Ezekiel’s vision reaches a beautiful crescendo as his guide leads him back to the temple entrance, where a trickle of water begins to flow from beneath the threshold—modest at first, but soon multiplying in depth and volume as it winds eastward, eventually becoming a mighty river no one could cross. This water isn't just water—it is life. It flows to the Dead Sea, that ancient symbol of barrenness, and turns it into an Edenic oasis. Trees spring up along the banks, their leaves unfading, their fruit plentiful, their healing power constant. The presence of this living water signals God's intention to restore, renew, and nourish what was dead and desolate.

Psalm 7 offers a window into David’s heart as he faces unjust accusations. Twice he anchors his cries with the phrase, “LORD my God,” reminding us that intimate relationship, not distance, defines our trials. The threat is real—vicious and personal, likened to a lion tearing prey—but so is the safety he clings to in God’s refuge. This is no generic suffering. David knows he is innocent, and he boldly appeals to God on those grounds, invoking an “if-then” oath structure in verses 3–5 that leaves room for consequences if he were guilty. But he isn’t. And so he pleads, not with petulance but with lamenting confidence, for God to rise up and judge rightly.

E. Stanley Jones draws us into the sacred truth that ministry is not reserved for a select few with clerical collars, but is the calling of every believer in Christ. Ephesians 4:11–12 is often misunderstood to imply a hierarchy: apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers who do the ministry while the rest of us watch. But Jones, citing the Revised Standard Version and insightful expositors like Dr. Kramer, clarifies that these roles exist to equip all the saints for the work of ministry—diakonia, which literally means “servantship.”

When Peter and John encountered the lame man at the temple gate, Peter’s first instruction wasn’t a prayer or a healing—it was a command: “Look at us.” This wasn’t a moment of self-exaltation; it was a summons to awaken expectation. Just as Jesus often drew focused attention before healing, Peter wanted the man’s heart and eyes alert, anticipating something beyond mere charity.

God has woven the pattern of death and resurrection into the very fabric of nature and redemption. A.B. Simpson reflects on how this truth is not just theological but deeply experiential: in the butterfly breaking from its cocoon, in the seed surrendering to the soil, in the winter making way for spring. These everyday images mirror a deeper reality—true spiritual life only comes through death.

In this reflection from Day by Day by Grace, we are reminded of the stark contrast between the old covenant, which was written in stone and dependent on man’s sufficiency, and the new covenant of grace, which is written on our hearts and sustained by God’s own life within us. The old covenant was not without glory—it came with thunder, shining faces, and divine declarations. But it was a fading glory. It revealed the holiness of God, yet could not supply the power to live in that holiness. It shone brightly for a moment, only to dim with time, exposing human inadequacy.

Oswald Chambers reminds us today that patience in the life of faith is not mere endurance. It is not passively waiting for things to change, nor is it resignation to difficulty. Instead, patience is an active and confident surrender — rooted in a vibrant trust that God is holy love and is working out His unseen purposes. Like an arrow in the hands of an archer, we are drawn back, stretched, and held in tension not because God has forgotten us, but because He sees a target we cannot yet glimpse.

Those unfamiliar with the exchanged life often raise a fair concern: “If you’re just resting in Christ, doesn’t that mean you’re doing nothing? Don’t we have responsibilities—commands to obey, people to serve, sins to resist?” The question is understandable. At first glance, resting in Christ can seem like disengaging. But Scripture reveals a deeper paradox: those who are at rest in spirit are often the most dynamically active in soul and body—yet their activity flows not from self-effort, but from divine Life.

Today’s devotional by Mils Stanford calls us to a life anchored not in striving, but in resting. It reminds us that every believer is already placed by God into Christ—into His risen life—and that our part is not to climb into this position but to abide in it. The struggle many Christians face stems from trying to live the Christian life out of their old nature, unknowingly stepping back into the futility of Romans 7. But God's desire is for us to recognize that He has forever placed us in His Son (1 Corinthians 1:30), and in that reality, we rest—not strive.

Today’s devotional by Witness Lee draws our attention to a striking image in Genesis 41: Pharaoh places a gold chain around Joseph’s neck—a gesture rich in meaning. In Scripture, the neck often symbolizes the human will. A stiff neck reflects resistance and rebellion, but a chained neck reveals a will that has been lovingly subdued into obedience.

E. Stanley Jones reminds us today that Jesus reserved one title for His followers—the one that denoted self-emptying service, not status. While the world honors titles like “Father,” “Teacher,” or “Leader,” Jesus reframes greatness entirely. Those titles, while honorable in worldly settings, represent self-assertive positions that elevate one above others. But Jesus, who embodied meekness and humility, entrusted His followers with only one identity: servant.

When the Holy Spirit first filled the believers at Pentecost, their devotion to fellowship was not just casual socializing — it was a spiritual necessity. This fellowship wasn’t built around shared hobbies or convenience; it was the Spirit-knit life of believers learning to live as one in Christ. Thousands of new believers from every corner of the known world were suddenly united into one body. They shared meals, shared prayers, and more importantly, shared hearts.

There is a holy difference between Christ being born for us and Christ being formed in us. A.B. Simpson reflects on Paul’s passionate desire for the Galatians—not merely that they had been saved, but that Christ would be fully formed in them. It’s the image of new birth not as a past event but as an ongoing reality. Just as Christ was born into the world once, so He desires to be born into each heart and formed there, day by day, until His character and beauty become visible in us.

Today’s devotional by Bob Hoekstra contrasts two entirely different ways of living and ministering: one rooted in the old covenant of law, the other in the new covenant of grace. The law, though holy and glorious, is described as a “ministry of condemnation” because it demands righteousness without providing the means to produce it. It holds up God's standard but offers no power to meet it. As a result, those who live by it—and those who minister it to others—find themselves burdened under its weight, striving in the flesh and falling short. Even their best efforts are stained with unrighteousness.

Oswald Chambers takes us deep into the passage from Luke 14 where Jesus speaks of building a tower—and counting the cost. At first glance, it may appear Jesus is challenging us to consider what discipleship might cost us. But Oswald wisely turns the focus to what it cost Christ. The full redemptive plan—His thirty hidden years, the three years of opposition and praise, the sweat of Gethsemane, and the agony of the Cross in its totality—was the cost He already counted and paid in full.

Miles Stanford’s reflection for today calls us to wake up to the reality of our present position in Christ—not just that our sins are forgiven, but that we have been raised and seated with Christ in the heavenly places. Many believers stop short at the Cross, gratefully acknowledging forgiveness but failing to step into the full implications of resurrection and ascension life. As a result, they continue to live tethered to the concerns and limitations of the earthly realm rather than enjoying their inheritance and fellowship in heaven.

There is a breathtaking truth woven throughout Scripture—one that reaches beyond religious identity and into the very core of who we are: we are not just believers, we are children of God. And not merely any god, but the God—the King of all creation, the Lord of heaven and earth. This makes us, by spiritual birthright, sons and daughters of the King. Royalty. Heirs.

Today’s devotional by Witness Lee draws a beautiful comparison between Joseph’s promotion in Egypt and Christ’s exaltation after His resurrection. Just as Pharaoh gave Joseph a signet ring—a symbol of delegated authority and identification—so the Father gave Christ the Holy Spirit at His ascension. The ring was used as a seal, marking whatever it touched with the authority of the one who owned it.

In Colossians 3, the Grace and Truth Study Bible presents Paul’s message as a call to embrace a heavenly identity in Christ, one that radically transforms not just our spiritual status but every practical aspect of life. Paul insists that the believer’s real life is already hidden with Christ in God—meaning that even now, from God’s perspective, we are seated with Christ in the heavenly realms. That invisible reality calls for a visible change. Believers are to set their minds on things above and live accordingly.

John 18 draws us into the tension and glory of Jesus’ passion with a portrait of His calm authority, steadfast love, and unwavering purpose. He steps into the darkness of betrayal not as a victim but as a willing sacrifice, fully in control, initiating His own arrest to protect His disciples. John emphasizes Jesus’ divine authority—His very name causing soldiers to fall back—and His commitment to the mission the Father gave Him. While Peter’s fear leads to denial, Jesus’ courage leads to obedience, and John juxtaposes these two responses to suffering for our reflection.