Thursday, December 4 Jehovah is the examiner of hearts.​—Prov. 17:3.

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Thursday, December 4

Jehovah is the examiner of hearts.—Prov. 17:3.

 

A key reason to protect our figurative heart is that Jehovah examines our heart. This means that he looks past what we appear to be to others and sees who we really are on the inside. He will love us if we fill our mind with his life-giving wisdom. (John 4:14) We will thereby leave no room for the moral and spiritual poison coming from Satan and his world. (1 John 5:18, 19) As we draw closer to Jehovah, our love and respect for him will grow. Because we do not want to hurt our Father, we will hate even the very thought of sinning. Marta, a sister in Croatia who was tempted to commit immorality, wrote: “I found it hard to think clearly and to suppress the urge to enjoy the temporary pleasure of sin. But fear of Jehovah protected me.” How did fear of God do that? Marta said that she meditated on the consequences that a bad decision would bring. We can do the same. w23.06 20-21 ¶3-4

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“Jehovah is the examiner of hearts.”

 

You feel those words before you understand them. They land like a hand on the shoulder—steady, merciful, unblinking. It’s easy to fool people with polish and posture, but not the One who sees through the smoke we make for ourselves. Proverbs says he tests the heart the way a furnace tests metal. Heat reveals what’s real.

And if that sounds frightening, notice what the heat is for. Not to scorch. To purify.

 

Fill your mind with the water Jesus spoke of—“a fountain of water bubbling up to impart everlasting life” (John 4:14). Let it crowd out the poison this world keeps trying to drip into your thoughts. When the mind is full of clean water, there’s no room for the toxins. When your heart leans toward Jehovah, you begin to hate the very idea of injuring him. That’s not fear in the dark—it’s loyalty in the light.

 

A sister once said she was tempted, badly. The pull of sin felt warm, close, almost comforting. She could feel her thinking muddy up. But the fear of disappointing her Father cut through the fog. Not terror—reverence. Not panic—clarity. She pictured the consequences, traced them to their end, and suddenly the “pleasure” looked small, cheap, hollow.

 

That’s what reverence does.
It makes the danger visible.
It makes the escape obvious.
It makes the Father near.

 

And when he examines that kind of heart, what does he see? Not perfection—but movement. Not flawless metal—but a life willing to stay in the fire long enough to shine.