Jesus begins with therefore, and He means for us to remember what came before—treasure, vision, masters. Anxiety does not enter the conversation as a mood or temperament. It enters as a consequence. When treasure is misplaced, worry follows. Not because life is fragile, but because we've treasured something too small to hold us.

Control promises safety but cannot deliver it. When money convinces the soul it is in charge, trust erodes. Scripture calls us back to a simpler confession: if the Lord wills.

Obedience lines you up with God’s power; rebellion separates you from it. The same God who tore down Jericho’s walls still asks His people to trust Him enough to step into the river before it parts. Every act of obedience echoes the Cross—faith moving before sight, surrender before outcome.

The impossible does not rule here. Jesus does.

In the unseen war over Moses’ body, Michael teaches us that true strength is humility—authority yielded, not claimed. Every hidden struggle echoes this same truth: victory belongs to the Lord, not to those who fight in their own power.

When control slips through your fingers, remember who holds it steady. Peace begins where your grip ends—when Christ rules the heart and aligns it with the Father’s will.

Control wears many disguises. Sometimes it is loud, demanding, unyielding. Other times, it creeps in quietly, hidden in tones of sarcasm or the whisper of a passive-aggressive remark. But the intent is the same: to bend people and circumstances toward our will.

The world keeps chanting, “You are what you achieve.” Jesus breaks through with a better word: “Come to me, and I will give you rest.”