Oswald Chambers challenges a familiar enemy—worry—and exposes it as more than a mere habit; it is a misplaced faith. When we fret, we subtly dethrone God and enthrone our own calculations. We are tempted to believe that anxiety is a mark of responsibility or realism. But Chambers dismantles that notion: anxiety is not a virtue but a violation of trust.

Some believers spend years exhausting themselves trying to live the Christian life by effort, sincerity, and willpower—striving to subdue the flesh and perform their way into victory. But all that strain leads to only one result: weariness. And that’s precisely where the Lord is waiting—not to condemn the exhaustion, but to meet us in it with the invitation to enter His rest.

Calling on the name of the Lord isn’t a novel concept that originated in Acts—it’s been part of the life of faith from the earliest generations. From Enosh to David, from Isaiah to Jonah, even Gentiles recognized that those who belonged to the living God were marked by this practice: they cried out to Him with sincerity, need, and joy. It wasn’t religious noise. It was relational nearness.

Paul's letter to Titus unfolds in chapter 2 as a beautifully ordered picture of how the church—God’s household—is meant to live out sound doctrine through everyday relationships. Rather than leaning into abstract theology, Paul roots truth in practical rhythms: older men living with dignity and faith, older women mentoring younger women in the patterns of home life and purity, and young men called to self-control. Titus himself is urged to model what he preaches, not only through words, but in integrity and dignity of life. Paul’s emphasis is not limited to church behavior—it reaches into the workplace too, where even those in servitude are exhorted to reflect Christ in obedience and honesty.

Acts 18 portrays Paul’s extended ministry in Corinth, a cosmopolitan city of trade, culture, and entertainment. After being expelled from Rome, Priscilla and Aquila set up their tentmaking business in Corinth, where Paul joins them. Paul’s initial work in the synagogue is met with resistance, but the Lord assures him through a nighttime vision that He has many people in this city, prompting Paul to remain for 18 months. Gallio’s refusal to prosecute Paul marks a turning point: Christianity remains under the legal protection afforded to Judaism. This chapter also highlights the growing team around Paul—Priscilla, Aquila, Silas, Timothy, and Apollos—all active in spreading the gospel.

Today’s devotional from Nick Harrison reminds us that our source of strength isn’t found in armor or effort—it’s found in abiding in the Person of Christ. Ruth Paxson draws our attention to that small but life-defining word: “in.” Be strong in the Lord. That’s not a rallying cry for human effort. It’s a quiet yet unshakable invitation to stand in the victory that’s already been secured. Our power doesn’t come from gritting our teeth or summoning courage. It comes from being in Him, whose might has already overcome the enemy.

E. Stanley Jones reminds us that reconciliation is not merely a message we speak—it is a ministry we embody. When Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5 that we’ve been entrusted with the “message of reconciliation,” he also points out that we have been given the ministry of reconciliation. And the difference between a message and a ministry is this: one can be spoken at arm’s length, while the other must be lived at heart’s length.

T. Austin-Sparks gently opens our eyes to the astounding reality that the Father is building an eternal Family—a Family untouched by the sting of death. In this present dispensation, God's goal is not just to gather individuals but to knit together a spiritual household that will never fracture, never fade, and never be lost to the grave.

God's ways often defy our need for strategy. Paul and Barnabas didn’t enter Lystra with a game plan, a mapped-out outreach strategy, or a scheduled campaign. They simply showed up and preached Jesus. As they obeyed, the Lord moved—already having prepared a man in the crowd, lame from birth, to receive faith through the message. Paul saw the readiness in his eyes. And in that sacred collision of faith and obedience, the impossible happened. The man stood. He didn’t just stumble—he jumped up and walked.

Sometimes clarity only comes when we rise above the noise. A.B. Simpson compares the believer’s walk to a traveler who has lost their way—only to regain it by climbing a hilltop, where the path becomes clear again. In that elevation, the twisted turns and confusing shadows below are exposed for what they are: distractions from the way home.

Today’s reflection from Bob Hoekstra brings us into the holy dialogue between the Father and His Son—the Messiah, Jesus Christ. Isaiah 42:6 offers a beautiful glimpse into the eternal promises shared within the Godhead before time began. The Father calls His Son in righteousness, promises to uphold Him, and then declares something staggering: “I will give You as a covenant to the people.”

When Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up, his first response wasn’t amazement—it was devastation. Not because God condemned him, but because the light of God’s holy presence revealed the exact nature of what was broken inside: “I am a man of unclean lips.” The clarity wasn’t general guilt—it was specific. God didn’t shame Isaiah; He unveiled what needed cleansing so He could touch it with purifying grace.

There is a quiet yet thrilling assurance in today’s reading from Miles Stanford: we are not only saved by grace, but we are kept by the One who saved us. H.A. Ironside reminds us that our journey in Christ doesn't end with forgiveness—it culminates in an unshakable promise of being found unimpeachable in the day of Christ. That word—unimpeachable—says more than "not guilty." It says no accusation can stick. No charge will stand. Because Jesus didn’t just cover our sins; He positioned Himself between us and every failure.

The miraculous moment at Pentecost wasn’t just about spectacle—it was about understanding. When the Holy Spirit filled the disciples, they spoke not in mysterious, indecipherable sounds, but in the actual dialects of the people gathered from across the known world. Each person heard the wonders of God in their own native tongue. This wasn’t confusion—it was clarity.

Genesis 15 is a pivotal chapter of divine assurance. For the first time, we hear a personal dialogue between the Lord and Abram. The promises God made in earlier chapters now come under Abram’s questioning—not as rebellion but as a vulnerable and honest uncertainty. Abram, childless and aging, wonders who will carry on his lineage. The Lord responds not with rebuke but with reassurance: his heir will come from his own body. To make the promise tangible, God invites Abram to look up and count the stars. The vastness of the sky becomes a mirror of the vastness of God’s intentions. Abram believes Him, and that faith—apart from works, apart from Law—is counted to him as righteousness.

God longed to restore His people, but Israel’s persistent rebellion blocked His healing. Their sins were not just personal, but systemic—flowing from the top down, with leaders setting the tone for deception, violence, and godless alliances. The imagery of a heated oven shows the intensity and secrecy of their plotting. Even their kings—drunk on power and pride—fell one by one, all the while failing to cry out to the Lord.

David begins this psalm surrounded by danger, yet his heart is not gripped by fear. Instead, he rests in confidence—not in himself, but in the Lord. Why? Because the presence of God is more than a comforting concept; to David, it is a fortress, a sanctuary, a place of beauty and safety beyond reach of enemy hands. This trust is not abstract—it’s experiential, forged in the fires of battle and betrayal.

Today’s devotional from E. Stanley Jones draws us into the very core of redemption—not merely as a plan or a transaction, but as the expression of God’s very heart. Jones reminds us that there is no division between the Father and the Son when it comes to the work of salvation. The popular misconception—that God is angry and Jesus intervenes to change His mind—finds no place in Scripture. Instead, we are shown that “in Christ, God was reconciling the world to Himself” (2 Cor. 5:19). They are not at odds; they are one in will, one in love, one in sacrifice.

J.C. Ryle’s reflection on Hebrews 13:5 speaks straight into the heart of anyone who’s ever faced a moment of fear, failure, or finality. His word choice—never—isn’t casual. It’s deliberate, defiant against despair, and full of assurance. We’re reminded that God’s promise, “I will never leave you nor forsake you,” is not a temporary comfort but an eternal truth. This isn’t a verse to visit occasionally—it’s one to cling to, bury deep in the memory, and bring to mind in every storm.

We don’t prove the resurrection of Jesus Christ by reciting a creed, holding a position, or even sacrificing our lives for our beliefs. T. Austin-Sparks reminds us that the only convincing evidence of Christ’s risen Life is that very Life expressed through us. A doctrinal statement, no matter how orthodox or passionately proclaimed, doesn’t prove Christ lives. Even the Scriptures, rightly quoted, are not the proof—because the letter alone cannot communicate Life.