Today’s passage for meditation is Daniel 12:3. “Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness will shine like the stars forever and ever.”
The word “firmament” used here feels unfamiliar because it’s not a term we commonly use. The heaven depicted in the Bible is not merely a vague expanse of space, but an orderly heaven that God created by His Word in the beginning. This means that the sun, the moon, and every single star are not the result of chance, but creations fashioned by God’s voice. This single verse already contains this worldview—the confession that everything is in God’s hands.
Yet here, Daniel defines a person who shines like a star as “one who leads many to righteousness.” This means that wisdom lies not in the amount of knowledge one possesses, but in how far one walks in the direction that brings life to others. As I meditated on this passage, I reflected once more on the difference between faith and religion. Many people establish rules and moral standards, but when they fail to meet those standards themselves, they condemn themselves and crumble. They cling to past wounds, feelings of inadequacy, and long-standing fears, remaining stuck in that place. But the Gospel tells us that we are loved not because we are perfect, but because we find freedom in a relationship with Jesus—walking with Him just as we are.
As we grow older, both our bodies and minds grow weaker, and our desire to lean on someone else grows stronger. However, there are limits to relying on other people—even our own children. True rest comes when we entrust ourselves completely to God. Rather than staying where we are out of fear, we need the courage to try something new, even if it’s just a small step. Starting to exercise, meeting people, and taking on new challenges—starting with small things. That is the restoration of our faith and the restoration of our lives.
As I write down these reflections, I suddenly find myself picturing the backs of our parents, growing weary under the weight of the years. I see elderly people who have long relied on medication to cope with depression and memory loss. Even though I know that medication is not a cure but merely a palliative that suppresses symptoms, my heart aches when I see them struggling to even digest the pills they’ve been taking for so many years. I hope that they will now gradually let go of their deep dependence on medication and that, moving beyond solitary walks, warm conversations and interactions—such as playing table tennis or gateball, where they mingle with others and share boisterous laughter—will become the true remedy for their hearts. They also need the courage to take the wheel again after setting it aside out of fear, and to open their hearts to small investments in daily life or new challenges.
On the other hand, I find myself reflecting on the lives of those who have believed that others’ approval is the very measure of their worth, and whose sense of self has been shaken when that approval crumbled. Being more conscious of how those around you see you than how God sees you is not a healthy relationship. Rather than leaning too heavily on the existence of your children or worldly honor and clinging to them like idols, I hope you will now lay down all those heavy burdens. I hope you will set aside titles and honors within the church for a moment, open the Bible again like a child, and return to a pure faith that puts God’s Word into practice in your daily life. I hope you will step out of the deep swamp of self-pity—that feeling of “I am the most pitiful”—and enjoy the restoration of a simple yet steadfast life alongside those near you.
I sincerely pray that everyone may break free from the shackles of the world’s judgment and fear, and enjoy true peace today—a peace that shines eternally like the stars.
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