Author: Ben Bourland

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.

9 You, however, are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you. Anyone who does not have the Spirit of Christ does not belong to him. 10 But if Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. 11 If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you. Romans 8:9-11

This passage draws a hard line between those who are in the flesh and those who are in the Spirit. It’s not about church attendance or moral effort; it’s about the presence of the Spirit of God being in you or not. Paul says, “You, however, are not in the flesh but in the Spirit, if in fact the Spirit of God dwells in you.” That’s the test. Not whether I feel spiritual, not whether I’ve had a good week, but whether the Spirit of God lives in me.

And here’s the thing: if the Spirit dwells in me, everything changes. My identity shifts. My power source shifts. My future shifts. The same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead now lives in me. That’s not metaphor, it’s resurrection power. And that power doesn’t just give me hope for the future, it gives me strength for today. It gives life to my mortal body, even in the middle of weakness, temptation, and fatigue.

I talk about this test because the Lord has shown this to me. His work in my life, through His Spirit, is quantifiable. When I surrendered my all, my life, my future, and everything I am to God, that released my own expected power and allowed God to take control. His voice through His word, His conviction of my heart when I am tempted to sin, the sensitivity of my heart to the suffering of others, and the new lens I have that sees His hand in even the most challenging circumstances is overwhelming evidence of His presence in my life. I am eternally secure and there is no greater hope I have than that.

APPLICATION

Today, I don’t measure my spiritual life by how I feel, I measure it by who lives in me. That’s the true test. And because the Spirit of Christ dwells in me, I’m not stuck. I’m not powerless. I’m not alone. I have resurrection life pulsing through me. So, I walk like someone alive. I fight sin like someone empowered. I face discouragement like someone indwelt. Because I am. And that truth steadies me when everything else feels shaky.

5 For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. 6 For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. 7 For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God’s law; indeed, it cannot. 8 Those who are in the flesh cannot please God. Romans 8:5-8

Paul lays it out: if your mind is set on the flesh, it leads to death. Not just eventual death—spiritual deadness, relational breakdown, moral confusion.

Any of you remember the 90’s Public Service Announcement (PSA) on “This is your brain on drugs?” showing an egg being dropped into a super-hot skillet? In the context of this passage and the way Paul talks about “the mind on”, reminded me of it. It’s like living with your brain in a frying pan, and the frying pan is our fleshly desires…before Christ. The flesh doesn’t just distract, it dominates. It’s hostile to God. It doesn’t submit to His law, and it can’t. That’s the scary part. It’s not just unwilling, it’s unable. And those who live in the flesh can’t please God. No matter how good it looks on the outside, it’s still smoke and sizzle with no substance.

But the flip side? The mind set on the Spirit is life and peace. It’s clarity. It’s purpose. It’s freedom. It’s like stepping out of the haze and breathing clean air again. The Spirit doesn’t just change my behavior; He rewires my thinking. He gives me a new operating system. One that’s tuned to God, not hostile to Him.

APPLICATION

Today, I check where my mind is set. Am I letting the flesh fry my brain—feeding it lies, bitterness, self-indulgence? Or am I setting my mind on the Spirit—truth, grace, obedience, peace? I’ve lived with my soul scrambled before. I don’t want to go back. I want the kind of clarity that only comes from walking with the Spirit. Because that’s where life is. That’s where peace is. And that’s where I want to be.

For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. 3 For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, 4 in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. Romans 8:2-4

This passage shows me that the Spirit doesn’t just comfort me—He liberates me. I’ve been set free from the law of sin and death, and now I walk in the power of the Spirit, not the pressure of performance.

Paul says the law of the Spirit of life has set me free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. That’s not just a shift in theology; it’s a shift in power. The old law could diagnose my condition, but it couldn’t heal me. It was weakened by the flesh, not because the law was flawed, but because I was. I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t fulfill it. So, God did what I couldn’t. He sent His Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and in that flesh, He condemned sin. Not me—>sin.

That’s huge. Jesus didn’t just take my punishment; He took sin’s power and crushed it. And He did it so that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in me—not by me, but in me. That’s the Spirit’s work. I don’t walk according to the flesh anymore. I walk according to the Spirit. That doesn’t mean I’m perfect, it means I’m empowered. The Spirit enables me to live out what the law demanded but couldn’t produce.

APPLICATION

Today, I don’t live under the weight of trying to be good enough. I live under the freedom of the Spirit. That means I don’t just try harder, I trust deeper. I lean into the Spirit’s power, not my own. And when I stumble, I don’t spiral into shame, I remember that sin has already been condemned. I’m not condemned. I’m free. And that freedom shows up in how I walk, in how I love, how I repent, how I obey. Not perfectly, but progressively. Because the Spirit is alive in me, and He’s leading me toward life.