THE DAY THE LORD HAS MADE

Time—this strange, steady river that carries us whether we resist or rest—was never an accident; it was born from the Word who said, “Let there be light,” and it has marched to His rhythm ever since. We divide it into seconds and minutes, hours and days, weeks and years; but beneath all our measurements stands the God who simply is—who was, and is, and is to come (Revelation 1:8). And when you step back far enough, even our calendar begins to preach.

Sunday whispers of the risen Christ; Monday echoes the ordinary mercy that meets us as the world wakes again; Tuesday and Wednesday, Thursday and Friday—names borrowed from ancient tongues, stitched together from cultures long gone—yet they still bow before the truth that each twenty-four hours comes from His hand. Saturday, the old Sabbath shadow, reminds us that rest was always meant to be found in Him, not in a calendar square.

And the more you consider it, the more startling it becomes: people long dead gave us the names, but God alone gave us the days. Humanity borrowed words from myth and memory; God gave morning and evening, the first day, then the second, until the seventh sang of completion. We named the days according to our imaginations; He numbered the days according to His wisdom. And even now, every dawn is a quiet sermon—telling us that life is not endless, breath is not unlimited, and time is a stewardship that will testify for or against us.

Time itself is both frail and fierce: frail, because it slips through our fingers like dust; fierce, because it refuses to wait for anyone. Yet Jesus stepped into time—into hours and hunger, into days and dust—and by doing so He turned every moment into holy ground. He sanctified the common. He redeemed the calendar. He filled every tick of the clock with the possibility of grace.

So, when I look at the days of the week, I do not simply see Monday’s schedule or Friday’s relief; I see opportunity; I see the call to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom (Psalm 90:12). I see mercy renewing itself at sunrise (Lamentations 3:22–23). I see Jesus inviting me again—come, walk with Me through this day that I Myself have made.

And perhaps that is the point: we divide time, but Christ defines it. We measure days, but Christ fills them. We speak of Monday through Sunday, but Christ is Lord of all seven—Lord of the morning and the midnight, Lord of the beginning and the ending, Lord of the day we love and the day we dread. And because He stands over time, time itself bends with gentle obedience, carrying us not toward chaos, but toward the fullness of His kingdom.

So here I am, stepping into another day with a borrowed name, but a God-given purpose. And I whisper back to the Lord who formed the first sunrise: “If this day belongs to You, then so do I. Take my minutes, take my hours—take my week—and let it all be spent in the light of Your love.”

BDD