Colossians 4:3

Paul was one of the earliest and most influential missionaries of the Christian faith, and he wrote this letter while literally imprisoned — in chains — because of his preaching about Jesus. He's writing to believers in the city of Colossae (in modern-day Turkey), and when he asks for prayer, his request is striking: not for his freedom, not for better conditions, but for an open door to keep spreading the message. The "mystery of Christ" refers to the surprising, world-upending revelation that Jesus — the Jewish Messiah — came not for one nation alone but as savior for all people everywhere. Paul's prayer request from prison tells you everything about what he valued most.

God, I confess I spend far more time praying for comfort than I do praying for courage. Give me Paul's strange, stubborn focus — a hunger for open doors, not just open exits. Use whatever I'm walking through right now, and let me care more about your work in the world than about my own ease. Amen.

He's in chains. He could ask for prayer for his release, his safety, his next meal — and no one would fault him for it. Instead, Paul asks for a *door.* Not an exit — a door forward. A way to keep speaking, keep reaching, keep going deeper into the work, even from a cell. That's almost unsettling. Most of us, in his circumstances, would want out. Paul wanted *in* — further into the mission, more deeply invested in something larger than his own comfort. His imprisonment didn't cage his purpose; if anything, it clarified it. What would it look like for you to have that kind of focus — to want the next open door more than you want the removal of your current discomfort? That's not a guilt trip. It's a genuine question worth sitting with. Look at your own prayers this week. What are they mostly about? Paul modeled a kind of prayer that was oriented less around his circumstances and more around the movement of something far bigger than himself. You don't have to be in chains to pray that way. You just have to care about something beyond your own ease.