In Job 36, Elihu speaks for the last time before God Himself enters the conversation. Elihu insists he is speaking on God’s behalf, not from human speculation but from divine insight. He sets out to defend the justice of God, urging Job—and us—to trust in God’s righteous ways. Elihu’s core message is that God is mighty in both judgment and mercy. He emphasizes that God does not despise anyone because of their weakness, nor does He ignore wrongdoing. God uses suffering not as a random punishment, but as a redemptive call—a loving wooing meant to draw hearts back to Him. Those who listen are drawn into blessing and restoration, while those who harden themselves against Him miss that grace. Elihu encourages Job to humble himself and listen carefully because even the storms of life carry God’s voice. Rain that nourishes and storms that shake both issue from the same sovereign hand. The heart of this chapter is that God's greatness is not cold and distant—it is intimately involved with each soul, speaking through suffering to awaken trust, obedience, and communion.

In Chapter 4, Fromke tenderly invites us to move beyond a self-focused understanding of grace into a God-centered participation in the divine purpose. He challenges us to recognize how easily we settle into enjoying the benefits of grace—cleansing, comfort, calling—without ever inquiring into the greater intention behind our redemption. Through a homely story of his son distracted by a new toy, Fromke paints a portrait of believers who have been rescued from the mud, clothed in righteousness, and yet are content to stay home and play. God, however, calls us onward—not merely to be redeemed but to participate in His eternal purpose. True fellowship deepens as we ascend levels of koinonia: beginning with the gospel, then the Spirit, the Son, His sufferings, and finally into the mystery—the shared vision of God's ultimate desire. This chapter is a clarion call to live not for isolated parts of God's work but for the whole—His grand design in Christ.

In this chapter, DeVern Fromke graciously confronts a subtle error that pervades much of our theological vision: the confusion of means with ends. We often latch onto the significant strands of God's work—creation, providence, redemption, sanctification—as if they were the whole cord. But Fromke reminds us that all these magnificent expressions are only methods and means, not the central theme. The true and ultimate purpose, he argues, is paternal: that God the Father, from eternity past, lovingly chose and formed a family to be His own in Christ. Everything else—every doctrine, event, and divine intervention—flows from this one eternal heartbeat: a Father desiring sons before Him, in His presence, for His pleasure.

In this chapter, Fromke invites us to rethink the lens through which we interpret God’s activity in history. Many begin with man’s Fall or with God’s response to it—His redemptive work. Others start with man’s commission to subdue the earth or with God’s act of creation. But Paul, Fromke reminds us, begins even earlier: with the eternal Fatherhood of God before time began. This is the proper starting point for understanding God’s intention. Redemption is not the primary goal but a parenthesis within His eternal purpose—a recovery plan, not the original design. God’s aim has always been the expression of His Father-life through a family of sons conformed to the image of Christ. We must stop interpreting God’s intention through the lens of sin and begin to behold all things in the light of the eternal love between the Father and the Son.

DeVern Fromke opens his book not with doctrines to dissect but with prayers that draw our hearts into the very purpose of God. He invites us to lay aside man-centered thinking and ask deep, searching questions—questions about our existence, God's intention, and the preeminence of Christ. These prayers, he explains, are not mere requests for answers but awakenings to purpose: a life-searching prayer for understanding, a life-liberating prayer from self-absorption, and a life-changing prayer to grasp the Father's delight in exalting His Son.

E. Stanley Jones draws a sharp and necessary line in this entry between true Christian prayer and distorted religious traditions. He begins with Jesus’ own words in John 14:13—“Whatever you ask in My name, I will do it”—and unpacks what it means to truly pray in Christ's name. Jones makes it clear: praying “in His name” isn’t a formulaic closing line tacked onto the end of a wish list. It means praying in the spirit, authority, and nature of Jesus. And when that is the heart behind our prayer, the basis on which we are heard shifts entirely—it’s no longer about our personal goodness, our credentials, or our spiritual track record. It’s not about having some special spiritual status or "being good enough" to get God’s attention. It’s about Christ.

In today’s devotional, Ray Stedman explores the final of the five Old Testament offerings—the guilt offering—and highlights its enduring relevance for us today. While the earlier offerings centered around a person’s relationship with God, this last one shifts the focus to our relationship with others. It deals specifically with the injuries we inflict on one another—through dishonesty, fraud, betrayal, or neglect—and how these wounds require more than time to heal. The guilt offering teaches us that resolution demands acknowledgment, confession, and where possible, restitution. Time doesn’t erase the fracture; only truth and grace can.

A.B. Simpson reminds us that disunity within the body of Christ can disrupt our fellowship with God. We often think of communion with God as a purely vertical connection, but Scripture paints a richer picture—one where our relationships within the body directly affect our communion with the Head. The metaphor he uses is bodily health: a wound or injury anywhere in the body can affect the whole, even if the brain itself remains untouched. In the same way, a grudge, offense, or coldness toward a fellow believer can inhibit the Spirit’s flow in our lives.

Today’s reflection unveils a truth as steady as the bedrock of the earth itself—Jesus Christ is not just a moral teacher or a religious figure, but the foundation upon which all true life is built. Bob Hoekstra wants us to see that any attempt to build life on human wisdom, power, influence, or riches is like erecting a cathedral on quicksand. It may look stable at first, but it’s destined to collapse.

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Oswald Chambers urges us to recognize the cross not as a tragic interruption in Jesus’ mission, but as its triumphant and eternal centerpiece. It was not the story of a martyrdom, but the deliberate act of God’s love and justice colliding with the full weight of human sin. Jesus didn’t happen upon the cross—He aimed for it from before the foundation of the world. He was the Lamb slain from the beginning, and His sacrifice was not merely substitutionary but victorious.

The devotional “Reliance in Toto” draws our attention to the beauty of total dependence upon God—not as a one-time act but as a daily unfolding of trust rooted in grace. The author reminds us that learning to live in full reliance upon God is not instantaneous. It unfolds over a lifetime through lived experience. This reliance is not born out of striving to impress God with our efforts, but out of acknowledging our inadequacy and joyfully resting in Christ's sufficiency.

Today’s devotional invites us to widen our lens when we think of salvation. So often we frame it around individual belief and personal decision—and rightly so in many contexts. But there’s a powerful biblical theme that traces God’s saving work not just to the individual but to the household. When Noah was found righteous before God, the ark wasn’t built for Noah alone—it was for his whole family. Similarly, Jesus said to Zacchaeus, “Today salvation has come to this house.” The scope of God’s grace extended beyond the man who responded—it touched everyone under his roof.

In this entry from In Christ, E. Stanley Jones meditates on the deeper meaning behind Jesus’ words in John 14:13—“Whatever you ask in My name, I will do it, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.” Jones draws a sharp but beautiful distinction between glorifying God through our actions and glorifying Him through our responses to others’ requests. To do right ourselves is one level of spiritual integrity, but to do rightly in response to others' demands—where wills and expectations collide—is a deeper test of character.

Today’s devotion shines light on the deeply embedded sin nature that lurks even beneath our best intentions. Leviticus 5 introduces the idea of unintentional sin—a concept that rattles the illusion that we’re mostly good people who occasionally mess up. Ray Stedman, with grace and honesty, reminds us that these “surprise sins” are not merely accidents, but reflections of a deeper nature we cannot manage through effort or moral resolve.

A.B. Simpson reflects on Daniel’s prophetic vision and connects it to the purifying work God is doing in His people in preparation for the return of Christ. He makes a striking distinction—purification is not merely the removal of sin; it is also the infusion of divine radiance. To be “made white” goes beyond being cleansed—it means being so saturated with the Lord’s glory that it shines outward in our lives. This radiant readiness is not achieved through comfort but through fiery trials, the kind that cause Christ to become our everything. These experiences aren’t random—they are preparatory. The difficult and peculiar paths refine us not only to remove the dross but to etch the likeness of Christ onto our being. This is the promise of the coming King: that His bride would be both purified and adorned in His glory.

Today’s reflection brings us face to face with one of the most intimate and empowering truths in all of Scripture—Jesus Christ as our Great High Priest. He’s not just a distant Savior who accomplished our redemption and then stepped away. No, He remains actively involved, seated in heaven at the Father’s right hand, continuing His ministry as our personal advocate and intercessor.

In today’s reflection, Chambers draws our hearts into the mystery of Gethsemane—a place we cannot fully understand, but one we must reverently contemplate. Gethsemane was not merely a garden of grief; it was a battleground where the temptation Satan had reserved for the “opportune time” came crashing down upon Jesus. The fear in Gethsemane was not of physical death, for Jesus had already resolved to lay down His life. The real agony was far deeper—Jesus faced the soul-wrenching weight of separation from the Father and the possibility that, in His humanity, He might shrink back.

This devotional speaks to a necessary crisis in the life of every believer—one that reveals the utter futility of striving in our own effort and ushers us into the glorious liberty that is already ours in Christ. The message walks us through the internal war described in Romans 7, where Paul honestly confesses the cycle of defeat that arises from trying to live the Christian life in the strength of the flesh. It’s not a failure of desire, nor of doctrine—but a failure of source. The believer sees the good and wants to do it, but finds no power in himself to carry it out. And that very awareness, painful as it is, is not a curse. It’s a grace.

Today’s devotional leads us to a surprising and glorious truth that too many of us have overlooked or underestimated. When Paul and Silas told the Philippian jailer, “Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you shall be saved, you and your household,” they weren’t simply offering a general encouragement. They were expressing a truth wrapped in divine authority and power. It was not a wait-and-see gospel—it was immediate, inclusive, and powerful enough to sweep through an entire household.

Some fears build quietly. Others stack high and fast—year after year of anxiety, self-effort, guilt, and grief form into thick, high walls. For many, the fear of death stands among them like a fortress. It isn’t always the event itself—it’s the unknown, the helplessness, the ache of loss, the dread of being forgotten, unfinished, unloved.