There’s a kind of love that feels nice…
and there’s a kind of love that saves lives.
They are not always the same thing.
Nice smiles and nods. Tolerance. Not wanting to rock the boat.
or
Love that risks the hard conversation—uncomfortable but knowing the peace might need to break so a person can be saved, so they can quit doing the things that are harmful to them mentally and physically.
Daniel 4 shows us the difference.
It’s the story of a king at the top of the world—Nebuchadnezzar II—a man who had everything a human heart could crave. Power. Glory. Architecture. He was literally on top of the world.
He built the most magnificent capital the world had ever seen. Babylon wasn’t just a city; it was a flex (a new word for me 🙂 ). Walls wide enough for chariots. Hanging gardens. Gold everywhere.
If “peace” could be bought, he had it. But it was the peace the world offers. And that kind of peace is fragile.
One little thing can rob you of it.
anesthesia
Scripture says he was “at ease… prospering.”
Then God disturbed him.
Not with comfort.
Not with applause.
But with a dream.
A tree.
Massive. Beautiful. Life-giving. Shelter for everyone.
Then a command from heaven:
Cut it down.
Leave only a stump.
Bind it with iron and bronze.
And let the man live like an animal for seven years.
Imagine waking up with that image stuck in your mind.
Then seeing it again while you’re awake.
A vision you can’t shake.
God was speaking.
Not gently.
But clearly.
Sometimes the most loving thing God can do is remove peace created by our pride.
Because peace built on pride isn’t peace—it’s anesthesia.
And God loves us too much to let us sleep through our own destruction.
Loving Courage
And then comes the part that wrecks me.
Daniel has to deliver the message.
Imagine telling the most powerful man on earth:
“You’re the tree.
You’re about to lose everything.
You’re going to lose your mind.
You’re going to live like an animal.”
That’s not an easy task.
What stands out isn’t just that Daniel speaks.
It’s how he speaks.
Scripture says he was troubled.
He hesitates.
He cares.
He basically says,
“I wish this were about your enemies instead of you.”
Daniel didn’t enjoy delivering the warning.
He wasn’t eager to be right.
He actually wanted the king to avoid the outcome.
So he didn’t just interpret the dream —
he offered a way out.
“Therefore, Your Majesty, be pleased to accept my advice: Renounce your sins by doing what is right, and your wickedness by being kind to the oppressed. It may be that then your prosperity will continue.” — Daniel 4:27
He wasn’t smug.
He wasn’t harsh.
He wasn’t dropping truth like a hammer.
He loved him.
Because real love doesn’t stay silent.
And real love doesn’t just warn — it stays close and shows the way back.
Daniel didn’t deliver the message from a distance.
He stood there, heart heavy, voice steady…
and told the king the truth.
You can feel it in the text:
“Then Daniel (also called Belteshazzar) was greatly perplexed for a time, and his thoughts terrified him. So the king said, ‘Belteshazzar, do not let the dream or its meaning alarm you.’ Belteshazzar answered, ‘My lord, if only the dream applied to your enemies and its meaning to your adversaries!’” — Daniel 4:19
This wasn’t cold prophecy.
This was compassionate courage.
The Challenge
Who in your life needs truth right now?
Not a lecture.
Not a hammer.
But truth wrapped in compassion.
Are you willing to love someone enough to risk the awkward…
the heavy…
the uncomfortable…
so they might find God on the other side?
Because caring isn’t always soft.
Sometimes caring sounds like:
“I love you too much not to tell you this.”
And sometimes…
that’s the very thing God uses to bring someone back to life.
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