Tuesday
08-04-2026
By: Brenda
“God Loves You and Me”
I came across a post on my Facebook feed recently. It was written by someone reflecting on the wildfire devastation in Spokane and across the Western states. Their words stopped me. They spoke about the pain of watching people lose their homes, and the added ache of hearing others say things like, “Prayer works,” or “God saved our house,” as if their prayer somehow mattered more than the prayers of those who lost everything.
Reading that stirred something deep in me. It reminded me of moments in my own life when I was made to feel that God did not hear me because I was not “His elect.” I remember how sharply that cut.
I remember the loneliness of wondering if my prayers were somehow less valuable, less welcome, less loved.
I would never want anyone, especially someone standing in the ashes of their home to feel that kind of wound.
So I wanted to take what I read and weave in my own reflections, my own story, and my own understanding of God’s heart.
When tragedy strikes, we must be tender with how we speak about God’s mercy.
It is right to be grateful when our home is spared, when our family is safe, when kindness meets us in the middle of chaos. Gratitude is always fitting. But gratitude must never turn into a verdict about someone else’s suffering.
Jesus Himself confronted that kind of thinking. When people tried to explain tragedy by assuming the victims were worse sinners, He stopped them immediately:
Luke 13:4-5
“Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them do you think that they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no.”
Jesus refused to let people turn disaster into a measure of who God approves of and who He does not.
Scripture is full of faithful people who suffered deeply. Job lost everything.
Joseph was faithful and still ended up in prison. Paul followed Jesus and he was beaten, shipwrecked, and rejected.
And Jesus, Himself perfectly loved by our Father, still went to the cross.
Suffering is not a sign of God’s absence.
Survival is not a sign of superior faith.
Blessing is not proof of being more loved.
So when we tell our stories, especially in times like these fires, we must speak with humility and compassion. Instead of saying, “God saved my house because I prayed,” we can say:
“We are thankful for the mercy we have experienced, but we know it does not mean others are forgotten or unloved.
We grieve with those who have lost so much, and we believe God is near to them in their pain.”
Or:
“Rather than asking why this happened for me and not for someone else, I want to respond with gratitude, humility, and generosity.”
Biblical gratitude always bends us toward compassion. It softens our tone. It guards our words. It keeps us from unintentionally breaking the heart of someone who is already carrying so much. And it reminds us of the truth I hold so dearly…
Oh, how God loves you and me ❤️
Dear Father in heaven,
I lift up every community touched by these fires.
For those who have lost their homes, their memories, their sense of safety.
Father, wrap them in Your comfort.
For the businesses that no longer stand, provide restoration and hope.
For the displaced families, the frightened children, the elderly who feel unanchored, be their shelter.
For the animals wandering in confusion and fear, guide them to safety.
For the land that has been scorched, we ask for renewal in Your time.
I pray for every firefighter battling these flames, including my grandson.
Protect their bodies, steady their minds, strengthen their spirits.
Bring them home safely.
And Father, guard our tongues.
Teach us to speak gently when we talk about being spared.
Let our words never deepen the wounds of someone who has lost everything.
Make us people of humility, compassion, and quiet gratitude.
May our stories honor You.
May our hearts reflect Your love.
And may our voices bring healing, not hurt.
In Your Son’s precious name, Amen.
Have a blessed day
God loves you ❤️
and so do I ❤️