Today’s devotional from A.B. Simpson draws from the gentle command in Philippians 4:6: “Be anxious for nothing.” At its heart is a loving invitation—an invitation not to suppress our worries, but to hand them over entirely. The word “commit” becomes the key to understanding this exchange. To commit is not merely to acknowledge our burdens but to hand them over, trusting them into the care of Someone far more capable.

Today’s reflection from Bob Hoekstra reminds us that there’s more happening in our lives than meets the eye. While the outward, physical body inevitably weakens and ages—something we all observe and experience—there’s an invisible, powerful work taking place within. For the believer who walks in the grace of God, that inner person—the spirit made alive in Christ—is being renewed day by day.

Oswald Chambers draws our attention to how Jesus reframed prayer—not as an activity to schedule but as a state of being. Just as breath and blood circulate without ceasing, prayer for the believer is meant to be constant, even unconscious—an unbroken communion with the Father through the Son.

Today’s reflection from Miles Stanford gently opens our eyes to the mystery of preparation—the often unseen cultivation God does in hearts long before the Word ever reaches them. We may be tempted to focus on the moment of visible transformation, but the Spirit reminds us that the deep work of God often begins in secret, far beneath the surface. Like rich soil that has been patiently tilled, the heart prepared beforehand receives the Word with joy and bears lasting fruit.

Today’s reflection by Witness Lee invites us into the experiential reality of Emmanuel—God with us. The name Emmanuel isn’t merely theological, it is relational. The devotional reminds us that whenever we experience Jesus—whether as peace, rest, patience, truth, or salvation—we’re not merely receiving a gift from God; we are encountering God Himself in real time. Jesus is not only from God; He is God. He is not just near; He is with us.

Today’s reflection from E. Stanley Jones opens our eyes to a surprising truth: what most of the world strives for—wisdom, righteousness, and sanctification—is still not enough without redemption. That one word, redemption, holds the power to free us not only from our failures but also from our finest virtues when they are fueled by pride. This is a shocking and freeing insight.

Today’s reflection from Ray Stedman invites us into the quiet, sacred moment when Peter, through the power of Christ, speaks life into a lifeless body—and Tabitha rises. Her story is more than a miracle of physical resurrection; it is a portrait of what Christ does to the heart that has grown cold, calloused, or numb through pain, betrayal, or disappointment.

There is something infinitely more precious than merely believing truths about Jesus—it is knowing Him personally. Paul didn’t cry out for knowledge of doctrine or divine mysteries; he longed for the intimate reality of Christ Himself. “That I may know Him,” he wrote, not in pursuit of theology but of relationship—one so deep it entered into the fellowship of Christ’s sufferings and conformity to His death.

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.