John 4 is a chapter of divine appointments and unexpected grace. At its heart lies Jesus’ encounter with a Samaritan woman—a moment not just historically or geographically significant, but spiritually revolutionary. While most Jews avoided Samaritans due to centuries of tension and intermarriage, Jesus deliberately chose to pass through Samaria. The Grace and Truth Study Bible makes it clear: this wasn’t just the shortest route—it was a divinely ordained meeting pointing to Jesus’ role as the Savior of the world.

E. Stanley Jones beautifully draws our gaze back to the opening verses of John’s Gospel, where we are reminded that in Him was life, and the life was the light of men. He explores how this life is not just biological existence or spiritual vitality in theory—it is the animating presence of Jesus Christ that brings creativity to thought, compassion to emotion, and action to the will. Where Jesus is, things begin to live. Not merely survive, but overflow with light-giving purpose.

In today’s reading from Immeasurably More by Ray Stedman, we are introduced to the grain offering—also known as the meal or meat offering. Uniquely, this is the only offering in Leviticus that involves no bloodshed. Instead, it is made of the finest flour mixed with oil and presented with incense, representing something essential yet bloodless—bread, the very sustenance of life.

Today’s entry from A.B. Simpson calls me upward—to lift my eyes and my life to the heights of God’s calling. The verse from Isaiah paints a picture of dwelling not in valleys of spiritual compromise, but on mountain heights where God Himself provides food, water, and refuge. Simpson urges me not to settle for shallow living—he compares it to the futility of a mighty steamship trying to operate in a shallow pond. The ship was made for the deep, not the shore. Likewise, I’ve been redeemed and sanctified—made new in Christ—and that new life cannot operate well in the lowlands of sin, selfishness, and worldly limitation. The Christian life isn’t stifled by its demands; it’s stifled when we try to mix resurrection life with earthly thinking. I wasn’t made to wade through shallow puddles of self-effort. I was designed to soar with Christ, to dwell where His Spirit leads, where His provision flows, and where my soul expands into its true inheritance as a child of God.

Bob Hoekstra reminds us today of a staggering truth: we lack absolutely nothing in Christ. Ephesians 1:3 doesn’t promise a trickle of blessings we must strive to earn—it boldly proclaims that every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places has already been given to us in Christ. This means that heaven’s full treasury of spiritual riches—wisdom, peace, joy, righteousness, compassion, courage, and more—is not something we’re waiting on, but something we already possess because we are united with the One in whom all fullness dwells.

In today’s entry from My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers reflects on the moment Paul regained his sight, not only physically but spiritually. Paul didn’t just open his eyes to the world again—he opened his soul to the living Christ. That vision became the guiding flame for the rest of his life. Everything else lost its charm. His fascination, his message, his identity—all were consumed with Christ.

Today's Abide Above devotional draws us into the intimate, unbroken care of our Lord. J.B.S. beautifully reminds us that the Lord doesn’t merely forgive our sins—He lives in us and cares for us every second. It’s not a general or distant concern; it’s as if each of us were His only child.

Today’s entry from eManna draws us into the richness of God’s blessing as expressed in the priestly benediction of Numbers 6—a blessing that is deeply Trinitarian in nature. Though the Old Testament didn’t articulate the Trinity in the way the New Testament would later reveal, we now see that this threefold blessing hints at the full fellowship of Father, Son, and Spirit.

The book of Nehemiah recounts the next stage in God’s unfolding story of restoration after the Babylonian exile. Picking up approximately 15 years after Ezra ends, Nehemiah emerges as a deeply prayerful man whose leadership is marked not only by administrative skill and courageous resolve but also by a heart fully surrendered to God’s purposes. While Ezra emphasized spiritual renewal through God’s Word, Nehemiah was entrusted with a task that was both physical and communal—restoring Jerusalem’s protective walls while rallying the people together.

In Ezekiel 32, we see the final funeral song in the prophet’s oracles against foreign nations—this time, a lament for Egypt. God gives Pharaoh two dramatic titles: a lion among nations and a monster in the seas, evoking his pride and strength both on land and at sea. But these lofty images are crushed under the weight of divine decree. Pharaoh is cast down from power, stripped of dignity, and left to descend into the grave with all the other once-mighty rulers of the world. The nations tremble at Egypt’s fall—not merely because of the spectacle of its demise, but because they too have trusted in human alliances rather than divine authority.

In Job 34, Elihu continues his rebuke—not out of contempt, but as a younger man eager to clarify God's justice for both Job and the listening crowd. His tone is urgent, calling all who are wise to consider what true justice looks like. Elihu is concerned that Job’s accusations have painted God as unjust, which threatens the very heart of godliness. If God were truly unfair, why pursue righteousness at all? Elihu reminds everyone that justice itself springs from God’s character and power. He points out that the very breath in our lungs is held by God, and if He were to withdraw His Spirit, humanity would perish. In other words, justice doesn’t come from our circumstances but from the Creator who holds all things together.

E. Stanley Jones invites us into a deeper awareness of how the Gospel of John, unlike the Synoptic Gospels, emphasizes the reality of being in Christ—a truth not unique to Paul but central to the Christian experience. While Matthew, Mark, and Luke focus on being with Christ in His earthly ministry, John, writing later, reflects the transformation of the early Church’s understanding. Believers discovered they were no longer just walking alongside Jesus—they were actually in Him, joined to His life.

Ray Stedman draws our hearts toward a deep, aching need within each of us—our longing to belong. He turns our attention to the five Old Testament offerings in Leviticus, beginning with the burnt offering, which involved the death of an unblemished animal. Stedman emphasizes that this death was not just a ritual but a powerful picture of Christ's death on our behalf. The longing to belong is met not through family or cultural identity, as valuable as those are, but through union with the God who purchased us with His own Son’s life.

A.B. Simpson invites us to reflect on the eternal purpose God has for us as His vessels of mercy, prepared in advance for glory. The comparison he draws is rich and arresting: some vessels are fit for lowly use, others for honor and beauty. The question isn't whether we are useful—but what kind of vessel we are becoming. The emphasis here is not on our own effort to become worthy, but on recognizing and yielding to the divine hand shaping us for eternity. Are we passively collecting whatever the world pours in, or are we bearing the fragrance of Christ, prepared to reflect His glory in the courts of the King?

In Christ, we aren’t patched-up versions of our former selves. We’re entirely new beings—new spiritual creations with a new source of life. Though our physical bodies and old thought patterns may remain for a while, who we truly are has been made new. The old “us” from Adam is no longer the defining reality. We are now indwelt by Christ, governed by His mind, and being renewed from the inside out.

In today’s devotional, Chambers confronts the condition of a believer’s heart. He draws a line between heartlessness and heartiness, especially in how we relate to others through intercession. When our lives are overwhelmed by burdens—whether from home, work, or the world—we may begin to treat people as inconveniences, our words hollow, our actions lacking the warmth of Christ. This heartlessness is a signal that we’ve drifted from the posture of worship and prayer.

Today’s reflection from Abide Above draws us into a sacred truth that resonates deeply with our journey of grace: hunger for God is not self-originated—it is a divine gift. The devotional traces this hunger through every stage of our walk: from justification, to sanctification, to service. It is not born out of obligation or fear, but drawn forth by love.

This devotional beautifully highlights the first recorded blessing in Scripture: Melchizedek’s blessing of Abraham. Melchizedek, who is both king and priest, prefigures Christ—our eternal High Priest. He came with bread and wine, a symbol that reaches into the New Covenant as Christ offers His very life to us in communion.

E. Stanley Jones draws a sharp yet loving contrast between those who live with Christ and those who live in Him. The Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) portray Jesus walking among His disciples—God with us, Emmanuel. He called them to be “with Him” in person. But after the resurrection and Pentecost, the promise shifted: God not only with us, but in us.

Today’s devotional challenges the way we often approach Philippians 4:19—as if it were a universal promise to meet every desire we ever have. But Paul wasn’t offering a blank check; he was reminding the Philippians that God meets the needs of His children in the context of loving, sacrificial giving. The promise isn’t detached from relationship—it flows from personal union with a God who delights in cheerful givers, not because He needs our gifts, but because giving reflects our understanding that we’ve already received so much.