Author: Ben Bourland

Romans 13:9-10 (ESV)
For the commandments, “You shall not commit adultery, You shall not murder, You shall not steal, You shall not covet,” and any other commandment, are summed up in this word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.

These sets of verses in Romans 13 have become really important in Biblical Counseling. What God is telling us through Paul is that, as believers, when we honor and Glorify God through our behavior towards those the Lord has placed in our sphere of influence, we are biblically adhering to what the Lord has called us to do.

In marriage counseling – our closest neighbor is our spouse so this passage becomes even more important and applicable in calling out treatment and actions that don’t fall in line with what Paul calls us to do. The other thing you will notice is that there is no set qualifiers that the neighbor is responsible for in order to earn our love toward them. This can be very hard but it is what God calls us to do. It falls right in line with Romans 12:14-21.

APPLICATION

This passage has to stay on the top of my mind, it needs to be in the forefront of my prayers asking for the Holy Spirit to convict me, and it needs to be the area I am quick to confess and repent when I find I have not followed the instruction. My flesh is inclined to cling to ways I should be treated, or ways I deserve to be spoken to, but I have been bought with a price and vengeance is the Lords. Humility and meekness are two attributes that I want to grow in.

But it is not as though the word of God has failed. For not all who are descended from Israel belong to Israel,  and not all are children of Abraham because they are his offspring, but “Through Isaac shall your offspring be named.”  This means that it is not the children of the flesh who are the children of God, but the children of the promise are counted as offspring.  For this is what the promise said: “About this time next year I will return, and Sarah shall have a son.”  And not only so, but also when Rebekah had conceived children by one man, our forefather Isaac,  though they were not yet born and had done nothing either good or bad—in order that God's purpose of election might continue, not because of works but because of him who calls—  she was told, “The older will serve the younger.”  As it is written, “Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated.” Romans 9:6-13

God’s purposes have always been guided by His sovereignty rather than human expectation. Paul makes it clear that God’s promise was never about biological lineage alone—“not all who are descended from Israel belong to Israel.” The stories of Isaac over Ishmael, and Jacob over Esau, expose a pattern that feels both humbling and awe-inspiring: God is the One who calls, and His call isn’t bound by human customs, birth order, or merit. He works according to His own wisdom, not our assumptions about how blessing should flow.

What stands out to me is how these examples dismantle any idea that I can earn God’s favor or position myself as more “deserving” than someone else. Jacob wasn’t chosen because he was morally superior—his story proves the opposite. God’s choice reveals His freedom to pour out mercy according to His own purposes. That truth can feel unsettling, but it also brings a deep steadiness. My belonging to God isn’t fragile, contingent on performance, or threatened by my failures. It rests on His initiative, His promise, His character. The more I sit with that, the more it pushes me toward humility and gratitude.

APPLICATION

I want to live in the quiet confidence that my place with God is secure because He established it, not because I’ve earned it. Instead of comparing myself to others or trying to justify my worth, I want to rest in His calling and trust His wisdom in how He works in the lives around me. When I’m tempted to question God’s methods or timing, I’ll choose humility—remembering that His purposes are wiser, deeper, and more faithful than anything I could construct on my own.

I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit—that I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, my kinsmen according to the flesh.  They are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises. To them belong the patriarchs, and from their race, according to the flesh, is the Christ, who is God over all, blessed forever. Amen. Romans 9:1-5

This passage reveals a side of Paul that’s easy to overlook: the depth of his anguish for those who don’t know Christ. His words are weighty—he speaks of “great sorrow and unceasing anguish,” even saying he could wish himself “accursed” if it meant the salvation of his own people. This isn’t abstract theology; it’s a window into a heart shaped by the love of Jesus. Paul sees the extraordinary privileges God entrusted to Israel—adoption, glory, covenants, promises, the patriarchs, and ultimately Christ Himself—and yet he aches because so many have missed the very Messiah those blessings pointed to.

What challenges me most is the intensity and purity of Paul’s grief. He isn’t angry at those who rejected the gospel, nor does he distance himself from them. Instead, he carries a burden rooted in love—a burden that reflects the very heart of Christ, who wept over Jerusalem and gave Himself for those who did not recognize Him. Paul’s sorrow is not despair; it’s compassion. It’s a reminder that spiritual truth isn’t just something to understand but something that should move my heart toward others with the same longing God has.

APPLICATION

I want to ask God to soften my heart for those who don’t know Him. It’s easy to respond with frustration, indifference, or self-protection, but Paul’s example pushes me to love more deeply and pray more earnestly. I want my compassion to grow—not just in theory, but in real concern for real people. Instead of shrinking back or becoming numb, I’ll carry their names before God and look for opportunities to reflect Christ’s love to them.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?  As it is written,       
“For your sake we are being killed all the day long;
we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.”
  No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:35-39

These verses confront me with a truth I often affirm with my lips but struggle to believe in the hard places of life: nothing can separate me from the love of Christ. Paul doesn’t shy away from naming the real pressures—tribulation, distress, persecution, famine, danger, even death itself. These aren’t hypothetical; they’re the very experiences that make me question God’s nearness. Yet Paul’s point is that these circumstances, as overwhelming as they feel, are powerless to break the bond Jesus Himself has secured.

What strikes me most is the fierce, triumphant tone of this passage. I’m not “barely making it” through the love of Christ—I am “more than a conqueror.” Not because I’m strong or resilient, but because His love is active, fighting for me, holding me, carrying me. The sweep of Paul’s list—height, depth, angels, rulers, things present, things to come—feels like he’s grabbing every possible threat my imagination could raise and slamming the door shut. God’s love isn’t fragile or conditional. It doesn’t waver with my emotions or crumble under the weight of suffering. It’s anchored in the finished work of Jesus, and therefore it is unbreakable.

APPLICATION

Today I want to live from security, not fear. When circumstances shake me or uncertainty presses in, I’ll remind myself that God’s love is not at risk. My feelings may rise and fall, but His grip on me does not loosen. I want to walk through the day with a quiet confidence—knowing that I am held, pursued, and fiercely loved by Christ, and nothing I face can separate me from Him.

What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?  Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies.  Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Romans 8:31-34

These verses shift my focus from my fears to the staggering reality of God’s commitment to me. Paul’s question—“If God is for us, who can be against us?”—isn’t a call to ignore difficulties, but to see them in their proper scale. The God who did not spare His own Son is the same God who watches over my life with unwavering intention. When I pause long enough to consider that, it disarms the quiet anxieties that whisper I’m alone, unsupported, or at risk. God has already proven the extent of His love in the costliest way imaginable.

And then Paul goes even further: not only has Christ died and risen, He is now at the right hand of God interceding for me. The very One who knows my weaknesses, my inconsistencies, and my ongoing struggles is the One who speaks on my behalf. It means the accusations—whether from the enemy, from others, or from my own self-condemning thoughts—do not get the final word. There is a greater Advocate, and His defense is rooted in His finished work, not my fluctuating performance.

APPLICATION

Today I want to live as someone defended, not someone on trial. Instead of letting fear, guilt, or imagined threats dictate my mindset, I’ll anchor my thoughts in the truth that God is decisively for me. Christ intercedes for me right now, in this moment, and I want my confidence to flow from that reality. When I face pressure or uncertainty, I’ll remind myself: I am not alone, and I am not undefended. God Himself stands with me.

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.  For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.  And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified. Romans 8:28-30

This passage should always stop us in our tracks. It reminds me that God’s work in my life is far bigger than anything I can measure in the moment. Paul doesn’t say that everything that may befall us or this world is good (satan is loose and sin has corrupted this world), but that everything is worked for good—reshaped, repurposed, woven into something only God could accomplish. And the more I reflect on that, the more I realize how limited my perspective really is. I naturally want God’s goodness to look like resolution, clarity, or blessing I can observe right now. But this passage pushes me to lift my eyes. God isn’t simply managing my comfort; He’s forming Christ in me.

The sequence Paul lays out—foreknown, predestined, called, justified, glorified—reveals that God is sovereign over the entire arc of my existence. My story doesn’t begin with my effort, and it won’t end with my limitations. His plans for me were in motion before I was conscious of Him (before all of time actually), and His final work will outlast my lifetime. The “good” He’s working may unfold in ways I never see with earthly eyes: healing that happens in future generations, faith strengthened in others because of my suffering, or fruit that grows long after I’m gone. God’s sovereignty means that nothing is wasted, even when it feels like everything is unfinished.

APPLICATION

Today I want to choose trust over immediacy. I may never witness the full good God is weaving from my circumstances, and that has to be okay. My job is not to demand visibility but to walk faithfully with Him—loving Him, seeking Him, and believing that His purposes for me are anchored in eternity. When I don’t understand the storyline, I’ll rest peacefully in the Author.

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.  And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27

It’s comforting that even when I feel spiritually wordless, the Spirit isn’t silent. Paul says the Spirit intercedes with groans too deep for words. In a world oversaturated with messaging, having a God who speaks without noise is grounding. That speaking is confirmed through God’s word. In prayer and walking in the Spirit (which is also discussed in Galatians 5), we can be confident in that what we hear in our heart (tested by scripture) is the Lord’s voice in our life.

This makes me think about how often I confuse verbosity with depth. We produce and consume so much content—texts, posts, books, podcasts, and opinions—but still feel misunderstood or unable to express ourselves. God steps into that gap with perfect clarity. Knowing the Spirit prays according to God’s will relieves the pressure to “get prayer right.” Prayer becomes less performance and more surrender. That’s something I need.

APPLICATION

Prayer has to be something I build on more and more. I get frustrated with myself when I know that too much time has gone by, or I have made a big decision without prayer. Prayer combined with my pursuit of knowing the Lord through His Word, is a recipe from the Master Chef.

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.  And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.  For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees?  But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Romans 8:22-25

Paul moves from creation’s groaning to our own, comparing it to birth pains. Birth pains aren’t pointless—they’re purposeful, moving toward new life. That encourages me in a culture that urges me to escape or flee whenever pain appears. There are parallels in today’s conversations around mental health and burnout. We talk often about coping and stabilizing, but rarely about purposeful transformation that pain can produce. Paul reminds me that hope is not wishful thinking but patient expectation. Still, waiting doesn’t come naturally to us. Our phones, laptops, schedules, and expectations condition us to feel inconvenienced by even brief delays. But God seems far more comfortable working on His (albeit sometimes slow) timelines that cultivate trust rather than speed.

APPLICATION

Today I will lean into patient expectation by choosing one thing I normally rush—like a task, a conversation, a prayer, or even my quiet time—and intentionally slow down to let God work in me during the waiting.

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.  For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God.  For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. Romans 8:18-21

The way Paul talks about present suffering compared to future glory forces me to rethink my definitions of discomfort. Today’s world pushes immediate relief and instant solutions, but Paul lifts my eyes to something far more lasting. Creation itself, he says, is groaning for redemption—just like many of us quietly groan under anxieties we don’t voice. It’s striking how much the planet’s own instability mirrors human instability. Environmental crises, social unraveling, and personal burnout all feel like echoes of that same groaning Paul describes. However, Paul says that hope is not naïve—it’s rooted in the absolute truth of God’s future restoration. This passage invites me to sit with the tension rather than fix it quickly. It doesn’t shame the groaning but gives it meaning, and that is strangely freeing in a world that tells us groaning equals failure.

APPLICATION

Today I want to acknowledge the parts of my life that feel like they’re groaning rather than
pretending they don’t exist. I’ll intentionally name one specific frustration and hold it before God as something He promises to redeem. God calls me to joy in Him even though we groan for His triumphant return.

12 So then, brothers, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh. 13 For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. 14 For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. Romans 8:12-14

Paul says we’re debtors—but not to the flesh. That old master doesn’t deserve my loyalty. It only led me toward death. I don’t owe sin anything. But I do owe Christ everything. Not to earn salvation, but because He paid the ultimate price to secure it. His death didn’t just cancel my debt—it transferred it. Now I live in joyful indebtedness to the One who gave me life.

And here’s the miracle: I’m not just a servant—I’m a son. The Spirit doesn’t just empower me to kill sin; He confirms my adoption. I’m led by Him, not driven by fear. I’m not working off a spiritual mortgage—I’m living in a house that grace built. And every act of obedience is a thank-you note to the One who rescued me.

APPLICATION

Today, I live as a debtor—not to sin, but to Christ. I owe Him my life, my breath, my eternity. And I don’t repay Him with guilt—I respond with gratitude. I walk by the Spirit because I’ve been adopted. I fight sin because I’ve been freed. I obey because I’ve been loved. That’s the kind of debt I want to carry—not one that crushes me, but one that lifts me. Because I know who paid the price. And I know who calls me son.