When the Spirit begins renewing our minds and guiding our steps, one of the first areas we experience tension is in relationships — especially when we feel the pull to say yes to every request, or guilt when we feel led to say no.

Sometimes the hardest decisions in life aren’t between right and wrong — they’re between two good things. A job that offers more opportunity or one that brings more peace? A conversation that might heal or one that might stir conflict? A decision to stay or to move forward?

Conflict is unavoidable — even among those who love Jesus. But how we respond to it reveals whether we are functioning from the old life in Adam or from our new life in Christ.

So far, we’ve traced the journey inward — the nearness of the Father, the voice of the Spirit, the renewing of our minds. But here’s where the fruit begins to blossom: our relationships change too. Not because we try harder to love, but because we begin to love from overflow, not obligation.

Once we begin to discern the Spirit’s voice and trust His nearness, we soon realize something else happening within us — our thoughts begin to shift. That’s not accidental. That’s transformation.

After understanding that we are welcomed into intimate fellowship with the Father through Christ and that the Spirit makes that relationship experientially real, the next question often arises: How can I know when it’s the Spirit speaking to me?

The first step experiencing the Father’s love through the Spirit is realizing that we’ve been brought into fellowship with the Father through the Son. But what then? What about the ordinary, weary moments of the day? What about when God’s love seems far off or theoretical?

Many believers find themselves aching for a real, personal relationship with the Father, only to be confused by language that makes it sound as if the Father stands aloof — as if Jesus somehow shields us from a God too holy to be near. But this idea doesn't align with the heartbeat of Scripture.

Today’s reflection draws from Acts 17:28: In Him we live and move and have our being. A.B. Simpson gently exposes a common spiritual shortfall—not in belief or effort, but in intimacy. He illustrates this with the story of Elisha and the lifeless boy. Elisha’s staff—representing delegated power—could not revive the child. It required personal, embodied union—Elisha’s life pressing against the child’s lifeless form, heart to heart, mouth to mouth.

Today's entry invites us to marvel again at the glorious dual reality of union with Christ: not only are we in Christ, but Christ is also in us. For those of us who believe, this isn't abstract theology—this is the foundation of our daily confidence. When Paul speaks of Christ in you, the hope of glory (Colossians 1:27), he is unveiling a divine mystery that was once hidden but is now revealed by the Spirit.

Oswald Chambers reflects on Jesus’ command to the disciples after the Transfiguration—not to share what they had seen until “the Son of Man had risen from the dead.” This wasn’t about secrecy for its own sake. It was about readiness—readiness to see, to understand, and to bear the weight of glory.

The devotional titled Hand Hewn calls us to remember the source from which we were drawn—Christ Himself, our Rock. The passage from Isaiah urges those who follow after righteousness to “look unto the rock from which ye are hewn,” a poetic call to remember that our identity is not self-made but derived from the eternal, unchanging Christ.

Today's eManna entry, Baptizing the Entire Body Once for All, unfolds a beautiful and often overlooked truth—Christ, our exalted Head, has already baptized His entire Body into the Holy Spirit. The significance of Acts 2 and Acts 10 is not just historical; it is doctrinally monumental. On the day of Pentecost, Christ immersed Jewish believers into the Spirit, and in Cornelius' house, He did the same for the Gentile believers. These two moments were not repeatable experiences for new believers to seek after. They were the once-for-all baptism of the entire Body of Christ into the Spirit.

Nehemiah 3 might at first read like a dry list from a city engineer’s notebook—gates, walls, names, districts. But beneath the architecture lies a beautiful theology of collaboration. What the Grace and Truth Study Bible expositor draws out is this: the work of God is not for the elite or the especially gifted. Instead, it’s the shared responsibility of every member of God’s people. The chapter presents a snapshot of ancient teamwork that stretches across social classes, occupations, genders, and regions. Priests, merchants, daughters, rulers, and commoners alike all have their assigned portion—literally, a piece of the wall near their own homes—to rebuild. Some, like Shallum’s daughters, surprise us with their joyful contribution. Others, like the nobles of Tekoa, remind us that pride can dull our zeal for God’s work.

Ezekiel 34 lays bare the failure of Israel’s leaders—called “shepherds”—who used their positions to serve themselves rather than tending to the people entrusted to their care. They consumed the benefits of leadership while neglecting their most basic responsibilities: nurturing the weak, healing the sick, seeking the lost, and protecting the vulnerable. Because of their neglect, God’s sheep were scattered and vulnerable to danger. God’s judgment against these selfish shepherds is clear: He will remove them from their posts and personally take over the role of Shepherd.

In Job 36, Elihu speaks for the last time before God Himself enters the conversation. Elihu insists he is speaking on God’s behalf, not from human speculation but from divine insight. He sets out to defend the justice of God, urging Job—and us—to trust in God’s righteous ways. Elihu’s core message is that God is mighty in both judgment and mercy. He emphasizes that God does not despise anyone because of their weakness, nor does He ignore wrongdoing. God uses suffering not as a random punishment, but as a redemptive call—a loving wooing meant to draw hearts back to Him. Those who listen are drawn into blessing and restoration, while those who harden themselves against Him miss that grace. Elihu encourages Job to humble himself and listen carefully because even the storms of life carry God’s voice. Rain that nourishes and storms that shake both issue from the same sovereign hand. The heart of this chapter is that God's greatness is not cold and distant—it is intimately involved with each soul, speaking through suffering to awaken trust, obedience, and communion.

In Chapter 4, Fromke tenderly invites us to move beyond a self-focused understanding of grace into a God-centered participation in the divine purpose. He challenges us to recognize how easily we settle into enjoying the benefits of grace—cleansing, comfort, calling—without ever inquiring into the greater intention behind our redemption. Through a homely story of his son distracted by a new toy, Fromke paints a portrait of believers who have been rescued from the mud, clothed in righteousness, and yet are content to stay home and play. God, however, calls us onward—not merely to be redeemed but to participate in His eternal purpose. True fellowship deepens as we ascend levels of koinonia: beginning with the gospel, then the Spirit, the Son, His sufferings, and finally into the mystery—the shared vision of God's ultimate desire. This chapter is a clarion call to live not for isolated parts of God's work but for the whole—His grand design in Christ.

In this chapter, DeVern Fromke graciously confronts a subtle error that pervades much of our theological vision: the confusion of means with ends. We often latch onto the significant strands of God's work—creation, providence, redemption, sanctification—as if they were the whole cord. But Fromke reminds us that all these magnificent expressions are only methods and means, not the central theme. The true and ultimate purpose, he argues, is paternal: that God the Father, from eternity past, lovingly chose and formed a family to be His own in Christ. Everything else—every doctrine, event, and divine intervention—flows from this one eternal heartbeat: a Father desiring sons before Him, in His presence, for His pleasure.

In this chapter, Fromke invites us to rethink the lens through which we interpret God’s activity in history. Many begin with man’s Fall or with God’s response to it—His redemptive work. Others start with man’s commission to subdue the earth or with God’s act of creation. But Paul, Fromke reminds us, begins even earlier: with the eternal Fatherhood of God before time began. This is the proper starting point for understanding God’s intention. Redemption is not the primary goal but a parenthesis within His eternal purpose—a recovery plan, not the original design. God’s aim has always been the expression of His Father-life through a family of sons conformed to the image of Christ. We must stop interpreting God’s intention through the lens of sin and begin to behold all things in the light of the eternal love between the Father and the Son.

DeVern Fromke opens his book not with doctrines to dissect but with prayers that draw our hearts into the very purpose of God. He invites us to lay aside man-centered thinking and ask deep, searching questions—questions about our existence, God's intention, and the preeminence of Christ. These prayers, he explains, are not mere requests for answers but awakenings to purpose: a life-searching prayer for understanding, a life-liberating prayer from self-absorption, and a life-changing prayer to grasp the Father's delight in exalting His Son.