God often allows suffering in our lives not only for our own growth but for the benefit of others. Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 4 show that the death he experienced—daily dying to self, enduring hardship, and leaning into Christ’s sufficiency—resulted in life for those he ministered to. This paradox of “death working in us, but life in you” reveals the divine economy of grace: when we surrender our self-sufficiency and embrace the cross, Christ's life is manifested in us, touching others in ways we may never fully grasp.

When Abram gave Lot the first choice of land, he wasn’t being passive—he was exercising the active trust that defines a life of faith. Though the cultural expectation and practical logic said Abram had the right to choose first, he surrendered that right because his eyes weren’t on what seemed best—his eyes were on God.

So many believers live as if they are still trying to get somewhere spiritually—climbing, striving, rededicating, surrendering, and re-committing in hopes of finally attaining the victorious Christian life. But what if the real victory is not found in gaining new ground, but in standing on the ground already given?

We often think of love in human terms—needing someone, depending on them, or gaining something from them. But divine love is different. In today’s devotional, we look at the self-existence of God—the truth that He depends on no one and no thing. He is the great I AM, eternally complete, lacking nothing.

When I first encountered the truth of God's incomprehensibility, something in me shifted. I had spent so long trying to solve God—analyzing theology, chasing answers, pressing for clarity—yet never quite finding rest. Then I came to understand: God is not a puzzle to solve, but a Person to trust.

Today’s reflection from Witness Lee centers on the symbolic gift of myrrh, which represents death—and more specifically, the fragrance that death carries in the life of Jesus. While death among humanity has no fragrance but sorrow, in Christ, even surrender carries a sweetness. The story of twelve-year-old Jesus remaining behind in the temple reveals an early moment of self-denial. When His parents found Him and did not understand, Jesus did not defend Himself. Instead, He submitted and returned with them to Nazareth. That choice, quiet and unseen by the world, was already a crucifixion of His will.

E. Stanley Jones reminds us that Christ did not come to obliterate the cultural identities of people across the globe. Rather, He came to fulfill the deepest longings woven within them. Christianity is not a Western export or a foreign framework to be imposed on other cultures—it is the unveiling of a Person who perfectly embodies what every culture has, in its own way, longed to see.

Psalm 14 presents a sobering picture of humanity apart from God—morally bankrupt, willfully blind, and spiritually destitute. The psalmist declares that the fool says in his heart, “There is no God,” but this is not just a solitary voice; it represents the collective condition of fallen humanity. The text draws connections to the judgment stories of Genesis—floodwaters on Noah’s generation, confusion at Babel, and fire on Sodom—underscoring that corruption invites divine response.

Today’s reflection by Ray Stedman brings us into the quiet turning point of Paul’s early ministry—a moment not marked by triumph but by a humiliating retreat. The once-proud Pharisee, now a servant of Christ, found himself lowered in a basket over the city wall to escape those who wanted him dead. At first glance, it looks like a scene of shame. Yet many years later, Paul would recall this moment as one of the most meaningful in his spiritual journey. Why?

Because it was the beginning of the end of self-sufficiency.

Job 38:19 asks a question only God could answer: “Where is the way to the home of light?” It's as if the Lord is reminding Job—and us—that He alone commands the origin and purpose of light and darkness. Today’s devotional by A.B. Simpson reflects on this imagery by comparing us to jewels. A diamond, though precious, appears no different than charcoal when hidden in darkness. Its brilliance is revealed only when light strikes it. The same is true of us. Apart from God’s light, we are like lifeless stones—ordinary, unnoticed, and dull.

God often allows His children to face situations that strip them of their own resources—not as punishment, but as preparation. Today’s devotional from Bob Hoekstra explores how our Father lovingly leads us into circumstances we cannot handle on our own so that the life of Jesus might be revealed in our humanity. We are the “earthen vessels,” fragile and limited by design, and yet chosen to contain and display the surpassing power of Christ within.

Sometimes we think we know Jesus well—walking with Him day by day, calling Him Counselor, Friend, and Comforter. But then He reveals Himself not as our familiar companion, but as the Almighty. Like John on the island of Patmos, we may find ourselves utterly undone when we encounter His majesty. The Jesus who once gently spoke beside us now appears in the fullness of His glory—no longer simply meek and mild, but radiant, holy, sovereign.

God, in His perfect love, calls us not to ease, but to maturity. Peter’s words in 1 Peter 5:10 are both sobering and comforting. There is a “while” of suffering, but it is framed by grace — “the God of all grace” is the One who oversees our refining. He permits difficulty not to crush us, but to settle us. The shaking of our souls has a purpose: to reveal what is unshakable — Christ in us.

When the magi arrived and found the child Jesus, they did something astonishing: they bowed in worship. These were Gentile wise men, outsiders to Israel’s religious system, yet they recognized divinity wrapped in infancy. Unlike the Israelites—who would never dare to worship a man—the magi worshipped this child because, in Him, they discerned the presence of God Himself. Isaiah’s prophecy had come true: “Unto us a child is born... and His name shall be called... the Mighty God.”

There are moments when the wisest and most Spirit-led response to criticism or disagreement is no response at all. While our first instinct may be to defend the truth or correct misunderstanding, the way of the Spirit is often quieter, more discerning, and attuned to the heart behind the words spoken. In our digital age, believers increasingly encounter comments or criticisms that don’t seek fellowship or mutual edification, but instead mimic the tone of casual bar-stool banter or modern-day Pharisaical posturing.

Paul opens this second letter to the Thessalonians by expressing gratitude for their growing faith and abounding love. He acknowledges their endurance through persecution and frames their suffering as both a testimony to God’s justice and a preparation for the kingdom. Paul assures them that those who trouble them will face divine retribution, while they themselves will receive relief at Christ’s return. The Lord’s coming will be marked by justice: vengeance upon those who reject Him and glorification of those who belong to Him.

Paul’s second letter to the Thessalonians feels heavier than the first. The hopeful tone of 1 Thessalonians gives way to a more urgent, solemn voice—born out of growing persecution and deceit. The early church in Thessalonica, already afflicted, was now being misled by false teachings—possibly through a forged letter claiming that the day of the Lord had already come. Imagine the confusion: suffering deeply and being told that Christ had returned without you.

In Acts 4, we witness the early church's unwavering commitment to proclaiming the resurrection of Jesus Christ, even in the face of opposition. Peter and John are arrested for preaching about Jesus and healing a lame man, actions that disturb the Sadducees who deny the resurrection. When questioned by the Sanhedrin, Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, boldly declares that the man was healed by the name of Jesus Christ, whom they crucified and whom God raised from the dead. He emphasizes that salvation is found in no one else. The council, astonished by the courage of these uneducated men and unable to deny the miracle, commands them not to speak in Jesus' name.

E. Stanley Jones continues his unfolding vision of the believer’s riches in Christ by turning to 1 Corinthians 1:30: “He [God] is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, whom God made our wisdom, our righteousness and sanctification and redemption.” This single verse becomes a treasury of spiritual wealth, showing that in Christ we inherit what entire cultures once strained for—and failed to attain on their own terms.

In today’s reflection from Ray Stedman, we’re drawn into the gentle and sovereign orchestration of God’s grace at work in the life of Saul, freshly converted and newly born into the family of Christ. The passage from Acts 9 shows us that one of the first gifts Saul receives after his dramatic encounter with Jesus is not solitude or private revelation—but connection.