Day 1630
You cannot run. You cannot hide.
Sooner or later, you must decide.
The Truth.
The Light.
The One through whom all things were made,
the One who gives meaning
to every breath beneath the sky.
Or the darkness of believing
that no one is there,
that we came from nothing,
return to nothing,
and all this beauty means nothing at all.
The choice is yours.
You were made free to make it.
And still so many stand at the door,
afraid to knock,
afraid to reach,
afraid to surrender
to the One who has been calling all along.
Yet everlasting life stands before us,
bought at a price
we could never pay.
And still we take it for granted.
As if He did not bleed.
As if He did not suffer.
As if nails did not pierce His hands.
As if He did not carry the weight of our sin.
As if the King of Kings
did not willingly climb that hill
and die upon a cross.
Thank You, Lord, for the Truth.
Thank You for the Light.
Thank You for the freedom
to turn toward You.
I have decided that I am Yours.
When this body is dust,
when my name is only a memory
on the lips of those I leave behind,
I pray to dwell with You forevermore.
I have sinned,
and I ask for Your grace.
I know there is no tower I can build,
no work I can perform,
no goodness I can gather in my hands
that could earn the right
to look upon Your face.
There is only one Way.
His name is Jesus Christ.
The King of Kings.
The Lord of Lords.
The Alpha and the Omega.
The Beginning and the End.
The Truth.
The Life.
The Light no darkness can overcome.
Through Him we are redeemed.
Not because we deserved it.
Not because we earned it.
Not because we were strong enough
to save ourselves.
But because Your mercy
was greater than our rebellion,
and Your love
was greater than our sin.
I am only a man.
I stumble.
I bleed.
I doubt.
I fall.
And still You call me.
Still You forgive me.
Still You place blessings in my hands
that I could never have imagined asking for.
You gave me children.
And through them
You have taught me something
I did not know how badly
I needed to learn.
I look into their eyes
and see a kind of light
the world has not yet taught them to hide.
They laugh without wondering
who is watching.
They dance without asking
whether they look foolish.
They love without calculation.
They ask questions
because they truly want to know.
They find wonder
in things I have walked past
a thousand times.
A flower.
A cloud.
A funny sound.
A moon hanging over the trees.
They can enter a moment
and simply be there.
No past to defend.
No future to control.
No reputation to protect.
Only life.
Only wonder.
Only the gift of now.
And when I kneel down,
look them in the eyes,
and truly listen,
when I do not frighten them
or hurry them
or force the world upon them too quickly,
I find something beautiful waiting there.
Trust.
Joy.
Curiosity.
A light freely given.
And Father, I wonder
if this is one small glimpse
of what You see in us.
For when my child runs toward me,
arms open,
certain that I will catch her,
something in me understands You
in a way no argument ever taught me.
When she calls for me,
I want to answer.
When she cries,
I want to comfort her.
When she falls,
I want to lift her.
When she is afraid,
I want her to know
that her father is near.
And then I remember:
I am only an earthly father.
Imperfect.
Limited.
Temporary.
Yet if I can love my children like this,
how much greater
must Your love be for Yours?
Perhaps this is why
You told us to become like children.
Not foolish.
Not ignorant.
But trusting.
Open.
Humble enough to receive.
Able to look upon creation
and still be astonished.
Able to call our Father
and believe He hears us.
My children have pulled me closer to You
because through loving them
I have begun, in the smallest way,
to understand the mystery
of being loved by You.
And even more terrifying,
even more beautiful,
I begin to understand
what it meant
for You to give Your Son.
For I look at my children
and know there is nothing on this earth
I would willingly trade them for.
And yet You so loved the world
that You gave us Jesus.
Your Son.
For us.
For sinners.
For me.
What kind of love is this?
That the Creator
would enter His creation.
That the Word
would become flesh.
That the hands which formed the stars
would allow themselves
to be pierced by nails.
That the One who breathed life into man
would surrender His own breath
upon a cross.
That the Shepherd
would lay down His life
for sheep who wandered from Him.
Lord, do not let me hear these words
and leave them where they lie.
Let Your Word enter me.
Let it cut away pride.
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Let it expose what is false.
Let it change the way I speak,
the way I forgive,
the way I love my wife,
the way I raise my children,
the way I treat the stranger,
the way I spend my days,
the way I carry myself
when no one is watching.
Teach me to become the man
You call me to be.
Teach me to lead my children
without crushing their wonder.
To correct them
without dimming their light.
To protect them
without teaching them to fear the world.
To listen
before I speak.
To love them
as gifts entrusted to me,
never possessions that belong to me.
And when they ask me about You,
give me words worthy of the question.
Let them see faith
not merely in what I say,
but in how I live.
Let them see a father who repents.
A father who forgives.
A father who tells the truth.
A father who gets back up when he falls.
A father who points beyond himself
and says:
Follow Christ.
For I will fail you.
But He will not.
This life is short.
My children will grow.
The little voices filling my house today
will one day belong to adults
walking paths of their own.
The hands that reach for mine
will grow larger.
The rooms will grow quieter.
The moments I now call ordinary
will become memories
I would give almost anything
to enter once more.
So teach me to be here.
Teach me not to sleepwalk
through the blessings
I once prayed for.
Teach me to receive each day
as bread from Heaven.
For my children are not mine forever.
My body is not mine forever.
This world is passing away.
But Your promise is not.
The grave is not the end.
The cross was not defeat.
Christ died.
Christ rose.
Death reached for Him
and could not hold Him.
The stone was rolled away.
The tomb was empty.
And the King lives.
Jesus Christ lives.
The Alpha and the Omega.
The First and the Last.
The Lamb who was slain.
The Lion who reigns.
The Truth when the world is confused.
The Light when the world is dark.
The Way when I am lost.
The Life when death comes near.
And through Him,
even a sinner like me
may be forgiven.
Through Him,
even a wandering man
may find his way home.
Through Him,
even death becomes a doorway.
So when my final day arrives,
when my children stand where I once stood,
when this body returns to the earth
from which it came,
let it be known:
I chose Christ.
I trusted Christ.
I belonged to Christ.
Not perfectly.
Not without failure.
Not without sin.
But with all the faith
this weak human heart
could place in Him.
Thank You, Father,
for Your mercy.
Thank You for my children.
Thank You for allowing me
to see Your goodness
reflected in their wonder.
Thank You for every laugh,
every question,
every small hand placed inside mine.
Thank You for reminding me through them
that life is still miraculous,
that creation is still good,
that there is still light
worth protecting.
Above all,
thank You for Your Son.
Jesus Christ.
King of Kings.
Lord of Lords.
The Alpha and the Omega.
The Truth.
The Light.
The Resurrection and the Life.
My Savior.
My King.
My only hope.
I have decided.
Whatever remains of my days,
however many You choose to give me,
I am Yours.
Amen
9/7/26
Conor Jay Chepenik
