Philippians 4:8 asks us to fix our thoughts on what is true, honorable, and worthy of respect. This letter is about someone in my life whose goodness keeps pointing me back to God, and what it means to notice that without needing them to be perfect. Lovely and admirable
Dear bunnies,
There is someone in my life, and I cannot think of them without thanking God.
This person once asked if they said my name right. I am not sure why they asked. Maybe it was because I was not looking at the camera when they said it.
But that small question mattered to me. Most people miss details like that. This time, I noticed it. I am grateful for it.
This person feels with me. They do not stop at understanding. That difference means a lot. People who feel instead of only understanding are rare in my life. When God brings even one person like that into my life, all I know how to do is say thank you.
Words of affirmation come to them without much effort, and they still take the time to choose them well. I felt that. It did not feel rushed. It felt chosen.
I love this person’s eyes and the way they talk to people. You can notice beauty in how someone carries a conversation, or the warmth someone brings into a room. That counts as thinking about what is lovely too. Noticing goodness in someone is not a small thing.
Paul wrote these words from a prison cell. Think about that for a second. He was not sitting in a peaceful garden on a slow morning. And still, this is what he chose to say: “Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise” (Philippians 4:8, NLT).
That may be why this verse feels so trustworthy. It did not come from someone with an easy life telling you to look on the bright side. It came from a man who kept his eyes open for what was good, even inside a cell.
And that matters. It is easy to talk about hope when things are going well. It is harder, and it means more, when someone says it while they are still stuck in the hard thing.
Paul was not writing after his trouble ended. He was writing in the middle of it. He had not been rescued yet. And still, he chose to notice what was lovely instead of only what was wrong.
That is the kind of trust you can lean on. It does not come from someone telling you to look up from a place of comfort. It comes from someone doing it from right where you are.
You can do the same. When someone in your life is patient with you, when they take the time to get your name right, when they build you up instead of wearing you down, let your mind rest there for a while. Scripture gives you permission to notice that and hold it close.
This person can sense what someone else feels before they say it. Not everyone has that. It is its own kind of intelligence, quiet and hard to explain.
I carry that same gift. I do not know if it is the exact same thing they carry, but hearing someone else describe it felt familiar.
When I feel that kind of intuition rise in me, I do not think it comes from me. I believe Someone prompts me from the inside and points my attention where it needs to go. Whatever they carry, I hope it points them back to that same Source, the way mine points me.
I see Jesus in this person, and I know why. It’s the patience and warmth. It’s the way they listen instead of just hearing. It’s how kind words come to them, and how much thought they still put into choosing them.
It’s the way they sense what someone feels before it is even said. None of that happens by accident.
James 1:17 tells us every good gift and every perfect gift comes from above, from the Father of the heavenly lights. When I see something lovely in them, I catch a small reflection of the One who made goodness in the first place.
But they are not Jesus. Of course not. Loving what is admirable in someone does not mean you pretend they have no faults. It means you hold both things at the same time.
I do not know this person fully yet. But what I have seen is enough. The way they speak, even the way their hands move while they talk, carries a hope that does not feel forced.
This person loves animals, I think. And that says something tender too, a softness that shows up in how they treat something smaller than themselves.
There is a part of them that is harder to hold, and I want to be honest about it. They can lean toward inconsistency. They say one thing and later drift toward another. They can promise more than they deliver.
Neither of those things erases what is real and good here. It means they are still becoming who they are meant to be.
Even Peter, the one Jesus called a rock, denied knowing him three times in a single night. Growth and inconsistency often live in the same person, side by side.
Maybe you know someone like that too. Someone whose goodness you trust, even while you notice the places still growing in them.
You do not have to explain away someone’s contradictions to feel grateful for them. You can thank God for the parts of them that remind you of grace, patience, and kindness, while you stay honest about the parts still growing.
The next time you notice something lovely in someone, ask what it reveals about God’s character. Let your gratitude rest there, instead of on that person becoming perfect.
I started this letter with a name I am grateful for, one I bring to God. If you have a name like that too, someone whose presence makes you thank God before you even realize it, keep noticing it. Keep thanking God for what is lovely and admirable in them, even while they are still learning, still human, still becoming.
A certain kind of gratitude only shows up when someone reminds you of God just by being who they are. Patience that does not run out too fast. Kindness that notices what others miss. A little grace where you expected none.
When you feel that gratitude rise, you are not only thanking God for a person. You are catching a glimpse of the One who loved first, who listened without holding back, and who called you by name.
That is enough for today.
P.S. That person called my name right from the very beginning. And never wrong in pronouncing it.
