

Silence can feel like weakness.

We’re conditioned to speak up, push back, insist on our rights, prove our point.

So when Isaiah pictures the Messiah—oppressed, afflicted, yet silent—it jars us. Jesus stands before unjust judges, false witnesses, brutal soldiers, and He chooses quiet.



Why?

Because real strength doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it simply stands.
Jesus’ silence is not surrender to evil; it’s total surrender to the Father’s will. He has nothing to prove and nothing to protect—only a mission to complete.



Our fast has been a long lesson in quieting appetites: declining the impulse to click Buy Now, resisting the itch to upgrade, muting the marketing noise.



In that quiet, we’ve discovered how loud our cravings can be and how much faith it takes to sit still.



Isaiah’s Servant shows us that silence can be holy ground. When we refrain from spending to soothe boredom or anxiety, we echo Jesus’ restraint before His accusers. We say, “I don’t need more to be secure— I need to trust deeper.”



The world equates volume with power and consumption with success. Jesus equates obedience with victory. Good Friday is on the horizon, and the Son of God will conquer not by force, but by faithful stillness.



What might God do in us if we learned to let silence have the last word?



Prayer:
Jesus, You faced injustice without retaliation and won the greatest victory in silence. Teach me that kind of quiet power. When I’m tempted to fill emptiness with noise or purchases, remind me that strength is found in trusting You. Let my restraint speak louder than my impulses, and my stillness make space for Your will. Amen.

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04/16/2025

Daily Dose: Because God's timing is perfect, we can trust Him in the waiting process. But if the waiting gets harder to bear, pray and watch God strengthen your hope, expectation and patience! Happy Wednesday!

03/22/2025

The Illusion of Ownership
Ownership is one of the most powerful concepts in our culture. We take pride in what we own—our homes, our cars, our clothes, even our schedules. But here’s the spiritual twist: in the kingdom of God, we don’t truly own anything. We are stewards, not owners.



Psalm 24:1 reminds us, “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.” Everything we claim as “mine” is really “on loan.” This shift from ownership to stewardship isn’t just semantic—it’s transformational.



When we believe we own something, we grip it tightly. When we know we’re only managing it on God’s behalf, we start to ask different questions:

— Am I using this resource the way God would want me to?
— Am I caring for this item or relationship with humility and purpose?
— Am I generous with what’s been entrusted to me?



Your fast is not just a break from spending—it’s a divine invitation to examine your relationship with ownership. What would change if you started viewing your money, your possessions, even your time as gifts to be used wisely rather than treasures to be guarded?



Reflection Questions:

What do you cling to most tightly? Why?

How might reframing yourself as a steward, not an owner, change your perspective?

What has God entrusted to you that you might use more faithfully?



Prayer:
God, remind me that all I have is Yours. Teach me to be a faithful steward, not a possessive owner. Help me manage what You’ve placed in my hands with wisdom, humility, and open-hearted generosity. Amen.

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