When the disciples asked, “Lord, teach us to pray,” it wasn’t because they were unfamiliar with prayer. As former disciples of John the Baptist, they had likely practiced it often. But there was something so radically different, so captivating about the way Jesus prayed that it stirred within them a holy dissatisfaction with their own understanding.

Today's reflection from A.B. Simpson reminds us that the Christian life is not about mustering our own power, but about receiving and relying upon the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit. Acts 1:8 was not just a commission—it was a promise. Jesus never intended for us to be witnesses in our own strength. He knew we couldn’t. But He also knew we wouldn’t have to.

It is one thing to call Jesus “Lord,” but it is quite another to live under His lordship. Today’s devotional explores this tension with Jesus’ own piercing question: “Why do you call Me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do the things which I say?”Calling Christ “Lord” is not merely about our lips—it’s about our lives, surrendered to His authority.

Oswald Chambers invites us into the heart of divine friendship—a friendship so intimate that it moves beyond shared sorrow to shared delight. We often approach God with our burdens, but the deepest mark of relationship is when God shares His own joys with us. That kind of sharing only happens when we slow down and listen.

This reflection from Miles Stanford reminds us that the Lord is not impressed by our religious posturing or spiritual pretensions. True growth in Christ flows not from trying to appear more mature than we are, but from humbly walking in the measure of Christ we’ve actually appropriated. There’s no value in presenting ourselves as spiritual giants when we are still babes—He’s not asking us to “act the part.” Instead, He gently draws us to abide in the portion of Christ we presently know, with the assurance that all the fullness of His grace is already ours, waiting to be experienced as we mature.

Paul’s words in Romans 12:1 don’t come as a command, but as a tender plea: “I beg you, brothers…” It is the language of someone utterly captivated by grace. And what is he pleading? That we present our bodies as living sacrifices to God. Not dead sacrifices, like in the Old Testament, but living—full of divine life, vibrant with the indwelling Spirit.

Paul’s opening to Timothy carries deep tenderness and urgent authority. He grounds his role not in personal ambition but in God’s sovereign calling, showing us that the true authority in Christian life flows from God's command, not from personal merit. Timothy is more than a mentee—he is Paul’s spiritual son, a young leader in need of encouragement and mercy in the face of heavy responsibility.

The introduction to 1 Timothy reveals a deeply personal letter written by Paul to his spiritual son, Timothy. What stands out is not just the content but the weight of legacy behind it. Paul is handing the torch to Timothy, not just to maintain order in the church at Ephesus, but to protect the gospel itself. Years earlier, Paul warned the Ephesian elders that wolves would arise from among them, twisting truth to lead others astray. That moment has now arrived, and Timothy is called to stand guard.

Stephen’s defense before the Sanhedrin begins not with argument but with a sweeping retelling of Israel’s history—a bold move, not to excuse himself but to expose the tragic consistency of their rejection. From Abraham to Moses to the prophets, Stephen outlines the story of how the people of God repeatedly turned away from the ones sent to deliver them. The undercurrent of his speech points to Jesus as the ultimate Deliverer—rejected like Joseph, opposed like Moses, yet exalted and glorified by God. When Stephen speaks of the temple, he subtly shifts the focus: God cannot be confined to buildings. His presence is not boxed in by walls of stone, and neither is His movement.

In this heartfelt reflection, E. Stanley Jones reminds us that only the pure, undiluted gospel of Jesus Christ births new life. Philosophies may stir minds, and religious practices may shape habits—but only the gospel brings dead hearts to life. When the pastor first shared moral teachings or examples of Jesus' kindness, the dying woman couldn’t receive them. They felt out of reach—meant for “better people.” But when he finally proclaimed Jesus crucified for sinners, something awakened in her. “That’s for the likes of me,” she said.

Today’s reflection from Ray Stedman invites us to reconsider what true prayer really is—not the words we say or the posture we assume, but the heart with which we come. In Jesus’ parable, the tax collector doesn’t even try to defend or soften his condition. He doesn’t appeal to his sincerity, honesty, or even his desire to change. He simply says, “God, be merciful to me, the sinner.” That’s the whole of it. He brings nothing but need—and finds everything in the mercy of God.

The devotional for today from A.B. Simpson brings us face to face with a truth so simple it’s often overlooked: the way we began in Christ is the way we are meant to continue. Many believers understand the moment of salvation—when they trusted in Jesus alone to rescue them from sin and death. But something often shifts after that. Instead of continuing in that same trust, we begin to strive, to labor, to try harder. We know Christ saved us, but we subtly start acting as though we are responsible for maintaining the Christian life in our own strength.

Today’s devotional from Bob Hoekstra reminds us that true obedience doesn’t spring from our best intentions or self-effort—it flows from the indwelling Spirit of God. We were never designed to walk in God’s ways by sheer willpower. Instead, God promised something far more beautiful: He would place His own Spirit within us and cause us to walk in His statutes.

Oswald Chambers invites us to consider what truly occupies our inner attention. We may say we’re not haunted by anything, but in reality, we’re often preoccupied with ourselves—our fears, regrets, achievements, or spiritual highs and lows. Chambers challenges us to shift our focus entirely onto the presence of God, letting Him be the central consciousness of our lives.

A.W. Tozer reminds us that God is eternal—not just as a philosophical truth, but as a deeply comforting reality for our daily lives. God is not subject to time. He has no beginning and no end. He sees all of history—including your life story—simultaneously. That’s not just mind-stretching; it’s soul-settling.

Time feels like both a gift and a burden. One day we’re counting down to a long-awaited moment; the next, we’re wondering where the years went. But no matter how we experience time, God never does.

Today’s devotional centers on God’s eternity—not just that He lasts forever, but that He exists outside of time itself. Time flows from Him, not the other way around. He sees the end from the beginning because, to Him, there is no before or after—only an eternal “now.”

Today’s reflection from Miles Stanford invites us to gaze at the Cross—not only as the symbol of God’s love for sinners but as the ongoing revelation of that love in the life of every believer. The Cross is not only what saved us—it’s what continues to shape us into the likeness of Christ.

Repentance is more than emotion—it is transformation at the deepest level of our thoughts. When John the Baptist cried, “Repent, for the kingdom of the heavens has drawn near,” he wasn’t calling for momentary remorse but for a foundational shift in how people thought, reasoned, and lived. The Greek word for “repent” literally means to change one’s mind.

If you’ve ever tried to hold things together when your world was unraveling—this devotional is for you.

Today’s post reflects on the self-sufficiency of God and what that means when real life presses in. Whether you’re navigating grief, exhaustion, family burdens, or pressure to be “enough,” you’re invited to stop drawing from your own supply and rest in His.

In a world that constantly demands more of us, this truth offers relief: God lacks nothing.
He doesn't need fuel, updates, backup plans, or help from us. He is eternally complete—always full in wisdom, joy, strength, and love.

This is the doctrine of God's self-sufficiency—a truth that liberates us from trying to be enough.