Joel 3 takes us into a sobering scene. God gathers the nations into a place called the Valley of Jehoshaphat, which means “the Lord judges.” The Grace and Truth Study Bible notes remind us that this is not a vague picture, it is God Himself calling the nations to account for their cruelty and injustice, especially against His people. I am grateful for the careful work of the Grace and Truth Study Bible editors, because they help us see that this judgment is not random anger, it is holy justice for real wrongs.

The psalmist’s voice in Psalm 37 speaks softly yet firmly to weary hearts that have watched the unjust prosper. He offers a divine invitation: do not envy them, do not let anger rule, and do not lose heart when wickedness seems to win. The Lord calls His people to trust, to dwell, to delight, and to commit their way to Him. These are not just moral commands, they are postures of rest in His goodness.

The Lord’s Supper has always been one of the most astonishing gifts Jesus has given His people. It is small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, yet it reaches far enough to hold the entire story of redemption. When Paul revisits this sacred meal in 1 Corinthians 11:23 through 26, he is not merely correcting a behavior problem. He is calling the church back to the heart of the gospel by reminding them what this table truly is.

There is a quiet mystery in the way the New Testament talks about salvation. Instead of beginning with words like justification or forgiveness, it often starts with a simple phrase, in Christ. Today's devotional opens that door wider and shows that being in Jesus is not just one part of the Christian life, it is the foundation of it. Salvation is described again and again as a change of location and a change of identity. We were once in Adam, now we are in Jesus.

There is a certain stillness that falls on the heart when Romans 6 is opened before us. It is one of Scripture’s great declarations of identity. We were buried with Christ. We were raised with Him. We are no longer slaves to sin. We live in a newness that flows from His life within. Yet how these verses are interpreted varies across the Body of Christ, and it is not uncommon to find that one passage becomes a window into very different theological worlds.

Romans 5:12-14 shows us that through one man, Adam, sin entered the world and death came through sin. Death then spread to all people because all sinned in Adam. Even before the law was given through Moses, death still reigned. Adam’s transgression is presented as a picture, a type, of the One who was to come, Jesus, the Head of a new race.

There are moments in life that arrive like sudden storms.
A temptation flashes before you can breathe.
A fear grips your chest without warning.
A memory rises so sharply it nearly blindsides you.

Living under grace is one of the sweetest invitations God gives His children. It is the freedom to step out of the exhausting mindset of managing ourselves for God and to step into the life where the Spirit of Jesus expresses everything good through us. Romans 6:14 tells us that sin will not rule over us, because we are not under law, but under grace. That single sentence reshapes the entire Christian experience. It moves us out of the pressure of striving and into the settled reality of trusting.

The heart of David Kuykendall’s writing reminds us that the Christian life is never fueled by human effort. It is the Father working, Jesus working, and the Spirit expressing their life through us as we yield. Kuykendall points us back to Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians, where Paul calls himself “nothing”, then in the next breath calls himself a “fellow worker”. That can sound confusing at first, but as Kuykendall shows, Paul is not contradicting himself. He is revealing the beautiful pattern of life in the Spirit.

The passage today reminds me that so much of God’s work happens in the quiet, hidden places of the heart. Brother Kuykendall’s reflection shows how Paul, Apollos, and even the unnamed believers in Corinth were simply vessels through whom God was already moving. Some planted seeds of truth, others encouraged those seeds toward a response, but God Himself brought the increase.

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s The Minister’s Wooing is remembered for its historical setting, its critique of New England Calvinism, and its quiet abolitionist thread. Yet one of the most luminous elements of the novel is a character placed at society’s margins, Candace, the enslaved woman whose presence becomes a gentle revelation of God’s heart.

Some wield the Word like a blade meant to prove, to correct, even to conquer. They quote Scripture as though it were a weapon of human mastery,verses drawn like arrows, doctrines thrown like stones. But the Word of God was never given to destroy people; it was given to destroy darkness.

When we speak of spirit, soul, and body, we are not carving humanity into three disconnected layers, as though one could exist without the others. We are describing three dimensions of one integrated being, each oriented toward a unique sphere of relationship:

• The spirit is the capacity for God-consciousness, the organ of communion and revelation.

• The soul is the seat of self-consciousness, where intellect, emotion, volition, and memory converge.

• The body is the vehicle of world-consciousness, expressing inward life in visible form.

The writer of Hebrews calls believers to spiritual maturity, not by leaving Christ behind but by growing deeper into His life. The Grace and Truth Study Bible beautifully explains that spiritual maturity means moving beyond ritualistic practices and dead works into the living reality of resting in Jesus’ completed work. Repentance from dead works is not a call to more effort; it is an invitation to cease striving and trust in the life of the risen Lord flowing through us.

Paul’s testimony before King Agrippa stands as one of the most vivid portrayals of the gospel’s reach into the upper tiers of power and culture. As the Grace and Truth Study Bible notes, Paul’s defense was not merely about clearing his name but about presenting the gospel in its most reasoned, Spirit-empowered form. He followed the formal conventions of rhetoric, showing that God can use even human structures of persuasion to make His truth known. Yet behind that eloquence was no performance—it was the risen Jesus speaking through His yielded servant.

Sarah’s passing marks both the tenderness of love and the unfolding of God’s promises. At 127, her journey closes quietly, yet the story focuses not on death, but on Abraham’s faith-filled response. He seeks a place of rest for his beloved, a cave at Machpelah, owned by Ephron the Hittite. The conversation is marked by politeness and almost ceremonial courtesy, as if both men understand something sacred is taking place. Abraham pays the full price, an extravagant 400 shekels, not out of obligation but conviction.

The prophet Joel paints a sobering yet hope-filled portrait in chapter 2. The sound of a trumpet pierces the air, not to summon troops for battle but to awaken the hearts of God’s people to gather and cry out to Him. What begins as an image of impending judgment shifts into a revelation of divine mercy. The “day of the Lord” is fierce, filled with images of fire, darkness, and an unstoppable army under God’s command. Yet even in this terror, there is a tender call for repentance.

The psalmist David paints two vivid portraits in Psalm 36. One is dark and restless, describing those who live without reverence for God. The other is radiant and boundless, portraying the steadfast love and righteousness of the Lord. The first half reveals the emptiness of a life disconnected from God’s light, where pride blinds and deceit corrodes. The second half, in contrast, bursts open with light, color, and abundance—God’s love reaching to the heavens, His faithfulness towering to the skies, His righteousness as solid as the mountains, His justice as deep as the oceans.

The writer of Hebrews draws back the curtain on something deeply sacred—the priesthood of Jesus. The passage begins by showing how God Himself selected each high priest in Israel, never leaving such a role to chance or human vote. The priest stood as a mediator, carrying the people’s sins before God, yet he was a man with his own failings, first needing to offer sacrifice for himself. What a frail bridge he was, a sinner interceding for sinners.