In this entry, Oswald Chambers doesn’t ask us to try harder—he actually warns us against trying at all. His piercing question is simple: Are you still relying on something besides God? It may not be as blatant as saying, “I’ve got this,” but even subtle trust in self, circumstance, or “natural virtues” reveals a lingering independence that blocks us from experiencing the full flow of Christ’s indwelling life.

Today’s devotional from Miles Stanford invites us into a deeper understanding of how trials position us to experience the sufficiency already ours in Christ. We may know that God’s grace abounds and that Christ is lovely and full of blessing, but that knowledge becomes real only through experiential fellowship—not mere doctrine. As J.N. Darby writes, truth must be bound to Christ relationally for it to sustain us.

Today’s devotional from Witness Lee reminds us that just as the crucifixion of Christ is an accomplished fact, so too are the breathing and blowing of the Holy Spirit. When Jesus breathed on the disciples in John 20, He imparted His very life—this was not a promise to wait for, but a reality to receive. Then, in Acts 2, the Spirit came like a rushing wind, empowering them outwardly. According to Lee, one brought inner vitality, the other outward authority.

E. Stanley Jones returns us to the heart of authentic Christian expression—speaking in Christ. He draws from Paul’s reminder in 2 Corinthians 12:19, “It is in the sight of God that we have been speaking in Christ,” to emphasize that every word we speak is either aligned with Christ’s indwelling presence or not. Speaking in Christ isn’t just about quoting Scripture or saying the right things—it’s about speaking with Christ’s emphasis and Christ’s spirit.

When a child hands you a homemade gift—rough edges, maybe a bit lopsided—you cherish it because it came from the heart. And when someone of great means gives, they do so in proportion to their ability and affection. Now consider this: what is God’s greatest gift, the one that surpasses golden streets, angelic choirs, or even the forgiveness of sins? It is not a thing at all. It is a Person. God’s supreme gift is Christ in you—present, personal, and permanent.

T. Austin-Sparks opens today’s entry by highlighting a vital truth: our union with Christ is not just a theological concept but a lived experience—basic in its reality, yet progressive in its outworking. We are united with Christ in His death so that His resurrection life may now animate our own. This isn’t about trying harder to behave like Him, but about yielding our self-life to the ongoing reality of the Cross so that He may fully express His life in and through us.

It’s easy to forget that the Christian life is not a presentation but a participation—one in which we proclaim, but God performs. In today’s Scripture, Lydia’s heart is opened—not by persuasion or presentation, but by God Himself, responding to a moment of availability and trust from Paul and his companions. They didn’t manipulate or strategize. They simply showed up by the riverside and shared the truth, confident that the Lord would do something eternal.

Grace is not a reward for effort. It is a river, not a wage. The moment we try to earn it—even subtly, even with a tinge of self-improvement effort—we leave the life of faith and drift into the self-life. Today’s reminder is tender but firm: we began in the Spirit, and we must continue in the Spirit. There is no higher blessing waiting on the other side of better behavior. The “higher life” isn’t for a special class of spiritual elites—it’s for those who know they bring nothing and receive everything.

Paul's words in 2 Timothy 1:12 offer more than theological precision—they reveal the pulse of a soul that knows Christ intimately. Suffering wasn’t a theoretical concept for him. It was woven into the very fabric of his calling. And yet, Paul did not shrink from it. Instead of shame, he stood in assurance, because his heart was grounded in relationship—not religion, not performance, and certainly not public approval.

Loyalty to Christ is not born from emotional surges or grand resolutions. It springs from a choice—a daily, deliberate yielding of the will. Oswald Chambers reminds us that our will isn't something to be given up, but something to be rightly aligned. God presents us with truth, and we are invited to respond—not with passive consent, but with wholehearted participation. It’s not about asking Him to do something new; it's about us choosing, once again, to trust the One we already know to be faithful.

Today’s reading offered by Miles Stanford shines light on a truth often missed in the rush to find peace through self-effort: peace is not a feeling to be chased but a Person to whom we yield. The old Adam life—the striving, self-asserting nature we were once bound to—can never produce peace. It can only produce conflict, both inward and outward. But Jesus didn’t come to reform Adam. He came to end Adam’s reign entirely by the cross, and by His death, to bring a new kind of life—His life—into ours.

Today’s devotional from Witness Lee calls us into the same question that echoed across time on the lips of Jesus: “But who do you say that I am?” The crowd had their opinions. Some admired Jesus as a prophet. Others were unsure, assigning to Him both honor and suspicion. Yet in the swirl of voices and viewpoints, Simon Peter’s answer stood out with clarity: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

Paul continues his final instructions to Titus by urging believers to model Christlike behavior in society. Submission to government and an eagerness to do good should mark the believing community—not as a passive acceptance of injustice, but as a testimony to God’s orderly and good nature. Paul reminds us that our former lives were shaped by foolishness, disobedience, and enslaving desires—but something radical happened: God saved us.

Paul’s ministry in Ephesus unveils a critical distinction in spiritual understanding: it is not sincerity or religiosity that brings new life, but receiving the full revelation of Christ. The chapter begins with a clear contrast—Apollos, who needed deeper instruction, and John’s disciples, who needed salvation. These men had part of the story but lacked the Person of the gospel. Once Christ was received, the Spirit came.

Today’s story compiled by Nick Harrison is tender and piercing. A mother, hungry for deeper holiness, poured herself into the Word, searching diligently for the secret to the Christian life. But in her pursuit of the sacred, she missed the sanctity in the small—a child’s need, a doll’s repair, the loving work of home. She brushed aside her daughter in her holy quest, only to discover that the very holiness she longed for had been waiting quietly on the hearthrug.

E. Stanley Jones draws our attention to the paradox of holy weakness—a surrender that disarms the powers of the world and reveals a strength they cannot comprehend. Christ was crucified in weakness, yet that very weakness unveiled the unstoppable power of God. In the yielding of the Son, we saw not defeat, but divine triumph. This is the essence of being “weak in Him”—not powerless, but surrendered to a power not our own.

Today’s reading from T. Austin-Sparks reminds us that there’s an unmistakable dividing line in our spiritual journey. The moment we let the patterns of the old creation express itself—whether it’s an old line of thought, a familiar reaction in the flesh, or simply trying to serve God from natural strength—we hit a spiritual wall. It may feel like confusion, frustration, or even spiritual dryness, but at the core is this truth: we cannot carry anything from the habits of the old man into the life of the new.

Today’s passage brings us to a surprising contrast in the early church. Paul, who so fiercely opposed circumcising Titus, willingly circumcises Timothy. To some, it might seem like Paul contradicted himself—but the beauty is in the deeper principle. With Titus, Paul drew a bold line in the sand: salvation is by grace, not through rituals. But with Timothy, Paul wasn’t conceding to legalism; he was loving the people Timothy would serve. The aim wasn’t compromise—it was clarity. Paul was living out the freedom of the gospel by becoming all things to all people so that Christ might be known.

In the closing chapter of Exodus, we witness something breathtaking: the completion of God's earthly dwelling place and the descent of His glory. Moses had followed every command. He had done what the Lord required. And yet, in the moment the tabernacle was completed, something unexpected happened—Moses could not enter. The cloud of God's presence filled the sanctuary so completely that even the leader of Israel had to stand outside. It was no longer a space to manage or oversee—it now belonged to God alone.

Today’s reflection from Bob Hoekstra brings us back to a familiar story—the fiery furnace—but not just for its dramatic deliverance. What stands out more deeply is what it tells us about God’s ability. Not only is He able to deliver in the most intense moments of crisis (as with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego), but He is also able to keep us from stumbling in the quieter, longer, wearier stretches of our journey, as Jude reminds us.