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.

Today’s devotional takes us into the deep rest of faith—not as emotional hype or mental effort—but as quiet assurance that God’s promises are already settled in heaven. Faith is not a gamble or a hope-for-the-best attitude. It is the echo of God’s own voice within us affirming what He has already declared.

In today’s reading, Bob Hoekstra draws our eyes toward the radical transformation that happens when we are brought into union with Christ. The old distinctions—heritage, upbringing, religious background—are rendered meaningless in the eyes of God when compared to what He has done in us through the new birth. In Adam, we were defined by human traits and categories. But in Christ, we are no longer defined by what we once were. We are made entirely new—born again into a spiritual family where Christ is all and in all.

Oswald Chambers pulls back the curtain on a subtle danger in the Christian life: turning Spirit-given discernment into flesh-driven criticism. He warns that when we see someone struggling and do not rightly discern the purpose of that revelation, we can fall into the trap of spiritual hypocrisy. Instead of moving toward intercession, we become judgmental. Instead of forming the mind of Christ regarding others, we mistakenly inject our own opinions into situations that call for prayerful compassion.

Today's Abide Above devotional draws a critical distinction between being dead to sin (Romans 6) and being dead to the law (Romans 7). Many believers embrace the freedom from sin, yet remain entangled in a law-based mindset, believing that God's acceptance is still tied to their performance. The devotional warns that even the beautiful life and love of Christ can be subtly turned into law if we approach them as standards we must measure up to, rather than life we receive. This turns grace into burden and liberty into bondage.

Genesis 37:6–7, 9 — “There we were, binding sheaves in the field... and then your sheaves gathered around and bowed down to my sheaf... Now I have had another dream: There were the sun and the moon and eleven stars, bowing down to me.”

Today’s eManna devotional offers a striking contrast between how we tend to see ourselves—or others—and how God sees us. Joseph’s brothers were deeply flawed. By any human standard, their behavior was worthy of rejection. But when God gave Joseph a glimpse of their spiritual identity, He showed them not as thorns or thieves, but as sheaves—gathered grain, full of life—and as stars—heavenly lights, radiant with glory.

A dear brother in Christ recently asked which Scriptures I turn to for my understanding that our spirits are already in heaven. He shared that a friend of his was curious, having never encountered this idea before. In my experience, when someone runs into a biblical truth they’ve never heard, it often marks the beginning of a deeper unveiling—and I believe this may be one of those beautiful moments. While the thought may sound unusual at first, especially for those taught to see salvation primarily as a future hope, a careful look at the grammar, context, and doctrinal development of the New Testament reveals that this is not speculation—it is the unveiled reality of our present union with Christ.

📖 “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes... For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, ‘The righteous shall live by faith.’” (Romans 1:16–17)

In the exchanged life, we speak often of living by faith—not merely believing truths about God but yielding to Christ as our indwelling Life. Romans 1:16–17 presents faith as the ongoing conduit by which the righteousness of God is revealed. Not from works to works. Not even from effort to effort. But from faith to faith.

In Galatians 4, Paul draws a striking contrast between life under the Mosaic Law and the freedom found in Christ. He begins by showing that although heirs technically own everything, they remain under guardianship until the appointed time—just like Israel under the Law. But when Christ came, He redeemed those under the Law so they could be adopted as full sons and daughters of God. Adoption in Greco-Roman culture wasn’t just sentimental—it granted full legal rights and inheritance. Paul says that believers now have the Spirit of Christ in them, crying out “Abba, Father,” testifying to the intimacy of this new relationship.