We often dwell on God’s promises, holding tightly to the truth that He has spoken goodness over our lives. But the power of a promise is only as strong as the ability of the One who makes it. That’s why today’s devotional points us not only to what God has promised—but to who He is. He is the Creator of heaven and earth, the One who spoke galaxies into existence with nothing more than His word. So when He says something, it isn’t just a hopeful wish—it’s a divine certainty.

Oswald Chambers reminds us that God is not an afterthought to be added once we’ve worked out our plans—He’s the very foundation of our reasoning. So often we unconsciously treat “spiritual life” as its own category while reserving practical decisions—finances, relationships, future planning—for our own management. But this fragmented thinking only leads to worry. God invites us to bring Him into every detail—not just for guidance, but because He is our peace, our wisdom, our provision.

The cross was never meant to be a symbol we revere from a distance. It’s not just about what happened outside Jerusalem two thousand years ago—it’s about what’s happening right now, in us, as the Holy Spirit applies that finished work moment by moment. When Jesus said to take up our cross daily, He wasn’t calling us to self-effort or performance—but to identification. His cross didn’t just forgive us; it also brought an end to the old man. And now, by faith, we live not by patching up the flesh, but by yielding to the life of the risen Christ within.

The early church wasn’t known for cathedrals or clever slogans—it was known for calling on the name of the Lord. In a world of religious systems and spiritual striving, this simple practice marked believers as those who genuinely belonged to Christ. It was more than a whisper in prayer—it was the natural overflow of hearts full of Christ, continually breathing out His name in awe, dependence, and communion.

E. Stanley Jones offers a timely correction to a subtle danger for those of us who walk in the rich awareness of being in Christ. While our identity in Christ lifts us above the sway of the world’s opinions, it does not free us from responsibility to live honorably before others. In fact, because we are in Christ, we are called to reflect His character not just in private devotion, but in public witness.

Some believers who truly desire to follow the Holy Spirit’s leading can become tormented by unclear impressions, mistaking vague nudges or uncertain promptings as divine directives. Torrey offers a word of freedom to such burdened hearts: God does not guide through confusion. He is light, and in Him is no darkness. The fog is not from Him.

There’s a quiet but tragic irony in the Christian life: we can accumulate knowledge about Jesus without ever truly living from Him. T. Austin-Sparks gently exposes the subtle difference between learning about Christ and encountering Christ. The first can be amassed through sermons, books, conferences, and notes in our margins. The second? That happens in the quiet heart-space where the Holy Spirit breathes life into the written Word and Christ becomes our daily bread—not just our topic of study.

When Paul preached to people with no knowledge of Scripture—no church background, no understanding of the gospel—he didn’t begin by quoting Bible verses. Instead, he began with what they did know: the rhythms of rain, the satisfaction of harvest, and the joy of shared meals. He pointed to the natural world and said, “This is evidence. You’ve already seen God, whether you’ve realized it or not.”

Song of Songs 4:8 invites us to rise with the Beloved, to step away from the lurking dangers below and join Him in the heights. A.B. Simpson takes this poetic call and directs our hearts to its spiritual reality: when we view life from above, we gain clarity. The paths that once seemed twisted with uncertainty unfold before us with purpose. Prayer and faith do not remove the challenges—but they lift us into the vantage point of Christ in us.

From the beginning, God’s plan was global. What began as a promise to the house of Israel was never meant to stay enclosed within ethnic or national boundaries. Isaiah’s prophecies made this abundantly clear: the Servant of the Lord—Messiah—was not just to restore Israel but to become salvation for the Gentiles, a light reaching the ends of the earth. What grace, that God would not be content with saving only a few! His heart overflowed toward every tribe, tongue, and nation.

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.