To live the Christian life is not to strive toward being like Jesus in our own effort. It is to recognize that the old self has already been crucified with Christ. The life we live now is not a self-improvement project. It is Christ living His life in and through us. Galatians 2:20 makes this clear: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me."

E. Stanley Jones warns us in this entry against one of the most alluring distortions in spirituality: the idea that we are, in and of ourselves, divine. He contrasts this self-centric mindset with the biblical truth that while we share Christ’s life, we do not sustain Him—He sustains us. Any notion that shifts the center from Christ to self, even under religious or spiritual pretenses, is not only misguided but ultimately destructive.

Ray Stedman turns our attention today to a passage in Leviticus that might seem obscure or ceremonial at first glance—rules about bodily discharges and cleansing rituals. But under the surface, there's a rich and grace-filled reminder that God never leaves the defiled without a path to restoration. Even in the smallest imperfections—those not as visible or dramatic as leprosy—God provides a gentle yet uncompromising way back into fellowship.

A.B. Simpson draws our attention to a different kind of strength—not the kind that conquers cities or commands armies, but the quiet and resolute authority of a life ruled by the Spirit. True temperance, he says, is not repression or stoicism, but the Spirit-born ability to live from a place of inner composure, free from the tyranny of emotion, desire, or even good intentions that grow unchecked.

Bob Hoekstra’s reflection for today unveils the beautifully relational nature of the new covenant—one that invites us not just to believe in God, but to know Him personally and intimately. This knowledge, however, is not something we grasp by effort or intellect. It’s received. It's a divine unveiling—God giving Himself to us through the Spirit of wisdom and revelation.

In this stirring entry, Oswald Chambers brings us to the quiet but deeply personal shoreline of surrender. Using Peter's impulsive leap into the sea at the sound of Jesus’ voice (John 21:7), he asks us to consider whether we have truly and deliberately abandoned all to Christ—not just in outward behavior, but in the inner territory of the will. Chambers is not advocating for impulsive, emotionally driven acts of faith. Instead, he presses into the deeper act of volitional surrender—the kind of decision that is not necessarily accompanied by emotion but is rooted in trust and obedience.

Today’s entry from Abide Above gently guides us back to a truth that many miss in their eager pursuit of spiritual growth: transformation in Christ doesn’t come from striving, but from receiving. J.C. Metcalfe reminds us that truth—especially the truth of our union with Christ—is not something to be snatched from God’s hand through exertion or discipline. It’s something received by grace, as we sit before Him in stillness and dependence.

The heart of today’s devotional calls us to consider where God truly chooses to dwell. Through Stephen’s words in Acts 7, we're reminded that God cannot be confined to temples made with hands. He is not looking for stone walls or gold-covered sanctuaries, no matter how majestic they may seem. Instead, He seeks something infinitely more personal—a spiritual home, not crafted by man but cultivated in the human spirit.

E. Stanley Jones guides us to the very heartbeat of union with Christ through one of Jesus’ most beloved metaphors—the Vine and the branches. But Jones refuses to let this picture become a mere teaching aid. Instead, he reveals that Jesus’ words in John 15 point to a present, vibrant, shared life. Christ doesn’t just influence us from above or direct us from afar—He lives in us as His own. We are not merely followers trying to copy a divine example; we are sharers in the very life of the Vine Himself.

Ray Stedman brings out a vital distinction today: healing is God’s work alone, but cleansing is something He invites us to walk in as a response. In Leviticus 14, the priest examines someone already healed of leprosy. The healing had already taken place—so why the ceremony? Because cleansing is the outward testimony of what God has already done inwardly.

Today’s entry in Days of Heaven on Earth exhorts us to live courageously by faith, not shrinking back in fear. Simpson contrasts two figures—Jeremiah and King Zedekiah. Jeremiah, though surrounded by danger, remained courageous and obedient. Zedekiah, however, was driven by fear, hesitant to obey God, and ended up devastated. The message is clear: fear makes us vulnerable, but faith-filled boldness under God’s direction protects and even preserves us.

Bob Hoekstra invites us into the mindset of Paul, a man who had every reason to boast in spiritual maturity after decades of walking with Christ. Yet Paul humbly confesses, “I do not count myself to have apprehended.” There’s a holy dissatisfaction in Paul’s tone—not despair, but desire. It’s the voice of someone who knows there is always more of Christ to know, more intimacy to be explored, more grace to be drawn into.

Chambers speaks to those of us who’ve known the sweetness of a spiritual high—a moment when God’s presence felt so close, so real, so alive, we thought, If only it could stay like this forever. But the purpose of those moments is not to linger in them. They are glimpses, revelations, flashes of divine clarity meant to shape how we live in the more ordinary valleys below.

Today’s devotional reflects on the paradox of spiritual power—how our human weakness becomes the very platform through which Christ’s sufficiency is revealed. A.M. describes a believer who has not merely accepted his weakness, but has rejoiced in it, because it becomes the very setting in which the power of Christ is displayed most beautifully.

This morning’s reflection from eManna speaks to a critical, often overlooked dynamic in our desire to reach others with the gospel: the spiritual foundation of intercession. The writer challenges the tendency to jump directly into evangelism with zeal, without having first laid the groundwork in prayer. Drawing from John 6:37 and Acts 2:47, the emphasis is on God as the One who draws, the One who gives people to Jesus, and the One who adds daily to the church those who are being saved.

John 10 is one of the richest portraits of Jesus in the Gospel, capturing His identity through the imagery of shepherding. Jesus isn’t simply like a shepherd—He is the Good Shepherd. In contrast to the religious leaders of His day, who were meant to guide and guard God's people but instead acted like hired hands or even thieves, Jesus shows what true, sacrificial care looks like. His words draw directly from Ezekiel 34, where God rebukes Israel’s shepherds for abandoning the sheep—and promises to come Himself to rescue them.

Paul calls believers to imitate God by walking in love, as demonstrated by Christ’s self-sacrificing love for the Church. This imitation is not legalistic behavior modification but a Spirit-led expression of the new identity believers already possess in Christ. Walking in love excludes immoral, impure, and greedy behavior, as well as obscene and careless speech—all of which are out of step with a life transformed by Christ. Paul urges gratitude and thanksgiving instead, for these flow naturally from hearts filled with the Spirit.

In today’s entry from In Christ, E. Stanley Jones draws our attention to the intimacy and dynamism of mutual abiding with the Holy Spirit. He reflects on Jesus’ promise in John 14:16–17 that the Spirit would not only be in us but also withus—our Paraclete, the One called alongside to counsel, guide, and energize. Jones unpacks the meaning of the Spirit as both “Counselor” and “Comforter”—not just offering direction, but supplying vitality, strength, and creative power through His indwelling presence.

Ray Stedman’s reflection on Leviticus 13 unveils how ancient instructions regarding leprosy serve as a spiritual analogy for identifying and dealing with inner maladies of the soul—resentments, anger, and buried bitterness. In the Old Testament, the afflicted person was brought to a priest for careful examination. This wasn’t only for the sake of personal healing but also for the preservation of the community. In the New Covenant, we are all part of a royal priesthood, and we are called to bring our inner afflictions into the light of God’s Word and the fellowship of trusted believers.

In today’s reflection, A.B. Simpson draws our attention to a simple but instructive image from nature—the mesquite tree. Its strength and usefulness aren’t found in what we see above ground, but in what lies deep beneath. Though the tree’s frame may seem slight or unimpressive, its thick roots tunnel deep into the soil, anchoring it and quietly supplying the raw material for pavements that hold up entire cities. San Antonio, Simpson notes, is built upon these roots—structures laid down not by what the eye admires, but by what the earth hides.