CHRIST FORMED WITHIN

God’s purpose for us is not only that we be forgiven, but that Christ be formed within. Salvation is the beginning of a far greater journey—the shaping of the soul into the likeness of the Savior. The Father’s desire is not just to make us better, but to make us His. Paul wrote with holy yearning, “My little children, for whom I labor in birth again until Christ is formed in you” (Galatians 4:19). This is the mystery of the Christian life—not us trying to be like Him, but Him living in us, expressing His life through clay vessels.

This forming comes through the Cross. The Cross is not only the place where Christ died for us; it is where we die with Him. It is where pride is broken, where self-will is surrendered, and where our hearts are emptied so His Spirit can fill them. Each time we yield our way for His way, His image grows clearer in us. “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). The Cross is not the end of life—it is the beginning of His life in us.

Christ in us is the secret to all fruitfulness. Without Him, we can do nothing (John 15:5). But when we abide in Him, His love flows through us like living water. Our words become softer, our service becomes purer, and our hearts begin to reflect His patience and peace. We do not strain to bear fruit; we simply stay near the Vine, and His life produces what our effort never could. The more we rest in His presence, the more His beauty begins to shine through.

This is the true work of grace—not achievement, but transformation. God’s goal is not to make us famous, but faithful. Not powerful in the eyes of men, but pure in the sight of Heaven. Day by day, the Holy Spirit shapes us, often quietly, through trials, tears, and tender mercies, until the life of Christ is seen. And when that happens, heaven touches earth. The fragrance of His life fills our days, and the world sees not us, but Him who lives within.

Lord Jesus,

Let Your life be formed within me. Shape my heart to mirror Yours. Teach me to yield where I once resisted, to love where I once judged, to trust where I once feared. May the Cross do its holy work in me until pride is broken and Your peace reigns. Let my life be a reflection of Your gentleness and strength. Abide in me as the Vine in the branch. Let Your words find a home in my heart, and let Your Spirit breathe through my days. When I am weak, be my strength. When I am silent, speak through me. When I am still, fill me. And when I stand before You at last, may the world have seen not me, but You living in me.

Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

THE SPIRIT WHO GIVES LIFE

The Spirit of God has always been moving—hovering over the waters in the beginning, breathing life into creation, whispering truth through prophets, and filling hearts with holy fire. From Genesis to Revelation, His presence marks the heartbeat of God’s work among men. Wherever the Spirit moves, death yields to life, despair gives way to hope, and dry ground blossoms again.

In the Old Testament, we see the Spirit at work in promise and power. The prophets spoke of His coming as rain upon the wilderness. Isaiah said, “The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon Him—the Spirit of wisdom and understanding” (Isaiah 11:2). Ezekiel heard God say, “I will put My Spirit within you and cause you to walk in My statutes” (Ezekiel 36:27). Joel declared, “I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh” (Joel 2:28). The same breath that hovered over the deep in creation now enters the hearts of the redeemed in new creation.

Few scenes portray this better than Ezekiel’s vision in the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37:1–14). The prophet stands amid lifeless remains—symbols of a people without hope. Yet when God commands him to speak, the bones begin to rattle, the sinews stretch, the flesh returns, and finally the breath of God fills them. What was once dead stands alive, an army raised by the Spirit’s breath. So it is with every believer who receives the Spirit of Christ. We who were dead in sin are made alive unto God, not by effort, but by the indwelling breath of Heaven.

In the New Testament, the promise becomes personal. Jesus calls the Spirit a Helper, Teacher, and Comforter (John 14:26). He guided first century men into all truth (John 16:13). Today, He fills us with divine love (Romans 5:5), and empowers us to live and share Christ boldly, in principle the way He did the apostles of Christ (Acts 1:8). Paul reminds us that we are temples of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 3:16), that the Spirit intercedes when words fail (Romans 8:26), and that His fruit is love, joy, peace, and all that reflects the life of Christ (Galatians 5:22–23). The same power that raised Jesus from the dead now works in us to produce holiness and strength.

Discipleship without the Spirit becomes labor without life. But when the Spirit fills us, the Christian walk ceases to be duty and becomes delight. The Spirit does not make us perfect overnight, but He makes us alive. And in that life, Christ is formed within. Let us yield daily to His quiet leading, letting His wind blow through every thought and desire, until our hearts echo the faith of Ezekiel’s valley: “Thus says the Lord God…I will put My Spirit in you, and you shall live.”

Holy Spirit of Christ, breathe upon me again. Move within the dry valleys of my heart and make them green with Your life. Teach me to walk in Your ways, to love as Christ loved, and to live in constant fellowship with You. May every word I speak and every step I take bear the fruit of Your presence. Fill me, renew me, and make me a vessel through whom the breath of Heaven flows. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway

KNOW WHAT YOU ARE GETTING INTO

If you are going to be a Christian, you must understand what you are truly entering. Christ does not merely adjust a life, He completely transforms it. When He calls a man, He calls him to lay down everything so that He may give him more than he ever dreamed. The soul that kneels at Calvary finds a beauty and a power that alters every desire, every affection, every direction. Once His grace seizes your heart, nothing remains ordinary, nothing stays the same, and nothing can compare with the glory of knowing Him.

Be warned, yet be welcomed, for your life will never be the same. Christ removes your burdens, yet He also lays claim to your entire being. What feels like surrender becomes freedom. What begins as obedience becomes overflowing joy. The more you learn of Him, the more you crave the sweetness of His presence. The more He reveals of Himself, the more you find your heart running after Him with holy longing, just as Mary chose the good part that could never be taken away.

The more He gets of you, the more you will want Him to take over. This is the strange and blessed paradox of grace. Yield a step, and He fills the path. Open a door, and He fills the house. Surrender a single room, and He floods the corridors with His glory. What begins as sacrifice becomes satisfaction. What begins as self-denial becomes life abundant. The Spirit draws you deeper, leading you into a life hidden with Christ in God, where every breath becomes worship and every moment becomes communion.

You will never want to go back once Jesus has taken full hold of you. The world loses its glitter when you behold the King in His beauty. Old chains fall, old fears fade, old loves die in the blaze of His majesty. Christ becomes your life, your peace, your joy, your strength, your song. The path with Him grows brighter and brighter until the perfect day, and the hand that holds you is stronger than every enemy, every doubt, and every storm.

So look to Him and be saved. Open every hidden corridor. Let His light enter every shadow. Give Him your mind, your will, your wounds, your worries, your entire life. Hold nothing back, for the soul that gives all finds that Christ gives infinitely more. Know what you are getting into, and know that you are stepping into life everlasting, joy unshakeable, and fellowship unending—for Christ Himself becomes your treasure, your portion, and your eternal reward.

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WHY DOES GOD TELL US TO PRAISE HIM

We sometimes imagine that God calls us to praise Him because He waits for our words as though the Ancient of Days needed the breath of mortals. Yet Scripture whispers otherwise. “If I were hungry I would not tell you for the world is Mine and all its fullness” (Psalm 50:12). The rivers do not fill the sea because the sea is empty but because the rivers themselves need a home. So it is with praise. God does not summon worship to complete Himself. He calls us that our hearts may find the ocean of His presence.

We think too much of ourselves when we suppose that God depends on our songs to feel glorious. The seraphim cover their faces before Him in ceaseless adoration (Isaiah 6:2–3). The heavens stretch across the sky like a great canvas declaring His glory without voice yet with unending proclamation (Psalm 19:1–3). If all human lips fell silent the stones would sing. When He bids us praise Him it is to rescue us from the small prison of self. “Look unto Me and be saved” (Isaiah 45:22). In turning our gaze to Christ we are lifted from dust into delight.

Has it ever occurred to us that the call to praise is the call to become a person. Identity is born in relationship. A face becomes a face when seen by Another. “In Thy presence is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11). Without fellowship the heart grows thin and hollow. Abiding is the soul’s true breath. Praise becomes that holy inhaling. It draws us near until the warmth of divine nearness awakens life within us and we find ourselves known loved held.

The essence of identity is communion with the Living God. “This is life eternal that they may know You” (John 17:3). Not achievement. Not striving. Not the ceaseless labor of proving our worth. Identity unfolds in the light of the Shepherd’s face (Psalm 23:1). Praise is the language of that communion. It is the soft wing of humility that carries us to the foot of the cross where a man lies low yet sees heaven most clearly. In praise the soul bows yet rises. It weeps yet rejoices. It dies yet lives.

So God creates us to praise Him because praise restores the music of our being. It frees us from the tyranny of self consciousness and draws us into the liberty of belovedness. It teaches the heart to breathe eternal air. It opens the inner chamber where Christ dwells in gentle majesty. And as Scripture says we offer “the sacrifice of praise to God continually” (Hebrews 13:15). Not as servants earning favor but as children discovering home.

Lord Jesus breathe praise into my heart. Let my identity awaken in Your presence. Break the pride that imagines You need my words. Teach me to praise because my soul needs Your nearness. Draw me into Your love until my life becomes a quiet hymn rising toward Your throne. Amen.

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REFLECTING THE LIGHT OF HIS PLEASURE

When the heart grows still before the Lord, it returns to that simple confession Paul made, that we make it our aim to be well pleasing to Him. This is not the ambition of pride. It is the quiet longing of a soul captured by grace. Scripture keeps calling us back to this single desire. Jesus said, “If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word” (John 14:23). Paul echoed it when he prayed that believers would “walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing Him” (Colossians 1:10). The writer of Hebrews reminds us that “without faith it is impossible to please Him” (Hebrews 11:6). The whole life of devotion gathers around this one center.

A rock has no wisdom and no strength, yet when the sun rests upon it, it shines. It reflects a light it did not create. So it is with us. We do not produce holiness from our own efforts. We do not generate the warmth of divine love. We simply place ourselves in the presence of Christ and let His radiance fall upon our lives. As the psalmist said, “Those who look to Him are radiant” (Psalm 34:5). When His love touches us, holiness becomes our desire. When His mercy surrounds us, obedience becomes our joy. When His Spirit fills us, the fruit grows naturally (Galatians 5:22–23).

Pleasing Him is not a burden. John tells us plainly that “His commandments are not burdensome” (1 John 5:3). It is the natural glow of a heart turned upward, the peaceful reflection of souls who have learned to rest in the One who said, “Abide in Me” (John 15:4). As we turn toward Him, His likeness begins to appear in us with ever-increasing clarity. We find ourselves loving what He loves, seeking what He seeks, longing for what brings Him delight.

And as His light shines through our fragile, imperfect lives, He receives the glory. We discover our peace in the simple blessing of mirroring the One who saved us. For this is our aim, our calling, our joy: “Therefore we make it our aim, whether present or absent, to be well pleasing to Him” (2 Corinthians 5:9).

Lord Jesus, turn my heart toward Your light. I lay aside my striving and my self-made efforts, for I cannot create the shine that pleases You. Rest Your presence upon me. Let Your love shape my desires and Your mercy steady my steps. Teach me to walk in a way that reflects Your goodness. Let holiness rise in me like morning light and obedience flow from me like quiet rivers of grace. May every thought, every word, every small act of faith echo one longing, that I may be well pleasing in Your sight. And as Your glory rests on my life, let all honor return to You alone. Amen.

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COME TO CHRIST

Your soul is the most valuable treasure you possess. No gold, no crown, no kingdom could ever compare to its worth. Jesus asked, “What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul?” (Mark 8:36). The tragedy of a lost soul is not only its loss, but its needless loss. For there is no reason—none at all—for any person to perish when the grace of God is deep enough to save even the worst of sinners (Romans 5:20).

All that needed to be done to reconcile us to God has already been accomplished in Christ. The debt was paid in full. The door to heaven has been unlocked. The veil has been torn. Jesus lived the perfect life we failed to live and died the death we deserved to die (2 Corinthians 5:21). The saved are those who have fled from the wrath of God to the mercy of the cross, finding refuge under the shelter of the Savior’s blood (Romans 5:9). And anyone—anyone—who desires to be among the saved may come.

The love of God excludes no one. The invitation is as wide as the arms of Christ stretched out on the cross. All you must do is come. Repent of your sins and embrace the Lord Jesus. Lay down your pride, your striving, your sin—and come. He will not turn you away. He said, “Whoever comes to Me, I will never cast out.” (John 6:37).

You cannot save yourself. You cannot climb the ladder to heaven on your own strength. Salvation is not a reward to be earned; it is a gift to be received. Jesus did it all. His work is enough. He cried from the cross, “It is finished!” (John 19:30). And it was.

The same Christ who came to save sinners now tenderly pleads with us: “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28). Can you hear the gentle tone in His voice? The invitation of heaven is not a shout of command, but a whisper of love. He does not call the perfect; He calls the weary. He does not seek the strong; He calls the broken.

All you need to do to come is to realize your need. The sinner who feels unworthy is closer to the kingdom than the proud who feel no need of grace. God’s heart is not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance and life (2 Peter 3:9). He desires all people to be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth (1 Timothy 2:4).

There is no reason for anyone to be lost. None. Christ has already opened the way. The cross stands as a bridge across the canyon of sin, built by hands pierced for you. So come to Him. Call on His name. Love Him with all your heart. And you will find that He has loved you all along (Romans 10:13; 1 John 4:19).

He promised to save all who come, and He cannot lie (Titus 1:2). His word is more certain than the sunrise. His mercy is more sure than the ground beneath your feet. The gates of heaven stand open to every soul who will turn and come home.

Everyone who comes to Christ has a home prepared for them in heaven. Jesus said, “In My Father’s house are many rooms…I go to prepare a place for you.” (John 14:2). The believer does not walk in uncertainty but in the confidence of God’s promises. You can know that you are saved. You can know where you are going. You can live each day with purpose, no longer wandering, no longer wondering. Christ gives life meaning, and His promises give the heart peace.

Near the end of his life, Paul could look back with peace and say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” (2 Timothy 4:7). What beautiful words! That same testimony can be ours. You can keep the faith. You can please God. You can walk with Christ every day until your race is done.

When Paul faced death, he was not afraid. He had already died long before—to sin, to self, and to the world—and had been made alive to God (Galatians 2:20). He knew his Redeemer. He knew the One who held his life in His hands. He could look toward judgment day without fear because he had already been judged at the cross.

And so can we.

Friend, come to Christ. The invitation is open, the Savior is waiting, and the door is wide. Lay your burdens down at His feet. Give Him your sins, your fears, your past. Give Him your heart. The fountain of His mercy still flows. His arms are still open. The Shepherd is still calling the lost sheep home (Luke 15:4-7).

You can be ready to live—and ready to die. You can have peace now and forever. The grace that saves will also sustain you. The love that forgives will also keep you.

So come to Christ. Come today. Come while the light of grace still shines. The Spirit says, “Come.” The bride of Christ says, “Come.” And whoever hears the call may say, “Come.” Whoever is thirsty, let him come and take freely of the water of life (Revelation 22:17).

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IF YOU WANT TO GET TECHNICAL ABOUT THE LORD’S SUPPER

THE LORD’S SUPPER IN SCRIPTURE: A MEAL, A FELLOWSHIP, AND A PRINCIPLE — NOT A LEGALISTIC RITUAL

Many treat the Lord’s Supper as a ritualistic pinch of bread and a sip of juice, bound to one specific day and performed in one precise manner. Yet when we turn to Scripture itself and allow the inspired text to speak, we discover something striking. The Supper — hē kuriakē deipnon (ἡ κυριακὴ δεῖπνον) — is literally “the Lord’s meal,” not “the Lord’s Rite” and not “the Lord’s Cracker and Cup.” If we wish to escape legalism and return to biblical proportion, we must examine what the early Christians actually did, how often they did it, what the words meant, and how the practice developed in the first centuries.

1. THE GREEK TERM “DEIPNON” MEANS A FULL MEAL — NEVER A NIBBLE

When Paul writes, “When you come together to eat the Lord’s Supper” (1 Corinthians 11:20), he uses the Greek term deipnon (δεῖπνον), which refers to the main meal of the day, typically eaten in the evening. This is the same term used in Luke 14:12 to describe the “great dinner,” in John 12:2 for the supper where Lazarus reclined with Jesus, and in Revelation 19:9 for the “marriage supper of the Lamb,” clearly evoking a banquet.

Never in Greek literature does “deipnon” refer to a symbolic bite-sized token. If one wishes to be strictly literal, one must reproduce an actual meal. Legalism collapses under the weight of its own claims; one cannot argue for “exact reproduction” and then redefine deipnon to mean “a thimble’s worth of grape juice.”

2. PAUL’S ENTIRE ARGUMENT IN 1 CORINTHIANS 11 PRESUPPOSES A FULL MEAL

Paul rebukes the Corinthian church for abusing a meal, not for performing a mismatched ritual. Some were eating too much: “One is hungry and another is drunk” (1 Corinthians 11:21). This cannot occur with a communion wafer and a plastic cup. Paul contrasts their behavior with “eating at home”: “Do you not have houses to eat and drink in?” (v. 22). Drink what? Enough to become intoxicated. Eat what? Enough to be full.

The context also shows a shared table; when he says “When you come together to eat” (v. 33), he again uses the verb esthiein (ἐσθίειν), ordinary eating, not ceremonial nibbling. The entire argument becomes nonsensical if the Lord’s Supper consisted of a micro-portion. A legalist insisting on “first-century precision” must, if honest, reinstate a full evening meal. Anything less is selective literalism. This point is nearly universal among commentators: conservative, liberal, Catholic, and Protestant scholars all agree Paul is addressing the abuse of a common meal.

3. ACTS 2 SHOWS DAILY MEALS ASSOCIATED WITH “THE BREAKING OF BREAD”

Acts 2:42 says the early believers “continued steadfastly in the apostles’ doctrine and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in prayers.” Only three verses later, Luke expands the picture: “They continued daily with one accord … breaking bread from house to house and eating their food with gladness” (Acts 2:46). Here, “breaking bread” is tied to eating their food (trophē, τροφή) and is unmistakably a meal context.

Anyone arguing that the first “breaking of bread” refers to communion while the second is ordinary food has no textual basis. Luke consistently uses “breaking bread” in connection with meals (Luke 24:30-35; Acts 20:7, 20:11). A legalist must therefore choose: either the early church took the Supper daily, or he abandons the “pattern” he claims to protect.

4. ACTS 20:7 DOES NOT ESTABLISH A WEEKLY LIMIT — IT DESCRIBES A SINGULAR EVENT

Some insist that Acts 20:7 sets Sunday as the exclusive day for the Supper, but Luke is describing a single historical gathering: “On the first day of the week when we were gathered together to break bread…” Verse 11 notes that Paul “broke bread and ate” after the midnight incident.

Again, the text emphasizes an event, not a recurring schedule. Luke’s emphasis is on the night Eutychus fell out the window, not on establishing a universal pattern. The text cannot legitimately restrict the Supper to Sundays without imposing a structure that Luke never intended.

5. THE TERM “AGAPĒ FEAST” IN EARLY CHRISTIANITY CONFIRMS THE SUPPER WAS A SHARED MEAL

In Jude 12 we read of “your love-feasts” (τὰς ἀγάπας). These feasts were not secular potlucks but sacred meals tied to fellowship and the remembrance of Christ. Early Christian sources confirm this practice. The Didache (c. A.D. 90-120) instructs believers to pray over a communal meal, remarkably similar to the Eucharist. Ignatius of Antioch (A.D. 110) refers to gatherings where believers “break one bread.” Tertullian (A.D. 200) describes the agapē as a full meal, eaten reverently and concluded with prayer.

The historical pattern is unanimous: the Lord’s Supper was embedded in a meal, not a tiny wafer-and-cup ritual. The thimble-and-chip model is a later, medieval development, not apostolic.

6. WHAT REALLY MATTERS IS THE PRINCIPLE, NOT THE PORTION

Legalists often argue for precise “forms” while ignoring biblical flexibility. To replicate the early church exactly, one would need a full evening meal, a reclining posture, a shared table, a communal loaf and cup, daily or near-daily observance, and a household or domestic context. Since virtually no modern church meets all these requirements, appeals to exact replication are hollow.

Paul clarifies the principle: “As often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death” (1 Corinthians 11:26). Frequency, portion size, setting, time of day, type of bread, and amount of food are all open. What is not open is the meaning: remember Christ, discern His body, proclaim His death, examine your heart, and maintain unity and love in the fellowship. Once this principle is grasped, legalism dissolves.

THE CONCLUSION: THE LEGALIST LOSES BY HIS OWN RULES

If someone insists, “We must follow the early church exactly,” they are compelled to eat a real meal, gather in homes, use a shared loaf and cup, eat daily or frequently, and eat until satisfied (1 Corinthians 11:34), while avoiding all modern adaptations. No contemporary group does this.

The consistent conclusion is clear: Christ gave a principle, not a ceremony; a remembrance, not a rigid ritual; a meal, but the meaning of that meal is the true substance. Binding where God has left freedom is rebellion against the gospel; restricting what God has left open is human tradition, not Scripture.

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LIMITING THE LORD’S SUPPER

There is a habit that has settled into many churches across generations. We take the Lord’s Supper and compress it into a single hour on a single day, as though the grace of God must wait its turn on the calendar; yet the Scriptures themselves never restrict the table to a Sunday ritual. They speak instead of a communion that breathes with the steady rhythm of daily devotion and with hearts awakened again and again to the presence of the risen Christ.

The Supper was never meant to be a mere ceremony appended to the end of a sermon. It is a living remembrance of the Savior who gave Himself for us. Paul states this without hesitation: “As often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death till He comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26). That simple phrase “as often as” stretches far beyond the boundaries of a weekly routine. It invites a frequency shaped not by tradition but by longing. It calls us to remember not reluctantly nor rarely, but willingly and often.

The early church understood this with a simplicity and a purity that should humble us. Luke tells us that they continued daily with one accord, breaking bread from house to house and eating with gladness and simplicity of heart (Acts 2:46). This was not a hurried ritual pulled out once a week. It was the quiet pulse of a community that knew Christ was among them. Their lives were carried along by the steady grace of daily fellowship, daily prayer, daily remembrance, and daily dependence. They did not wait for the week to turn in their favor. They turned their hearts toward Jesus day by day.

When we limit the Supper to Sundays alone, we unintentionally rob it of its gentle power. We reduce a living communion to a scheduled appointment. We begin to treat the table as a locked room that opens only once every seven days, rather than a meeting place where weary souls may come again and again to the One whose body was given and whose blood was shed. The more we restrict what Christ meant to overflow, the more we weaken the very sense of nearness the Supper is meant to create.

There is also the deep spiritual reality of abiding. Jesus calls us to remain in Him and to let His life remain in us (John 15:4). This abiding is not weekly. It is continual. It is the soul leaning into Christ every hour and every day. The Supper echoes this same call. It draws us into a deeper surrender, a deeper dependence, a deeper fellowship. When we artificially restrict its place in the life of the church, we narrow the very path God widened through the cross.

If we pay close attention to the pattern of Scripture, we discover something important. The first day of the week was indeed a gathering day for teaching and giving (Acts 20:7), yet this does not define the frequency of the communion table. The daily breaking of bread belonged not to a weekly gathering alone but to the ordinary flow of the church’s life. They did not confuse the rhythm of assembly with the rhythm of remembrance.

The real question, then, is not about schedule but about desire. How often should a believer remember the cross. How often should the heart draw near to the Lamb who loved us and gave Himself for us. How often should grace be received with trembling joy. It is difficult to believe that once a week can bear the full weight of that answer; the cross stands above time, and the table stands at the center of Christian life.

If our hearts are to recover the simplicity and power of the first believers, then the Supper must be more than a weekly formality. It should become a place of reverence and renewal, received with gratitude and with a readiness that declares that Christ is worthy of remembrance far more often than we have allowed.

The Lord’s Supper is not a Sunday ceremony. It is a daily invitation. It is the ongoing call of the Savior who still says, “Do this in remembrance of Me” (Luke 22:19). Let us not limit what He meant to overflow. Let us return to the simplicity of Scripture, lift the cup with living faith, and draw near as often as our hearts long for the presence of the One who died and rose again.

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ABBA FATHER: THE NEARNESS OF GOD

There is a word in the Bible so gentle and so powerful that it can change the way we pray forever. It is the word Abba. The Greek text of the New Testament preserves this word exactly as Jesus spoke it. Abba is an Aramaic word that means Daddy or Papa. It is the word a small child would use when climbing into the arms of a loving father. It speaks of security and belonging. It speaks of a relationship where fear melts away.

Paul tells us in Romans 8:15 that the Holy Spirit causes us to cry out “Abba Father.” In Galatians 4:6 he repeats the same truth and says that the Spirit in our hearts cries “Abba Father.” Jesus Himself used this word when He prayed in Mark 14:36. If the Son of God addressed the Almighty with such tender intimacy, how could it ever be disrespectful for His children to do the same?

Many believers hesitate when they think of calling God “Daddy.” They have been trained to picture God as distant and stern. They imagine Him as a taskmaster waiting for them to fail. They have been taught that reverence must sound stiff and formal with old words and old tones as if the King James cadence is the only voice heaven can hear. Yet the Bible never teaches that reverence means fear that keeps us at a distance.

The Father shows us a Father who draws us close. Through Jesus Christ we are adopted into His family. He has made a way so that we can approach Him freely. The death of Christ is so complete and sufficient that it brings us into a relationship where the God of the universe calls us His children. The God of holy justice, whose glory makes angels tremble, invites us to come to Him with the trust of a child who runs into a father’s embrace.

If Jesus did it, it is the right thing to do. He called God “Abba,” and through His obedience, suffering, and death, He opened the way for us to share in that same intimacy. Don’t we understand that we have the same closeness with God the Father that Jesus had? He died to give that to us, to adopt us fully into the family of God.

Which is more disrespectful: calling God the very name that Jesus Himself used, the very name the Spirit teaches our hearts to use, or believing that our human idea of what reverence should look like should override the instruction of God Himself? Perhaps we hesitate to call Him Daddy because we do not truly feel His nearness. And if we do not feel close to Him, could it be because we do not fully believe the sufficiency of Christ’s work for us? These are truths worth considering. Intimacy with God is not earned by formality, ritual, or fear. It is granted by grace and sealed by the blood of Christ.

This is not disrespect. This is the deepest reverence. True reverence is not fear that keeps distance. True reverence is a heart that believes the cross is enough. It honors God when we trust the power of Christ’s sacrifice. It honors Him when we rest in the nearness He purchased for us. Jesus did not dishonor the Father by saying “Abba.” He revealed the Father. He showed us the heart of God. If the Son could approach the Father with childlike love, then His adopted children can too.

In Christ we are brought near. We are not servants in an outer court. We are sons and daughters at the Father’s table. When you whisper Abba—Daddy, Papa—you are not lowering God. You are lifting your heart into the place He has already prepared for you. The cross opened the way. The love of God invites you in.

Abba Father is not a title of disrespect. It is the miracle of grace spoken in a single word. It reminds us that God is not at all what fear has taught us. He is the Father our souls have longed for. He is the One who holds us near. He is our Abba Father. Our Dad. Our Papa. That is how he feels about you.

Abba, Daddy, Papa, I come to You with a heart that wants to trust. Thank You for bringing me near through the work of Christ, for making me Your child and letting me call You Daddy. Forgive me for the fear and distance I have carried, for the lies that told me You are harsh or distant. Teach me to rest in Your love, to walk in Your presence with confidence, and to trust that Your strength is enough for every step. Let me hear Your voice, follow Your guidance, and know that the victory You have won for me is complete. Hold me close, Father, and help me live in the freedom of Your embrace. Amen.

Appendix / Technical Note: Understanding Abba

In the New Testament, the word ʾAbba (אבא) appears in several key passages, most notably in Mark 14:36, Romans 8:15, and Galatians 4:6. ʾAbba is an Aramaic word, the language Jesus spoke. It is a term of intimate familial relationship, equivalent to “Daddy,” “Papa,” or “Father” in English. It is the word a child would use to express trust, dependence, and affection.

Theologically, the use of ʾAbba carries profound significance. When Jesus calls God ʾAbba, He is showing us the perfect model of prayer: one of close relationship, deep trust, and reverence grounded in love. This is not casual irreverence. The Son of God Himself, fully divine and fully human, used this word in the context of prayer to the Almighty. If Christ could approach the Father in this intimate way, then His adopted children can do the same through the Spirit.

Paul, in Romans 8:15, tells us that the Spirit enables us to cry out ʾAbba Patēr (Πατήρ)—combining the Aramaic term with the Greek word patēr, which is the standard term for “father.” Patēr encompasses authority, care, and the relational role of God as parent. By linking ʾAbba with patēr, Scripture emphasizes both intimacy and respect. Calling God “Daddy” or “Papa” is therefore not irreverent; it acknowledges both His holiness and His closeness.

In Galatians 4:6, Paul repeats this idea: the Spirit in our hearts causes us to cry ʾAbba Patēr. This shows that adoption into God’s family is not abstract—it is relational and experiential. Through Christ’s death and resurrection, God’s children can approach Him as their loving Father, fully accepted and fully secure.

Summary for Technical Understanding

1. ʾAbba (אבא) – Pronounced “AH-bah”. The emphasis is on the first syllable. It is a tender, familiar term like “Daddy” or “Papa.”

2. Patēr (Πατήρ) – Pronounced “PAH-teer”. The Greek accent is on the first syllable, and it conveys authority, care, and fatherhood.

3. ʾAbba Patēr – Pronounced “AH-bah PAH-teer”. Together, the phrase combines intimacy and reverence, reflecting both a personal, trusting relationship and acknowledgment of God’s authority.

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STANDING IN THE FIGHT: (Lessons from the Rumble in the Jungle)

On October 30, 1974 (just a few months after I was born) in Kinshasa, Zaire, a fight took place that would be remembered for generations. Muhammad Ali, at 32 years old, faced George Foreman, who was only 25, in what came to be called the Rumble in the Jungle. Foreman was feared around the world for his sheer power and ferocity. He had crushed opponents with frightening ease, and many believed no man could withstand him. Ali, however, entered the ring not with fear but with strategy, patience, and confidence in his own preparation. What happened that night would teach the world far more than just the beauty of boxing; it would teach about perseverance, wisdom, and trusting the right timing.

Ali used a strategy that became legendary. He allowed Foreman to punch freely, using what he famously called the “rope-a-dope.” Leaning against the ropes, Ali absorbed the blows, letting his opponent tire himself out while he conserved energy. He studied Foreman’s tendencies, understanding that power without patience was a weakness. As the rounds wore on, Foreman’s punches grew slower and less precise, and Ali, calm and patient, saw the opportunity he had been waiting for. In the eighth round, he unleashed a combination that floored Foreman and secured one of the most remarkable knockouts in boxing history.

The fight itself was a masterclass in patience, endurance, and trust in timing. Ali did not try to outmatch Foreman’s raw strength. He did not rely on his own instincts alone. He followed a plan, executed it faithfully, and waited for the perfect moment to act. The significance of the fight went beyond the ring. In that night in Zaire, Ali cemented his status as the greatest of all time in the eyes of the world, not merely for his athletic ability but for his discipline, courage, and wisdom.

Christianity, in many ways, calls us to fight in the same spirit. Life will bring its punches. We will face trials and challenges that seem overwhelming, that come with the force of a heavyweight champion. But the way we respond matters. We are called to take the hits, to remain steadfast, and to preserve our strength for the moments God allows us to act. Like Ali, we must understand our opponent—sin, temptation, and the pressures of the world—and recognize that patience and trust in God’s timing are as crucial as bold action.

Just as Ali trusted his plan and his training, we trust in the work of Christ and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. We do not fight with our own strength alone. We lean on God’s Word, on prayer, and on His promises. We wait, we stand, we persevere, and when the right moment comes, we act in faith. Christianity teaches us that endurance, discipline, and patience are not passive—they are the marks of a fighter who knows victory is certain in the hand of the Lord. Just as the Rumble in the Jungle showed the world the greatness of Muhammad Ali, a life lived faithfully in Christ shows the power and wisdom of God at work in us, and the greatness of Jesus Christ.

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JESUS CALMS THE STORM Mark 4:35–41

There are moments in our journey with Jesus when the sky looks clear and the waters seem calm and He simply says Let us cross over to the other side. We step into the boat with confidence because He is with us. Yet the peace of the shore often gives way to the storms of the deep. Mark tells us that a great windstorm arose and the waves beat into the boat until it was filling. Life has a way of rising suddenly and fiercely. Troubles gather like clouds. The spray of fear hits our faces. And we wonder where the Lord is in all of this.

In the middle of that storm Jesus was asleep. The disciples saw the waves. Jesus saw His Father. They felt the chaos. Jesus rested in perfect confidence. And in their terror they woke Him with that aching cry that we know so well: “Do You not care that we are perishing?”

We have whispered the same question in the dark. We have breathed it in hospital rooms and lonely nights and seasons when the winds of temptation or sorrow are more than we can bear. Yet even their question was a prayer. It was a reaching for the One who never leaves His own.

Then Bible says that Jesus arose and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace be still.” And there was a great calm. When the Lord speaks peace the storm cannot argue. His word is stronger than the waves. His authority is greater than the wind. He stands over the chaos with the same creative power that formed the oceans. In that moment the disciples discovered that the One who slept in their storm was also the One who ruled it. The One who seemed silent was the One who saves.

After the calm Jesus asked, “Why are you so fearful? How is it that you have no faith?” These words were not spoken to shame them but to draw them. He was leading them deeper into trust. He was showing them that fear grows when we forget who is in the boat with us. Faith grows when we look at Him more than at the waves. They marveled and said, “Who can this be that even the wind and the sea obey Him?” It is the question that steadies every trembling heart. “Who can this be?” It is Jesus, the Son of God, who loves us and walks with us and speaks peace over us.

So we take these words into our own storms. We lift our eyes from the winds that roar and the waves that rise. We look to Christ. He brings calm into the unrest and strength into the weakness and hope into the night. He is the Master of the sea and the Shepherd of the soul. And as we remember His presence the boat becomes steady. The heart becomes quiet. And the storm becomes a place where we learn again that the One who calls us to cross over is the One who carries us all the way.

Lord Jesus, You who spoke peace to the storm and stilled the waves, be with me in the winds that rise against my heart and the troubles that push at my soul. Help me to trust Your presence more than my fear, to rest in Your power and love. Help me to hear Your voice saying, “Peace be still.” And to walk through every trial knowing that You are with me, that You carry me, and that nothing can overcome the One who holds me in His hands. Amen.

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LET GOD CALL THE PLAYS

A Saturday of college football can preach a sermon to the soul. Every team carries a plan. Every player listens for the voice of his coach. Victory is found in obedience and trust. The coach studies the opponent. He knows the strengths, the weaknesses, the path to triumph. When the player follows the call, he moves with purpose.

So it is in the Christian life. God is our Coach. His Word is our playbook. His Spirit whispers the next step. When we listen, when we obey, we walk in a strength not our own. “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord and He delights in his way” (Psalm 37:23).

But when we improvise, we fall. When we trust our own judgment, we lose ground. When we lean on our own strength, we stumble. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6).

And then there is the matter of training. No player steps into a game without discipline. They lift. They run. They practice until the rhythms of the field become second nature. The Christian life is no different. Prayer is our conditioning. Scripture is our strength work. Worship is our breath. Holiness is our endurance. Spiritual disciplines train the soul to stand firm when the pressure rises. “Exercise yourself rather to godliness” (1 Timothy 4:7).

And what of teamwork? Imagine a single football player striding onto the field, believing he can defeat eleven men by himself. Imagine him trying to block, throw, catch, run, and tackle alone. It would be chaos. It would be defeat. The Christian life is not meant to be lived alone. The Lord has set us in His body. He has formed us into His team. The fellowship of believers is our strength. The body of Christ is the field where we grow and serve and fight together. “We, being many, are one body in Christ and individually members of one another” (Romans 12:5).

We do not win by brilliance or independence. We win by obedience, by discipline, by unity, by walking shoulder to shoulder with those who belong to Christ.

Let God call the plays. Let His Word shape your training. Let His people walk beside you on the field. The enemy may rage. The world may press hard. But if you stay with the plan and trust the One who wrote it, you will stand in victory. The Coach has already secured the win. Follow Him, and your life will echo His triumph.

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REFLECTIONS ON “SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL”

Disclaimer: I am not recommending Christians listen to this song or The Rolling Stones in general. This is a personal reflection on the artistry of music and what it can reveal about the human condition. My goal is to encourage discernment and careful thought, not to encourage engagement with material that you may consider spiritually harmful. This is a devotional reflection, not a doctrinal statement. I do know that secular art can reveal truth without being worshipful or spiritually beneficial, which is consistent with the idea that God’s truth can be reflected even in fallen humanity (Acts 17:28, Psalm 19:1-4).

I have long loved much of the music of The Rolling Stones. Some of their music has a way of cutting straight into the soul, stirring thought and feeling, and sometimes challenging the heart. Some have criticized me for that love, often pointing to Sympathy for the Devil, a song the band released in 1968. They ask, “How can you enjoy a song like that?” I have listened carefully, and I do not believe it glorifies evil. While the Stones have songs that are clearly vulgar or unhelpful, I do not place this one in that category.

Sympathy for the Devil reminds me of the way C. S. Lewis wrote The Screwtape Letters. Both speak in the voice of the tempter and neither one glorifies him. Instead they uncover his lies and expose his schemes so that the believer may be awake and alert. Lewis let the devil speak so that the people of God could see through his deception. The song does the same thing in its own imperfect way. It shows the smooth tongue and the proud heart that has destroyed nations and tempted souls. And as in the letters of Screwtape, it leads me to look again to Christ who conquered the enemy at the cross and who keeps His people in the light.

Many of the Stones’ songs are, in my personal opinion now, morally abysmal and unworthy of listening. But does that cancel out the brilliance of the great songs they created? Not to me. The Rolling Stones are a genre unto themselves, exploring many styles of music. I enjoy all forms of music, but every style has material that Christians should avoid. That does not erase the value of the good work they produced. Sympathy for the Devil, in my view, is a brilliant work of art—a vivid portrayal of the enemy of our souls, a warning of his deceit and cunning.

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, the chief architects of the Stones’ music, are undeniably gifted musicians and writers. They are not Christians, nor should they be expected to live as such. Perhaps one day (and, to be honest, they need to hurry up about it) they may turn to faith, but for now their brilliance lies in their artistry, storytelling, and keen observation of human nature. Whether consciously or not, they touch upon great themes of Scripture—the struggle between good and evil, the consequences of sin, the depths of human desire. Jagger, in particular, seems to possess a wide knowledge of certain aspects of the Bible, and that knowledge informs his writing in ways worth noting. When a gifted writer has something to say, it is wise to listen carefully, discerning what is true, what is false, and what may illuminate the human condition in light of Christ.

Sympathy for the Devil is written from the standpoint of the devil himself: “Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste.” That voice is false, but it perfectly illustrates how the tempter speaks—smooth, confident, persuasive. The song gives the devil credit for the evil we see in the world, forcing us to face the truth: evil does not come from God, but from the one who seeks to kill, steal, and destroy (John 10:10). Human sin gives him power, yet he is limited. Christ’s victory was already assured. The song does not glorify Satan—it exposes him.

The lyrics carry a poetic beauty and depth. Jagger drew inspiration from The Master and Margarita, a Russian novel featuring Satan walking among men, provoking chaos and mocking piety. The song distills that literary spark into a three-minute anthem: not worship of evil, but a vivid portrayal of it, so that we might see it, feel it, and turn away. It even highlights the consequences of rejecting Christ: Pilate washes his hands at the devil’s instigation (and “seals his fate”) and Jesus’ innocence contrasts with human sin. The song points implicitly to the necessity of the cross, the victory of the blood of Jesus, and God’s righteousness over the enemy’s schemes.

Whether the Stones intended it or not, the song tells a story that aligns with truth: the devil prowls and tempts, he delights in sin, but he is defeated. In Christ, we can stand washed and forgiven, living in the light. I am not telling anyone to listen to the song, nor do I feel I must justify my own choices. My aim is to stir thought, to encourage discernment about what we allow into our hearts. Some of the Stones’ music is harmful, but some of it contains remarkable insight. Their musical brilliance is undeniable, and their work, like any artist’s, contains both the good and the bad. The good is extraordinary.

Even from secular music, lessons can be drawn. The song is a reminder that evil is real, subtle, and pervasive, yet Christ is the end. We can observe human sin and the schemes of the enemy, learn from them, and be more alert in our spiritual lives. The Rolling Stones, flawed and human as they are, produced art that, in this case, helps us see the battle for souls and the power of God’s victory through Christ.

Yes, you can learn things even from The Rolling Stones.

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THE RAIN OF GOD’S WORD Isaiah 55:10–11

As the rain falls from heaven, soaking the earth, reviving the soil, and bringing forth life in hidden places, so the Word of God descends upon our hearts. It does not come lightly; it does not fall in vain. Every syllable, every whisper of God’s mouth carries purpose. When He speaks, life follows. When He commands, truth awakens.

Isaiah reminds us that God’s Word will not return void. Empty words carry no power, but the words of God are alive. They nourish, cleanse, and renew. They bring understanding where there was confusion and hope where despair lingered. Like the gentle snow covering the fields, or the steady rain drenching the furrows, His Word seeps into the depths of our hearts, softening hard soil, preparing us for His harvest.

The Word is purposeful. It teaches, it corrects, it guides, it illuminates. It reveals our sin, and yet it points us to the Savior, Jesus Christ, who bore the weight of sin so that we might live. God’s Word shapes our character and steadies our steps, leading us through the shadows of this world. Its effect may be unseen at first, like tiny seeds beneath the soil, but in God’s timing, His promises bloom in our lives.

Even when we speak God’s Word and see no immediate result, His promise holds true. The Word achieves the will of God, not always ours. Sometimes the harvest comes quietly, or in ways we cannot measure. Yet, the same Spirit who breathed life into the pages of Scripture carries the Word into hearts, minds, and souls. Just as the wind moves where it pleases, so God’s purpose unfolds through His Word in His perfect timing.

Let us, then, receive His Word as rain upon parched ground, as snow upon thirsty soil. Let us dwell in it, meditate on it, allow it to saturate our being. Its power will accomplish what it was sent to do: life, growth, guidance, and transformation. The Word of God never fails. Its echo is eternity.

Lord, may Your Word fall upon me like life-giving rain. Let it penetrate the deepest places of my heart and bear fruit according to Your will. Teach me to trust Your timing and to abide in Your truth. Let me not grow weary when Your Word seems silent, but rest in the certainty that Your purposes are always accomplished. Thank You for Your living Word, for its power to heal, guide, and transform. Amen.

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THE SIGNS OF A DYING ASSEMBLY

Not every gathering of believers is alive in the Spirit. An assembly can fill a room, run programs, and appear busy, yet remain spiritually empty. Jesus warned the assembly in Sardis: “I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead” (Revelation 3:1). Numbers, appearances, and activity are not proof of life. Spiritual vitality is unseen, rooted in truth and love, and requires discernment. “Examine yourselves to see whether you are in the faith; test yourselves” (2 Corinthians 13:5).

A dying assembly often begins with what is taught and shared. When the gospel is ignored, misrepresented, or replaced by worldly promises, spiritual life withers. Paul wrote: “If anyone preaches a gospel contrary to the one you received, let them be under God’s curse” (Galatians 1:8). The focus of any gathering of believers should be Jesus Christ, His life, His teachings, and the transformation He brings. Without this, an assembly may be busy, organized, and active, yet the hearts of those present remain empty (Romans 1:16–17; 3:21–24).

Another sign of spiritual decay is imbalance—either legalism or licentiousness. Some assemblies drift into rigid rule-keeping, treating personal convictions as divine commands, while others distort grace into permission for sin. Scripture calls us to a middle path: “The grace of God teaches us to deny ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly” (Titus 2:11–12). Extremes in either direction stunt growth, distort faith, and point attention away from the transformative work of Jesus.

Love—or the absence of it—is often the clearest indicator of life or death. Jesus said: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35). An assembly may run ministries, perform good deeds, and hold meetings, yet without love, it is spiritually barren (1 Corinthians 13:1–3; Revelation 2:4). Biblical love is not mere sentiment; it is truth spoken in kindness, correction offered in grace, and obedience to Jesus expressed in action (Ephesians 4:32; Romans 13:8–10).

Finally, a dying assembly often neglects the essential truths that nourish faith—trust in Jesus as Savior and Lord, His teachings, and His example for life. Understanding every mystery about Him is not required; what matters is following Him, being transformed by His life, and embracing His grace. Paul reminded believers: “Contend for the faith that was once for all entrusted to the saints” (Jude 1:3). Unity in essentials like love, faith, and trust in Christ sustains a gathering; liberty in secondary matters allows room for growth and diversity.

Hope remains for every assembly that is willing to turn back to the Spirit. Spiritual life is not measured by buildings, programs, or popularity. “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17). Love and truth are the lifeblood of believers coming together. Any gathering of believers—whether a traditional church, a house fellowship, or a community of disciples—can be restored, renewed, and made alive when hearts turn toward Jesus and allow His Spirit to breathe life into every soul.

Lord Jesus, we thank You that You breathe life into Your people and gather us together in Your name. Forgive us when we have treated gatherings lightly, when love has grown cold, or when Your truth has been forgotten. Awaken every assembly of believers with Your Spirit. Teach us to trust You, follow You, and love one another deeply. Help us to hold fast to the gospel, to show grace, and to live lives that reflect Your mercy and wisdom. May every place where Your people meet be filled with Your presence, joy, and hope. Renew our hearts, Lord, that we might be a living witness of Your love in the world. Amen.

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THEY DID NOT ASK TO BE HERE

They did not ask to be here.

Who?

Whoever it is you are tempted to look down on—whether because of how they look, where they come from, or what they have walked through. Before you judge them, pause and ask a deeper question: Who made the decision that they would be here in this world? Not them. Not you. It was God who knit them together in the secret place, God who fashioned their frame, God who breathed life into their lungs (Psalm 139:13–14). To despise someone He created is to despise the One who formed them. Every human being bears the sacred imprint of the divine image (Genesis 1:27). They are not an accident. They are not disposable. They are not beneath you. They are the handiwork of God.

And the same is true of the ones the world exalts. Those who are physically beautiful never asked for the burden that beauty brings. They did not choose their cheekbones, their height, their shape, or their symmetry. God gave it to them. And the pedestal we build for them often becomes a prison. No human being can live under the pressure of unrealistic praise any more than they can bear the weight of cruel criticism. Both pride and envy distort God’s creation. If jealousy stirs in your heart, stop it. If you have objectified someone, used someone, manipulated someone, or treated them as less than human—fall to your knees beneath the shadow of the Cross. Confess it before the Savior who washes the repentant clean (1 John 1:9).

Remember this: even if they are not a Christian, they are still God’s offspring in the general sense of creation, for “we are also His offspring” (Acts 17:28). They exist because He willed it. They breathe because He sustains them. And Christ died for sinners from every corner of humanity (John 3:16). You do not get to decide their worth, because God has already declared it. You do not get to treat them lightly, because the imprint of heaven is on their soul. Whether bruised or beautiful, weary or radiant, broken or put-together—they are His.

So do what you must. Humble yourself. Seek forgiveness. Lay down envy. Abandon lust. Refuse cruelty. Honor the image of God in every person you encounter. And let Calvary teach your heart how to love. For the One who hung there did not ask to be beautiful, yet He became the most beautiful of all—not in appearance, but in mercy, grace, and redeeming love. And when you see others through His eyes, you will finally see them rightly.

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THE WEALTH OF THE SAINTS

As a Christian, you walk among the world, yet you are richer than the world. The wealthiest men on earth measure their riches by banks and ledgers, but the child of God measures wealth by promises that cannot perish. The richest people are not those who clutch what moth and rust can destroy, but those who possess treasures heaven itself guards. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ…who has begotten us again to a living hope…to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled” (1 Peter 1:3-4). This is the wealth that cannot be taxed, touched, or taken.

Picture a person walking through hardships, yet knowing they will one day inherit a vast fortune. The burden feels lighter because of the glories ahead. Well, Christian, your inheritance is not merely large—it is eternal. You are the heir to a spiritual fortune purchased by the blood of Christ and sealed by the Spirit of God (Ephesians 1:13-14). No circumstance in this brief, trembling life can diminish your treasure. Sorrow may visit you. Trouble may press on you. But nothing can cancel the riches laid up for you in your Father’s house.

This is why Jesus commands us to lay up treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves cannot break through nor steal (Matthew 6:19-20). It is not escapism. It is wisdom. Earthly wealth has its wings spread before we even turn our heads. Heavenly wealth rests in the hands of the Almighty. Our Father owns the world and everything in it (Psalm 24:1). When He declares that “the meek shall inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5), He speaks with the authority of One who holds the title deed to creation.

And consider this: if God uses the entire earth as a symbol for your inheritance, how glorious must the reality be? For what is the world compared to the treasures of Christ? The kingdoms of this world are the kingdoms of our Lord (Revelation 11:15). The same Lord who is called “the heir of all things” (Hebrews 1:2) now calls you His joint-heir (Romans 8:17). You share in His inheritance not because of your worthiness, but because of His mercy. The gospel does not merely rescue you—it enriches you beyond measure.

So rejoice, believer. Lift your eyes from the dust of your daily burdens and remember the crown awaiting you. You are an heir of God. You are a co-heir with Christ. All that He possesses, He shares with you. All that He is, He is for you. And what lies ahead is not a vague hope but a promised glory. Oh, the Christian has something to look forward to indeed. Hallelujah.

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THE MERCY OF GOD’S STOP SIGNS

There is a reason the world is dotted with stop signs. They stand as red sentinels at the crossroads, reminding us that the road is a dangerous place and that collisions happen when we rush ahead without caution. A stop sign is not the enemy of speed but the guardian of life. And what is true of the road is even more true of the soul. For life itself is filled with intersections, where desires pull one way and temptations call from another, and unseen dangers speed toward us at breakneck force.

The Lord has placed His own stop signs along our path. Not the metal ones of earthly streets, but the sacred ones made of grace and love. His “Thou shalt not” is not the slap of a divine tyrant, but the whisper of a Father who sees farther than we do. When God says, “Do not go there,” it is because He knows the cliff that hides just beyond the bend. When He restrains our feet, it is because He would spare our hearts.

Sin always promises, but it never satisfies. It leaves a man hollow, famished, thirsty for the water he has despised. The void inside us is real, and only the One who formed the heart can fill the heart. The soul was carved to be a throne room for its Creator, and it groans when it is empty of Him. God’s stop signs are not barriers to joy but bridges to Christ.

He longs for you to dwell with Him forever, but He also desires that your days beneath the sun carry the weight of meaning and the fragrance of heaven. And He knows that life abundant is found in one place alone. Not in the scattered shrines of this passing world. Not in the shouting promises of desire. But in Jesus Christ—the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

So when the Lord halts you, thank Him. When He closes a door, praise Him. When He turns your feet from a path you longed to take, trust Him. For His stop signs are the mercies that keep you from ruin and guide you safely home. And every divine restraint is a gentle hand leading you nearer to the Savior who loves you with an everlasting love.

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SPIRITUAL REALITY AT THE CROSSROADS

There are moments in the Christian life when a man finds himself standing at a spiritual crossroads, where two kingdoms converge within the borders of his own soul. Paul speaks into such a moment when he writes, “Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess; but be filled with the Spirit…” (Eph. 5:18). The apostle is not merely giving moral instruction; he is unveiling a spiritual principle, as fixed as any law of physics and as tender as the breath of God.

Most believers linger at this intersection. To the left lies the old nature with its familiar gravity, pulling us downward as though sin were the natural orbit of the human heart. To the right glimmers a higher world, the Christ-life, where Jesus Himself becomes the animating power within the believer. Many imagine that such a life is reserved for spiritual elites, but Scripture speaks otherwise. The New Testament insists that this Spirit-filled life is not an optional upgrade; it is Christianity as God intended it.

Paul gives us a vision of this life in Ephesians 5. He calls us to walk as children of light, our spiritual senses awakened, our inner faculties illuminated. For Paul, the difference between a believer trudging through the dust and a believer walking in the radiance of Christ is the Holy Spirit. He is the One who turns theory into life, doctrine into experience, command into capability. As Andrew Murray so often taught, the presence of the Holy Spirit is the presence of Christ Himself, given not as a distant ideal but as an indwelling reality.

The greatest need in the church is not new strategies, nor more dazzling personalities, but the recovered awareness that the Spirit of Jesus walks among us. Acts 2:38 calls Him “the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Before the Spirit enables, He indwells. Before He empowers, He brings us into the living presence of the Father. This is the true inheritance of the believer: access to God through the abiding Christ.

Just as wine governs the behavior of the one who drinks deeply, so the Spirit governs the believer who yields wholly to God. One who is intoxicated speaks and acts under an alien influence. Likewise, the believer surrendered to the Spirit finds himself carried into gifts, graces, and holy desires that do not originate from within his natural capacity. What we call “spiritual victory” is simply Christ manifesting His own life through a vessel fully yielded to Him.

The Christian life is impossible without Christ living in us, and inevitable when He does. We bear no fruit in our own strength. We are vessels of dust, dependent upon a divine Vine. Jesus said plainly, “Without Me you can do nothing.” Fruit is never the achievement of fleshly effort; it is the overflow of spiritual intimacy. As a child is born of human union, so spiritual fruit is born of abiding union with Christ.

Paul tells us that we have been “married” to Christ (Rom. 7:4), joined in a spiritual union designed to bear fruit to God. This is no poetic flourish—it is the logic of redemption. God saves us to shape us, indwells us to transform us, empowers us to manifest His character in the world. This transformation is described as “the fruit of the Spirit”: love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. These are not ideals we strain toward; they are the very dispositions of Christ formed within us.

This is spiritual law with mathematical consistency:

Christ in us produces what Christ is.

Self in us produces what self is.

Much of the modern church falters here. We lament our lack of joy, our fractured unity, our indulgent habits, our simmering restlessness. We treat anxiety and dissatisfaction as though they were merely psychological issues, when in truth they are spiritual symptoms of disconnection from the Vine. Only a return to deep dependence upon the Spirit can restore the character of Christ in His people.

Jesus Himself is our model—the living demonstration of what humanity looks like under the full governance of the Spirit. His longsuffering with the disciples, His kindness toward the outcast, His joy in the Father, His serenity in storms—these are not traits we imitate from afar, but graces He reproduces in us as we abide in Him.

So then, the crossroads before us is real and unavoidable. We may walk the weary path of self-effort, or we may turn toward the radiant highway of the Spirit. We can be spiritual people, for God has given us His Spirit. There is no scarcity in Him. No believer need settle for a life of spiritual drought when the living water resides within.

Let us step boldly toward the life Christ offers, for all of heaven’s resources are available in the One who dwells in us.

BDD

THE PATH MADE PLAIN

Salvation is never presented in Scripture as a maze for the spiritually clever. Christ has cleared the path before us with a mercy so bright that even the weary and the broken can find their way home. He does not save through riddles or shadows. He saves through Himself. And when a sinner looks to the crucified and risen Lord and bows the heart in faith, something holy happens that no human hand can manufacture. Christ receives the one who trusts Him.

The Holy Spirit is never earned by spiritual performance nor dispensed like a religious commodity. He rests upon the heart that comes to Jesus with a faith willing to obey. He fills the life that bends low at the feet of the Redeemer. The Spirit falls where faith becomes surrender. He meets the believer in that quiet place where trust ceases to be a word and becomes a walk. It is there that grace breathes life into the soul, lifting us into the newness Christ promised.

And baptism, so often misunderstood, did not arise from committees or councils. It began with the voice of the risen Christ on a mountain in Galilee. With the wind of resurrection still in the air, He declared His authority over heaven and earth and commanded His people to be plunged into His name. In baptism we are carried into His death, His burial, and His rising again. This is not ritual but union. Not ceremony but confession. Not a human idea but a divine summons from the King Himself.

Christian baptism exists because Jesus speaks and the church obeys. It is the response of a heart captivated by grace and hungry for holiness. It is faith stepping into the water and finding Christ already there. And when the believer rises from that sacred moment, dripping with the promise of God, the Spirit-filled journey begins. The path is still plain, and the Shepherd still leads, calling us ever deeper into the life that only He can give.

BDD