In this devotion, Bob Hoekstra unveils a powerful truth through Paul’s experience in Troas: triumph in Christ is not measured by smooth circumstances, visible outcomes, or emotional ease. When Paul arrived to preach the gospel and found the door open, we might expect a victorious ministry moment. But he confesses, “I had no rest in my spirit.” His companion Titus was missing, and the absence of a trusted partner was enough to send him onward to Macedonia instead.

Oswald Chambers sounds a gracious but necessary alarm to those who, in their zeal to serve God, may inadvertently begin to serve their service. It’s a subtle shift—from being God-centered to being work-centered—and it can slowly steal the joy of true devotion. Chambers reminds us that Christian service is not about effort that eclipses intimacy. The work of the believer must never replace the worship of the Beloved.

This morning’s entry from Abide Above invites us to behold a liberating truth: the law, though holy and just and good, has no dominion over those who are in Christ Jesus—not because it has been dismissed, but because it has been fulfilled. Every requirement of the law, every curse for disobedience, every righteous decree—it has all been answered in Christ.

Today’s eManna devotional draws our attention to a beautifully rich image found in Deuteronomy 33:24—Asher “dipping his foot in oil.” While this may initially seem like poetic imagery, its deeper meaning unveils the abundance of the Spirit-filled life. Oil, in Scripture, frequently symbolizes the Holy Spirit, and in this passage, we are not just told that Asher possesses oil, but that he walks in it. This is no meager anointing. His foot is dipped in it, submerged in a tangible and constant abundance.

Nehemiah 10 captures a holy moment of communal recommitment. After the public reading of the Law and deep national repentance in chapters 8 and 9, the people of Israel choose to bind themselves by a written covenant—a symbolic signature of responsive holiness. This wasn’t an abstract vow; it was filled with detail and sincerity. Civil leaders, priests, Levites, and ordinary men all aligned under the same resolution: to obey the commands of God, not as a means of earning His favor, but as a loving response to the grace He had already extended.

Ezekiel 41 draws us further into the intricacies of the future temple vision, and with it, a deep sense of reverence and progression toward holiness. As the prophet is led through the sacred architecture, we notice a deliberate narrowing of entrances and spaces—an architectural cue symbolizing increasing sanctity and the exclusivity of God's presence. The outer sanctuary, though holy, yields to the inner sanctuary, the Most Holy Place—a perfect square, echoing symmetry and sacred design, which only the high priest may enter (see Leviticus 16).

Psalm 1 opens the Psalter with a clear, vibrant contrast between two paths—the way of the righteous and the way of the wicked. This psalm is not a call to isolate from nonbelievers, but rather an invitation to guard our hearts from their counsel and enticements. It pictures the progressive pull of sin: one first walks, then stops and stands, and finally settles down to dwell in it. The blessed man resists that downward spiral not by striving, but by delighting—by delighting in the Lord's instruction. His meditation on God's Word is constant, not rote or ritual, but murmured softly, like an intimate conversation with a trusted friend.

The Psalms are more than poetic expressions—they are the heartbeat of worship, echoing every high and low of life while pointing toward the eternal reign of Christ. These 150 psalms, divinely orchestrated over centuries, blend raw human emotion with the steady cadence of divine faithfulness. They give voice to joy and pain, to fear and faith, without ever losing sight of God's promises.

E. Stanley Jones gently reframes the often-misunderstood concept of divine punishment by showing us that hell is not primarily a divine imposition but rather the natural trajectory of sin itself. He challenges the old paradigm that imagines an angry God hurling sinners into judgment. Instead, he invites us to see that sin is intrinsically self-consuming—like a fire that feeds on its own fuel. Its consequence is not externally applied, but internally birthed.

Ray Stedman brings our attention to a remarkable pattern in Leviticus 20: the way God repeats His covenant name—Jehovah—after each command. This isn’t redundant; it’s revelatory. By appending His name, “I am the LORD your God,” to every instruction, God is doing two vital things. First, He is asserting authority. His voice defines reality—what is right, what is wrong, what leads to life or death. When He says something is unclean, it’s not a matter of cultural taste; it’s truth. We are called to see life through His lens, not the shifting standards of the world.

A.B. Simpson, with his usual spiritual clarity, reveals a truth that is often missed in relationships—whether in marriage, friendship, or prayer. The heart of today’s reflection is this: unity is not achieved through effortful clinging to one another, but through mutual yielding to God. When both hearts are turned upward, they naturally grow closer, not by striving to bind together, but by aligning with the same divine center.

Living under the new covenant means living by grace, not by human sufficiency. Bob Hoekstra points us to a truth so liberating it resets our whole spiritual orientation: our adequacy doesn’t arise from within ourselves, but from God alone. Through Christ, we receive “grace upon grace,” a cascading supply that not only justifies us but sanctifies us—progressively forming the likeness of Christ within us. This grace is not abstract or aloof; it meets us in our deepest needs, builds us up, liberates us from sin's dominion, and establishes our hearts in peace.

Oswald Chambers calls us today to anchor our gaze not on the flickering lights of human encouragement, but on the unfailing brilliance of the Lord’s glory. In the early stages of our journey, we’re often lifted by others—their zeal, wisdom, or simply their presence. But eventually, those lights dim. People change. They move on. They pass away. And if our eyes were fixed on them rather than on Christ, discouragement can creep in. But Chambers reminds us that this disillusionment is actually a divine invitation: to build our lives not on temporary lights, but on the Light that never fails.

Today’s devotional draws a stark and beautiful contrast between two ways of living: the law-driven life, and the Spirit-led life. One is dominated by effort and pressure—what Chafer calls “bondage of effort to please God.” The other is gently governed by the inner guidance of the Holy Spirit, where the fruit of Christ’s life begins to flourish not from effort, but from rest.

Today’s devotional invites us to reconsider what true spiritual maturity looks like. It draws from the picture of Gad, one of the tribes of Israel, who secured his inheritance east of the Jordan but didn’t stay behind to enjoy it. Instead, he joined the rest of Israel in battle to help them enter their own land. This act, though costly in terms of comfort and personal enjoyment, was considered just in God’s eyes—not because Gad earned righteousness by works, but because he valued the unity and flourishing of the whole people of God over his individual satisfaction.

John 12 paints a moving and multidimensional portrait of the final days leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion. The chapter opens with Mary’s extravagant devotion, anointing Jesus with costly perfume—an act of prophetic worship that Jesus said prepared Him for burial. The sweet aroma of this offering contrasted sharply with Judas’s bitter greed.

Paul's letter to the Philippians opens with a rich outpouring of joy, love, and Christ-centered hope. He identifies himself and Timothy simply as "servants of Christ Jesus," echoing the humility of their Master who took on the form of a servant Himself. Paul writes to a church that he deeply loves and cherishes, reminding them that their unity and mutual love are born out of the gospel and the shared grace of God. He affirms their partnership not only in their generous financial support but in their shared life in Christ.

Paul’s letter to the Philippians is deeply personal, filled with the warmth of spiritual friendship. Unlike some of his more corrective letters, Philippians reads like a tender correspondence between close companions. The church at Philippi was born through hardship and bonded by generosity. From its very first converts—Lydia, the jailer, and the delivered slave girl—this church knew what it meant to suffer for Christ and to walk in joy despite opposition.

There are some verses we’ve read or heard a hundred times, and then one day—through the Spirit’s quiet work—they explode with meaning. That happened to me recently with Colossians 1:16: "All things were created through Him and for Him."

In this sobering reflection, E. Stanley Jones explores the inevitable consequences of living apart from Christ. He observes that when a soul detaches from its source—Jesus, who is life—it doesn't merely suffer disorientation or malaise; it begins a process of decay. Whether in outward rebellion or quiet self-centeredness, the life separated from Christ slowly collapses under its own weight. Jones likens it to a branch cut off from the vine, which withers and is ultimately burned—not by God's wrath, but by the unlivable nature of a self-sustained existence. He powerfully states that we light our own funeral pyres when we depart from Christ, for the fire of internal conflict, discontent, and confusion is self-ignited.