There are days that pass with little fanfare — days that feel like every other — until something happens to make them unforgettable. It could be the day you finally graduated, the day you got engaged, the day you were offered your dream job… or the day you missed something so important that you still replay it in your head years later. Maybe you overslept and missed a flight that only runs once a week. Maybe you showed up late to a concert and the doors had already closed. That sinking feeling of too late stays with you. But there is a day coming when too late will carry eternal weight. Jesus spoke of it in a parable about a wedding party — a story about lamps, oil, and a bridegroom. It’s the story of people who had the invitation, knew the wedding was coming, and yet weren’t ready when the moment arrived. One day, the day you’ve been hearing about all your life — “Jesus is coming soon” — will no longer be a future event. It will be this day. And on that day, there will be no time to “get ready.” There will only be two kinds of people: the ready and the unready.  Read More

They stood there, eyes lifted, hearts burning with a mixture of wonder and confusion. The Mount of Olives was familiar ground—quiet, elevated, rich with prophetic meaning. From there, you could see the city of Jerusalem sprawling in the valley below. That same mountain had echoed with Jesus’ teaching and wept with His prayers. But this moment—this was unlike anything they had ever experienced. For forty days after the resurrection, Jesus had appeared and disappeared, walking through walls, cooking fish on beaches, speaking of the kingdom of God. Every word He said carried a weight it hadn’t before the cross. Now, He was gathered with His disciples one last time, not just to comfort them—but to commission them. “You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you,” He declared, “and you shall be witnesses to Me in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” (Acts 1:8, NKJV) Then, without warning, He began to rise—literally ascend—until a cloud enveloped Him and He vanished from sight. Silence fell. They kept staring upward, stunned. Confused. Caught between awe and uncertainty. That’s when two angels appeared beside them, saying: “This same Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will so come in like manner as you saw Him go into heaven.” (Acts 1:11, NKJV)   Read More

The disciples had walked with Jesus for over three years. They had seen the blind receive sight, the lame leap, storms silenced, and the dead raised. Yet as Jesus approached the final days of His earthly ministry, He turned their attention to something far greater and far more sobering: the end of the age. In Luke 21, the Lord unveils what we often call the Olivet Discourse—a sweeping prophetic revelation of what is to come. This moment began in the most unexpected way: a poor widow quietly offering two small coins in the Temple. While others marveled at the grandeur of the Temple—an architectural wonder constructed over forty-six years under Herod’s rule—Jesus fixed His gaze on sacrifice, not stone. Then, with profound authority, He declared that not one stone would be left upon another. His disciples, stunned and curious, asked the question that resonates through the ages: "When shall these things be? And what sign will there be when these things shall come to pass?" (Luke 21:7). What followed was not only a warning for the generation then present but a layered prophecy stretching into the distant future—even to our own day. Let us now enter the heart of Jesus' prophecy and draw truth for our times.   Read More

Faith. It’s one of those words we toss around easily, often without realizing how dangerous and powerful it really is. In today’s culture, faith has been watered down. It's become a hashtag, a self-help slogan, or a decorative word on coffee mugs and throw pillows. But true biblical faith—the kind that saves, the kind that moves heaven and earth—was never meant to sit quietly on a shelf. It was meant to walk. To work. To build. To bow. To burn. Real faith always does something. James, the passionate pastor of the early church, gave us a warning that still speaks to us loud and clear today: “Faith without works is dead.” Not wounded. Not weak. Dead. Dead faith never changed a city. Dead faith never freed a captive. Dead faith never built an ark, climbed a mountain, or gave birth to a nation. Dead faith watches Jesus from a distance. But living faith—resurrection faith—follows Him up the hill with a cross on its back. This is the kind of faith you were born to walk in.  Read More

When we think of King David, it’s easy to imagine him as untouchable—a spiritual legend, a mighty king, a fearless warrior, the psalmist who penned some of the most tender and timeless words ever sung to God. We remember the ruddy shepherd boy who toppled Goliath with a sling and five smooth stones. We picture the young harpist who drove tormenting spirits from Saul with melodies soaked in anointing. We sing his words in our worship: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” And yet—David fell. He didn’t fall in battle. He didn’t fall in war. He fell in peace, during a season of comfort and quiet. He fell not with a sword in his hand but with idleness in his heart.  Read More

In a world filled with constant motion, where demands pile high and distractions are endless, rest can seem elusive. But Jesus speaks into our chaos with a simple yet revolutionary call: "Come to Me." These words are more than a suggestion; they are a loving command, an open invitation from the heart of God Himself. This invitation isn’t just for a specific group—it's for everyone. The tired single mom, the anxious college student, the burnt-out leader, the lonely soul craving belonging—all are welcomed. Jesus knows our limits. He sees how we labor under emotional stress, spiritual dryness, and physical exhaustion. And rather than giving us more tasks, He offers Himself as rest. When Jesus says, "I will give you rest," He promises more than physical reprieve. He offers soul rest—the kind that seeps deep into your spirit and quiets the inner storm. It is rest that renews purpose, peace, and passion. A rest that doesn’t come from doing less but from surrendering more.  Read More

There’s something sacred about praying in the dark. Not just literal darkness—but the kind that clouds your soul when the answers don’t come. You fold your hands again. You whisper familiar words again. But heaven seems silent. If you’ve ever cried out for justice—whether in the face of personal betrayal, systemic injustice, or internal warfare—you know how heavy it feels to be unheard. And yet, Jesus told a story that flips that agony into hope. A widow, alone and powerless, stands before an indifferent judge. Her cry? “Avenge me of my adversary!” (Luke 18:3). That story isn’t just about a nameless woman from a bygone era. It’s about us. And more importantly, it’s about the God who hears every cry—even when it feels like He’s taking His time.  Read More

We live in a fast-paced world that celebrates what's next and often forgets what was. In our rush to the future, we lose sight of the faithfulness that has carried us through deserts, storms, and long, waiting nights. And yet, throughout Scripture, God calls His people to remember—to mark the places where He met them, provided for them, and proved Himself faithful. In ancient Israel, after God led the people across the Jordan River, He told them to gather stones and build a memorial so that future generations would ask, "What do these stones mean?" (Joshua 4:6). These stones were not just historical markers; they were spiritual signposts. They told a story of provision, power, and presence. This devotional is one of those stones. We turn to a passage in Mark 8 that shows not just a miracle, but a moment of divine compassion and human forgetfulness. Jesus fed the multitudes with barely enough, and yet there were leftovers. But what happens when the disciples forget the very miracle they participated in? What happens when we do? This devotional is an invitation to remember. To revisit the baskets of abundance. To reconsider the Bread of Life. To allow past miracles to shape future faith. If you've ever forgotten what God has done, questioned whether He'll show up again, or wondered why your faith feels thin, this reflection is for you. May it help you gather your own stones of remembrance, and lay a foundation of trust that cannot be shaken.   Read More

Matthew 14:23–33 is set against a backdrop of political unrest, spiritual misunderstanding, and natural unpredictability. The storm on the Sea of Galilee, the disciples’ fear, and Jesus’ divine actions all serve to clarify His identity not just as teacher or miracle-worker, but as God in the flesh—the one who commands creation and calls His followers into impossible places with divine authority. This moment was not just about calming a storm—it was about transforming faith. Jesus was preparing His disciples to recognize His divinity and to trust Him completely, even when the world around them felt like it was falling apart.   Read More

Mark 6:30–44 is more than a story of miraculous provision—it is a revelation of God’s desire to work through His people. Set against the backdrop of Galilee’s hills, the disciples return from their first mission energized but tired, eager to tell Jesus all they’ve experienced. Jesus, recognizing their need for rest, invites them to a quiet place. But the crowds, desperate for hope and healing, follow. Moved with compassion, Jesus teaches the multitude until the day fades. Then, rather than dismiss the crowd to fend for themselves, He invites the disciples into a greater miracle. He tells them to feed the people—thousands of them—with virtually nothing in their hands. A child’s lunch becomes the offering. Jesus blesses it, breaks it, and places it back into the disciples’ hands. As they serve, the miracle unfolds. Bread multiplies. Fish multiplies. Hunger vanishes. And in the end? There’s more than enough. Twelve baskets of leftovers—one for each disciple—remind us that God’s abundance never runs dry. This passage isn’t just a record of what Jesus did then. It’s a call to what He wants to do through us now. Through our compassion, our obedience, and even our exhaustion, Jesus is still ministering to the crowds. And He’s still choosing to do it through the hands of His disciples. In every miracle Jesus performed, there was always more happening than met the eye. He never simply healed for the sake of healing or fed multitudes to impress the crowd. His works were always layered with divine intention. And perhaps one of the clearest revelations of His heart and mission is found in Mark 6—when five loaves and two fish became a feast for thousands. But this miracle isn’t just about Jesus providing for a hungry crowd. It’s about how He chooses to involve us in the miraculous. It’s about how, in the hands of the Master, our small offerings become divine provision. And it’s about how God still uses ordinary disciples today to serve an extraordinary God.  Read More

Somewhere between routine and radical lies the mystery of how God chooses to work through ordinary people to do extraordinary things. Most of us wrestle with the tension of believing God can do miracles and wondering whether He’d ever do them through us. The story in Mark 6 opens not with an altar call or miracle crusade, but with something far more intimate and uncomfortable: rejection. Jesus—God in flesh—returns to His hometown of Nazareth. The miracle-working Rabbi, the Friend of sinners, the Healer of diseases, the Preacher of the Kingdom, comes not to conquer but to teach and heal. But the people who knew Him best rejected Him hardest. “Is this not the carpenter, the Son of Mary…?” (Mark 6:3). They weren’t asking out of curiosity; they were asking with contempt. They had already decided that a man from Nazareth couldn’t possibly be the Messiah. And because of their unbelief, Scripture tells us “He could do no mighty work there…” (Mark 6:5). Let that sink in. The unlimited power of Jesus met the immovable wall of human pride. Not because He lacked divine ability—but because faith creates the atmosphere where God moves freely. Jesus marveled at their unbelief. And yet, instead of giving up, He moved on—still teaching, still loving, still empowering. His next move? Equipping His disciples to carry the fire forward.   Read More

The sun had barely climbed over the hills when a small boy tugged at his father’s robe. His feet were dusty from wandering too close to the camp’s edge. In his hand, a stick. In his eyes, a question. “Daddy, what’s that big pile of rocks for?” The father followed his son’s gaze. There they stood—twelve large stones, stacked one upon the other, worn but unmoved. The formation was unremarkable to the untrained eye. But to those who remembered, it was holy. The man smiled. Not because the question was simple—but because it opened a sacred door. A door to memory. A door to testimony. A door to worship. He knelt beside his son, placed a weathered hand on his shoulder, and began to speak—not just of stones, but of rivers parted, promises kept, and a God who walks with His people. That moment was never about rocks. It was about remembrance. It’s a scene as ancient as Joshua and as current as your kitchen table. Because even today, the question lingers—sometimes from our children, sometimes from the skeptics, sometimes from our own hearts in dry seasons: “What do these stones mean?” Why do we worship? Why do we trust this Book written centuries ago? Why do we tell old stories with tears in our eyes and fire in our voices? Why do we keep stacking moments of faith when the world calls it foolish? We remember so we don’t forget. We tell the story so the next generation will still know His name. In this devotional, we will journey back to the banks of the Jordan River and watch a miracle unfold beneath the feet of a faithful people. But more than that, we will learn how to build “memorials” of our own—spiritual markers that declare to every wandering eye and doubting heart: “Here is where God showed up. Here is where God made a way. Here is where I crossed over—and I will never forget.”  Read More