“What is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” (Psalm 8:4)

It’s a strenuous task … trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the God of the universe — who holds galaxies in His hand, commanding the winds and the waves — should care for someone such as myself. And yet, He has made us only “a little lower than the heavenly beings” — we have been “crowned … with glory and honor.”

Truly, I ask, who is man that the Lord be mindful of him?

The question grows sharper the longer I sit with it. Because when I look honestly at the natural bent of my own heart — and at the hearts I see around me — I find something far less worthy of that mindfulness. We are so ungrateful, so hypocritical. We treat others only as well as they treat us, because our deeply flawed love is also deeply conditional. We’re told it’s better to serve than to be served, yet our actions and motives are often laced with the inquiry: what can they do for me?

How easily we are tempted to put ourselves first — to protect our own comfort, pride, and sense of fairness — forgetting that this very selfishness only wounds the people closest to us. It frays marriages. It cools friendships. It hardens children. It leaves us isolated even in crowded rooms. The self-centered life does not merely disappoint; it systematically dismantles the very relationships we claim to value.

We accept that we’re broken until that brokenness is used against us or calls us to take accountability. We try to embrace our imperfections until confronted by someone else’s. We can hardly fathom a life where the things we want don’t seem to pan out, or where genuinely good things demand a tremendous amount of effort to maintain. We acknowledge there are too few hours in a day, yet we seldom lament over how few of those hours are actually spent on our Lord and Savior.

We’re often arrogant — insisting on our own way, keeping a record of wrongs, and pulling the speck out of the eyes of those around us while refusing to acknowledge the plank in our own. We feel entitled to what we have, forgetting the words of Paul when he asked, “What do you have that you have not received? And if you have received it, why do you boast as though you did not?”

Why are we so comfortable working heartily as unto men and not unto the Lord? Why do we live as though we have endless days and infinite opportunities to make things right? Why do we only forgive once we’ve received forgiveness, or only extend love when we feel loved? Why do we want others to feel pain when we feel pain, or loneliness when we feel lonely? Why do we reserve joy for when life is going well, while quickly turning to doubt, anxiety, and fear the moment we don’t understand?

None of this was true in our great example of all things good, true, and beautiful: Jesus Christ.

He acknowledged that all that He had came from above. He made it clear He was only on earth to do the will of His Father in heaven. He knew His time on earth was limited, even longing for the day He would return to His Father. He forgave us, even when we did not ask for forgiveness. He loved us, even when we did not love Him. Despite the agony that awaited, He endured the cross with the “joy that was set before Him.”

Doubt, anxiety, and fear had no place in His heart — which was fully tethered to a loving Father whom He knew was worthy of all trust and praise.

Jesus embodies patience and kindness. He does not envy or boast. He is not arrogant or rude. Stubbornness, irritation, or resentfulness have no way with Him. He does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. He bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

Can any of us say the same for ourselves?

I can’t help but wonder, and perhaps we all should be asking ourselves: When am I going to start loving my neighbor, not because I expect it in return, but simply because I am commanded to love? When am I going to start serving, rather than waiting to be served? When am I going to stop allowing the shortcomings of those around me to become the litmus test for how I conduct myself?

When am I going to start choosing joy, love, and patience, even when we don’t feel like it?

When am I going to start choosing trust, even when we’re tempted to doubt?

When am I going to start choosing reconciliation, even when we’d rather hold a grudge?

When are we, as the body of Christ, going to start choosing the straight and narrow, even when the wide path, though it leads to death, is much easier?

No one can force us to change and live a life “worthy of the calling to which [we] have been called.” We have to choose it — day in and day out. We have to “put off the old self with its practices” and “put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator.” We must choose to deny ourselves, pick up our crosses, and follow Him.

Choose love. Choose joy. Choose peace and patience. Choose kindness, goodness, and faithfulness. Choose gentleness and self-control. Choose hope. Choose this day whom you will serve. Stop waiting for a feeling. Stop waiting for someone else to act first.

The Bible says, “This is the way, walk in it.” May we choose now to walk in the way of the Lord most high, and not walk in the counsel of the wicked, nor stand in the way of sinners, nor sit in the seat of scoffers. But may our “delight” be “in the law of the Lord,” on which we meditate “day and night.” For only then, the Word says, will we be “like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers” (Psalm 1).

Yet this is only attainable when we stop living this life for ourselves. We can’t expect to bless or to be blessed when everything is about us. The temptation to put ourselves first is constant — and it only hurts the people we claim to love. It leaves a trail of gradual damage: unspoken resentments, withheld kindness, relationships slowly starved of the very grace we ourselves so desperately need.

And yet, a wise man once said, “Life is not over until it is over. Today is the day to turn your life in a positive direction.”

Dear Lord, this day, renew our hearts — tune them to sing Your praise. May the frailty of our faithfulness toward You be anchored by Your never-ending faithfulness toward us.

Give us a desire to lay our lives down at the foot of the cross, seeking not to be served, but to serve. Teach us to care more about You and those around us than ourselves. Help us to not merely be hearers of the Word, but doers of the Word, fully equipped to love, even when we don’t feel loved. And when we don’t feel loved, remind us that Your love is more than enough. Set our minds on things above, not on things of this world. Help us imitate Christ, not fallen man. Help our love be less conditional. For if we have reason to believe withholding love and grace from others is justified, You have even more. And yet, You don’t withhold that from us, but freely give it — whether or not we’re grateful.

So, Lord, as we pursue to walk in a worthy manner before You, we pray that You help us not grow weary in doing good. We pray that You go before us just as You promised You would. And we pray that in all that we do, whether we eat or drink or whatever we do, that we do it all for Your glory.

Help us remember: this life is not about us. It’s about You. May our whole lives reflect this truth, and may we not be satisfied with anything less.

Amen.