One of the most revealing questions we can ask ourselves isn’t, “What do I own?” but, “What do I treasure?” Jesus knew that what captures our hearts will eventually shape our lives. That’s why, when he told the story of the rich farmer, he wasn’t condemning success or hard work. He was exposing the danger of building a life where everything revolves around “I”, “me” and “mine”.

It’s a temptation we all face. We can spend years constructing impressive towers of achievement, reputation, possessions or security, only to discover how fragile they really are. Ecclesiastes reminds us that the things we work hardest to accumulate are often the things we can’t keep. They were never meant to carry the weight of our deepest hopes.

Paul offers a better way. “Set your minds on things above.” He’s not asking us to escape the world but to live in it with different priorities. Compassion, kindness, humility, patience, forgiveness, and love may not attract much attention, but they’re the building blocks of a life that lasts because they’re rooted in Christ.

Perhaps today is an opportunity to look honestly at the foundations beneath your own life. If circumstances changed tomorrow, what would remain? The good news is that Jesus offers us a foundation that can’t be shaken. When Christ becomes our greatest treasure, everything else finds its proper place. We learn to hold possessions lightly, love people deeply, and live generously, knowing that our true riches are found in him.

So today, ask yourself those same two questions: What is your greatest treasure? And what are you building your life on? May your answer lead you ever closer to the one foundation that never fails.

Note: This devotional is based on worship I led at Middlesbrough Salvation Army on Sunday 2 August 2026, you can see my full notes by clicking here.

Our Gospel reading in Matthew 13:1–9 & 18–23 is one of Jesus’ best-known parables, yet it’s one that never stops asking searching questions. We often hear it as a story about four different kinds of people. But perhaps Jesus is inviting us to ask something much more personal: What kind of soil is my heart today?

The wonderful thing is that our hearts aren’t fixed. Over a lifetime we’ve probably known every kind of soil. There have been times when disappointment, grief or hurt have hardened us. At other times we’ve welcomed God’s Word with enthusiasm, only to find our faith tested when life became difficult. There are also seasons when worries, responsibilities and endless distractions have crowded out the space where God wants to work. Yet, by God’s grace, there have been times when we’ve been open, receptive and fruitful, often without even realising it.

The focus of Jesus’ parable isn’t really the soil. It’s the generosity of the Sower. He scatters the seed freely and abundantly because he knows that hardened hearts can be softened, shallow faith can grow deeper, and lives tangled with thorns can be renewed.

That promise is echoed in Isaiah 55:10–13, where God’s Word is compared to the rain and snow that water the earth. They don’t return empty but bring life, growth and fruitfulness. In the same way, God’s Word quietly accomplishes his purpose, often long before we see the results.

And we aren’t left to grow by our own efforts. In Romans 8:1–11, Paul reminds us that the Holy Spirit lives within us, giving us new life and enabling us to become the people God calls us to be.

So today, let’s simply ask God to make us good soil. If our hearts have become hard, may he soften them. If our roots are shallow, may he deepen them. If our lives are crowded, may he help us make room for him. Then, as his Word takes root, may our lives bear fruit that blesses our families, our community and everyone we meet, bringing glory to Christ.

Note: This devotional is based on worship I led at Horden Salvation Army on Sunday 12 July 2026, you can see my full notes by clicking here.

Father’s Day can stir gratitude, but also memory, absence, and complexity. The Bible doesn’t smooth that out, it places human fatherhood alongside the reality of a Father who’s always faithful. Here’s three Bible readings from the Lectionary that reflect this.

In Genesis 21:8–21, Abraham’s fatherhood is painfully imperfect. He provides for Ishmael, yet sends him away into the wilderness with Hagar. It’s a moment of rejection and fear, a child in danger and a mother pushed to despair. And yet, in that place where human care runs thin, God hears the boy’s cry. The wilderness isn’t outside God’s attention; it becomes the very place where God’s provision is revealed. Human fatherhood falters, but God’s compassion reaches further.

Psalm 86:1–10, 16–17 answers that same tension in prayer. “Hear me, Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy.” It’s the voice of someone who knows dependence, who cannot rely on self-sufficiency or human strength alone. And yet the psalm turns quickly to trust: “You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you.” This is fatherhood reframed, not as distance or control, but as attentive mercy, patient love, and readiness to hear.

Jesus deepens this in Matthew 10:24–39. He speaks honestly about division, misunderstanding, and the cost of following him, even when it cuts across the closest human bonds. Yet he anchors everything in the Father’s care: not even a sparrow is forgotten, and those who acknowledge the Son are held within the life of God. The Father Jesus reveals isn’t distant from suffering, but present in it, aware of it, and faithful through it.

Read together, these passages draw a single line. Human fatherhood is real but limited, sometimes marked by failure and separation. God’s fatherhood meets us in those very places, hearing the cry in the wilderness, answering the prayer of the needy, and holding fast those who feel the cost of discipleship. On Father’s Day, that’s both comfort and challenge: that we’re ultimately known, heard, and kept by a Father whose love doesn’t fail, even when everything else feels uncertain.

It’s easy to look at the world around us, or even at our own lives, and focus on what’s difficult, uncertain, or disappointing. Sarah certainly had her reasons for doing that. When she overheard God’s promise that she’d have a son in her old age, she laughed. It seemed absurd. Humanly speaking, it was impossible. Yet God’s response is one of the most memorable questions in Scripture: “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:14).

That question sits alongside the wonderful assurance of Romans 5. Paul reminds us that God’s love doesn’t depend on our goodness, success, or faithfulness. Christ died for us while we were still sinners. Before we’d done anything to deserve it, God had already reached out in love. That’s the foundation of our hope. We trust God not because life is always easy, but because God has shown us his heart in Jesus.

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus looks at the crowds and is moved with compassion. He sees people who are weary, confused, and struggling. Then he does something surprising: he sends ordinary disciples to share his work of healing, serving, and proclaiming good news.

Perhaps that’s the challenge for us this week. Where are we laughing at God’s possibilities because we’ve decided something can’t change? Where are we doubting that God can work through us? The same God who kept his promise to Sarah, and who demonstrated his love through Christ, still calls ordinary people to join in his work today.

Maybe this week we can take one small step of faith: trusting God’s promise a little more, receiving God’s love a little more deeply, and sharing God’s compassion a little more generously.

Here are some devotional reflections I’ve written for my 72nd birthday:

The passing of years has a way of sharpening what matters most. Looking back, I can see that life has never been a journey travelled alone. Through seasons of joy and sorrow, certainty and doubt, strength and weakness, God has remained faithful.

The psalmist writes, “Even when I am old and grey, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation” (Psalm 71:18). These words remind us that growing older isn’t a retreat from purpose but an invitation into a deeper one. Wisdom gathered through experience becomes a gift to be shared. The story of God’s faithfulness is never ours to keep to ourselves.

Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son reveals a God whose love is always reaching towards us. Like the father who sees his son while he’s still far away and runs to welcome him home, God meets us with grace before we’ve finished explaining ourselves. Again and again, we discover that we’re not merely tolerated but cherished, embraced, and celebrated.

Life continues to bring challenges, uncertainties, and concerns. Yet Paul’s words offer a steady anchor: “Do not be anxious about anything” (Philippians 4:6). This isn’t a denial of life’s difficulties, but an invitation to trust. God’s peace isn’t dependent on favourable circumstances. It’s a gift that guards the heart even when answers are incomplete.

So, wherever this season of life finds us, we can move forward with confidence. There’s still more to learn, more grace to receive, more love to give, and more of God’s goodness to share. The God who has carried us thus far remains present, still speaking, still welcoming, and still holding us in perfect love.

Psalm 121 reminds us where to look when life feels uncertain, heavy, or overwhelming. The psalmist writes, “I lift up my eyes to the hills, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth”. In times of struggle, our instinct is often to look around for answers, reassurance, or rescue. Yet the psalm invites us to look higher, beyond our fears and beyond our own limited strength, to the God who made heaven and earth and who lovingly watches over his people.

Paul echoes this same truth in his words to the church at Philippi: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (Philippians 4:6-7). Anxiety narrows our vision, but prayer lifts our eyes again towards God. As we place our worries into his hands, his peace begins to guard our hearts and minds, even when circumstances remain difficult.

The hills themselves don’t save us. Hope isn’t found in human strength, earthly security, or temporary solutions. Our help comes from the one who created the hills, the seas, and the skies. The Lord isn’t distant or indifferent. He watches over our coming and going, now and forevermore. His care surrounds every step of our journey.

Psalm 23 reminds us that faith does not remove the dark valleys from life. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:4). The promise is not the absence of hardship, but the presence of God within it.

As we open our hearts to him each day, we discover grace for the present moment, strength for the road ahead, and an unshakeable hope that reaches beyond this life into eternity.