Today’s devotional from Bob Hoesktra reminds us that our frail humanity—our clay-pot nature—is precisely the vessel God chose to house His divine life. We aren’t called to impress others with our strength, clarity, or composure. We’re called to let the radiance of Christ shine through the very cracks and pressures of our daily existence.

Oswald Chambers’ reflection on John 17 invites us to see our present isolation or difficulty not as abandonment but as divine intention. Jesus has prayed that we might be one with Him as He is with the Father—and the circumstances we face often serve to bring us to that very oneness. What seems like loneliness may be intimacy in disguise.

Spiritual growth is not simply about knowing Bible facts or receiving blessings. Many believers remain in the “milk” stage of faith—drawing encouragement from God’s kindness and the comforts He provides. But growth into spiritual maturity happens when we move beyond merely receiving from God and begin to feed on Christ Himself through the Word—not for stimulation or emotional assurance, but because His Word is life.

To pray in the name of Jesus is far more than adding a phrase at the end of a request—it is stepping into the very atmosphere of His indwelling presence and praying from within that sacred union. Jesus tells us in John 14 that whatever we ask in His name, He will do it—not as a formula, but as a relationship rooted in shared life.

For many of us, Bible study began as a foundation—truth to be learned, doctrine to be understood, commands to be followed. But at some point, many of us found ourselves asking: Why do I still feel stuck? Why does my study feel dry?

E. Stanley Jones draws our attention to a phrase in 1 Corinthians 1:5—“in every way you were enriched in Him”—and invites us to pause and contemplate its breadth. So often we spiritualize Scripture and limit its reach to matters of the soul, assuming that enrichment in Christ applies only to our “religious” life. But Jones presses deeper, insisting that this enrichment is total—it encompasses every dimension of life.

Today’s devotional from Immeasurably More exposes a timeless tension in Christian experience: the subtle but deadly shift from Christ-centered ministry to self-centered display. In Acts 8, Simon the sorcerer amazed people with signs, but his heart was centered on himself. The crowd called him “the Great Power of God,” but the spotlight was never on the Lord—it was on Simon.

The promise of Jesus in John 14:23 is not merely a future hope or distant theology—it is the unveiled secret of Christian living. First, Jesus came to us through the incarnation. But now, He has come into us, making His home within our hearts. Paul called this reality “Christ in you, the hope of glory,” a mystery long hidden but now revealed to every believer. This is not poetic metaphor. It is the reality that the very Person of Christ lives within us, not merely beside us.

God has intentionally placed the treasure of Christ within the fragile framework of our redeemed humanity. This isn’t a flaw in design — it’s the very wisdom of God. The excellence of the power that sustains our daily walk doesn’t originate in our flesh or personal resolve, but in Christ Himself, dwelling within us. We are the earthen vessels; He is the surpassing treasure.

In this reading, Oswald Chambers draws our hearts toward a liberating yet radical shift in focus: the priority of seeking God’s kingdom above all else. Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:33 are not simply advice—they are divine commands that upend the world’s anxious logic. Where we might reason, “First, I must survive—then I can serve,” Jesus flips the script entirely: “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

How easily we measure God's provision by our sense of need—thinking perhaps His grace just barely meets the mark. But the heart of the Father doesn’t deal in minimal mercy. He is not a stingy supplier, nor is His grace a bandage applied only where we bleed. Instead, the gift of His Son was a declaration of abundance. The Gospel is not just about pardon—it’s about participation in His fullness. Paul writes that we are filled with all the fulness of God (Eph. 3:19), and that Christ's love surpasses anything our minds can conceive.

There is a living richness hidden in the familiar words of 1 Corinthians 6:11—words that many of us may have read countless times: “you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified.” But the Spirit draws our attention to something easily missed: how this happened. It was not through striving, ritual, or personal resolve—it was in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God.

The Christian life is not a contradiction—it only seems like one when we forget that Scripture speaks of both position and practice, both judicial reality and daily experience. One of the clearest places this tension emerges is in the question of the flesh.

Paul opens this final chapter with comforting clarity. Having already addressed concerns about believers who have died, he now turns to those still alive, particularly in relation to the Day of the Lord. While the exact timing of that day remains unknown, it will come with certainty and surprise—like a thief in the night or the onset of labor. Unbelievers may take refuge in illusions of peace and safety, but for the believer, no such fear need exist. Those in Christ are children of the light, not of darkness; they live with open eyes, clothed in faith, love, and hope. The Christian life is one of attentiveness and readiness, not apathy or fear.

The account in Acts 3 portrays a powerful demonstration of the risen Christ’s life working through His people. As Peter and John head to the temple for the hour of prayer, they encounter a man who has been lame from birth, unable to walk and dependent on others to carry him and place him at the gate to beg. His entire life had been confined to the margins—close to worship but never fully entering in. But everything changes when Peter, seeing the man’s need, offers not silver or gold, but the authority of Jesus Christ.

As described in E. Stanley’s devotional from today, what happened in the Central Congo was not merely an emotional outburst or a mass movement. It was a Spirit-ignited unveiling—a public, personal, and communal confession of the transforming power of Christ. One by one, men and women stood and told the truth—not just about their sin, but about their Savior. They didn’t glamorize their past; they glorified their present union with Christ.

It’s a jarring scene: persecution erupts, believers scatter, and the church appears to be reeling — yet in God’s sovereign plan, this scattering is not a setback but a strategy. Acts 8:1-4 records how the very force that tried to stamp out the church became the catalyst for its expansion. Saul, fueled by religious zeal and personal unrest, thought he was crushing a heresy. Instead, he was unknowingly helping to spread the gospel to Judea and Samaria, right in line with the Lord’s roadmap from Acts 1:8.

Today’s reflection by A.B. Simpson turns our eyes from the exhausting burden of self-responsibility to the restful reality of belonging wholly to God. The verse from 1 Corinthians reminds us that we are not our own — we are vessels, temples indwelt by the very Spirit of God. This truth is not a loss, but a gift.

This morning’s reflection from Bob Hoekstra draws our attention to the stunning paradox of grace — that the Lord chooses to place His divine treasure, Christ Himself, within fragile, breakable clay pots like us. Though we have been made new in spirit, our physical bodies remain subject to weakness, limitation, and vulnerability. We are still “earthen vessels,” made of dust and easily cracked by the pressures of life. Yet, instead of discarding us, the Lord has chosen to fill us.

Oswald Chambers reminds us that after we are born again, we enter into a process of transformation that requires patient obedience—not merely inspiration. While we receive a new spiritual nature instantly at salvation, the soul must grow into alignment with that new life. This construction of the soul—our mind, will, and emotions—is neither automatic nor passive. It’s a patient yielding to Christ within, day by day.