Bob Hoekstra’s devotional for April 14 invites us to step into the mindset of the Apostle Paul, who had every worldly and religious reason to boast—and yet gave it all up for one surpassing treasure: knowing Christ. Paul doesn't just reflect on what he gave up once; he describes a continual, present-tense reevaluation of all things through the lens of Christ’s surpassing worth. The excellence of knowing Jesus isn’t a one-time benefit received at conversion. It’s an ongoing, intimate experience that eclipses all worldly gain and religious accolades.

Oswald Chambers calls us to reconsider how we view discipline, burdens, and strength. Instead of resisting God’s shaping or longing to be like others who seem carefree, Chambers urges us to recognize that the burdens God permits are paired with the yoke of Christ—and that yoke is always easy and light when carried in union with Him.

J.B.S. draws our attention upward—literally and spiritually. The focus is not on how transformation happens, but on Who is responsible for it. The central invitation is to set our sights on Christ Himself, seated at the right hand of the Father, rather than dissecting the mechanics of change.

The heart of this morning’s devotional beats with the certainty of God’s promises. Drawing from Matthew 7:7–8, the writer calls us to discard every shred of doubt and to pray as those who already possess the assurance of their Father’s unwavering faithfulness. Faith, as described here, is not a struggle to believe, nor is it a wishful hoping for something uncertain. It is a settled confidence in the integrity of God—who invites us to ask, seek, and knock—not as a test of our piety but because He intends to answer, reveal, and open.

Recently, I listened to Alex O’Connor, a young atheist often known for his articulate critiques of Christianity, engage in a debate with the Knechtles. At one point, Alex raised a deeply important question:

“If suffering entered the world through the fall of man, why do we find evidence of animal suffering, pain, and death long before humans—especially if evolution is true and man came from animals?”

This question isn’t just academic—it touches the very heart of how we understand God’s goodness, the nature of suffering, and the centrality of Christ in creation. So I want to take time to respond to Alex—not with a defensive posture, but with a Christ-centered, grace-oriented lens grounded in the exchanged life perspective.

John 9 offers a vivid picture of how Jesus, the Light of the World, brings healing—not only to the body but to the soul. The story of the man born blind is not just a miracle; it’s a revelation. The physical healing opens the way for spiritual clarity. Jesus doesn’t debate the cause of the man’s affliction; instead, He points to its purpose: that the works of God might be displayed. What a shift in perspective—from “why did this happen?” to “what will God reveal through this?”

Ephesians 4 marks a clear transition in Paul’s letter—from glorious truths about our identity in Christ (chapters 1–3) to how we now live in that reality (chapters 4–6). The shift is not from doctrine to duty in a legalistic sense, but from revelation to participation. Paul calls us to walk worthy of our calling, not by earning it, but by embodying what Christ has already accomplished in us.

To be rooted in Christ isn't about performing spiritual activities to prove our growth. It isn't about reading more, praying more, or working harder to show ourselves and others how deeply planted we are. Paul gently reminds us in Colossians 2:6–7 that just as we received Christ—by faith, not by striving—so we are to continue walking in Him. Rootedness is not a future goal; it is a present reality. We have been joined to Christ, and in Him, we are not only secure but continually being built up and established by the Spirit.

E. Stanley Jones is pressing deeper into the miracle of divine union—not only that we are in Christ, but that Christ is in us. He reminds us that it is not enough to be merely positioned in Him, as though tucked away safely in the embrace of divine security, yet without initiative or expression. Christ’s presence within us transforms passive dependence into active participation in His life.

Ray Stedman’s message today brings us to the heart of holiness—not as a stiff rulebook or a series of religious rituals, but as the wholeness of a life that fully expresses the character of God in everyday relationships. In Leviticus, the Lord used dietary laws to symbolize the difference between clean and unclean, not because certain animals were inherently wrong to eat, but because God was painting a bigger picture. He was establishing the need for discernment—giving Israel a tangible, daily reminder that they were set apart to reflect His life.

The heart of this devotional beats with a quiet but unshakable joy. Simpson urges us to preserve joy like a sacred ember in the soul—one that should never be smothered, no matter the winds of trial. The joy he speaks of isn’t rooted in feelings or favorable circumstances. It's the joy that flows from Christ Himself—springing eternal from union with Him.

Bob Hoekstra brings us today to one of the clearest declarations Jesus ever made about eternal life—and it might surprise some of us. He didn’t define eternal life in terms of a destination or a reward. He didn’t say it was primarily about forgiveness, heaven, or spiritual growth, though those are all included. No, He said that eternal life is knowing God the Father and Jesus Christ whom He sent.

In today’s devotional, Oswald Chambers turns our attention to one of the most quoted invitations of Jesus: “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” But Chambers digs deeper into the kind of burdens that weigh us down. He reminds us that not every burden is meant to be borne in our own strength, and not every weariness comes from obedience. Sin, guilt, and doubt are never burdens to carry—they are to be cast off entirely, not managed. And even the burdens God entrusts to us are never given to be borne alone.

This morning’s reading brings us into the quiet depth of a two-fold reckoning—one that relieves us from the tyranny of self and another that releases us into the vitality of Christ. The devotional doesn’t linger on behavior modification or the common plea for God to “make us better.” Instead, it reminds us that the finished work of the Cross is not something to be achieved—it is something to be believed.

The writer of today’s eManna entry reminds us that prayer is not merely about uttering words into the sky. It's about being the kind of person God delights to hear from—someone whose life is attuned to His presence, whose requests rise like incense and meet a listening heart. Not all prayer is heard equally. Scripture tells us there are conditions: abiding in Christ, allowing His words to saturate our hearts, walking in faith, and keeping our conscience clear of known sin.

The wall is finished—but the warfare isn’t. Nehemiah 6 reveals just how unrelenting the opposition to God’s work can be, even as the work nears completion. Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem—longstanding enemies of Israel—resurface with a cunning invitation that appears diplomatic but conceals a snare. Nehemiah’s wisdom and discernment shine through. Four times they beckon him to a meeting. Four times he responds with clarity: “I am doing a great work and cannot come down.”

Ezekiel 37 opens with a gripping vision—God places Ezekiel in a valley of dry bones, an image that captures the spiritual lifelessness and utter desolation of Israel in exile. These bones symbolize death that has long since settled in—dry, scattered, and beyond human repair. But this is not a vision of finality; it’s a revelation of restoration. The Lord instructs Ezekiel to prophesy not just to bones, but later to the wind, calling forth life. As Ezekiel speaks the word of the Lord, the bones rattle together, flesh covers them, and finally breath enters them. This is more than just physical resurrection—it represents spiritual revival and national restoration. The Lord is showing that Israel’s exile is not her end.

Job 39 is a poetic parade of creatures that live beyond human control and comprehension. From the birth of mountain goats to the absurdity of the ostrich, God invites Job—and us—to witness His sovereign hand at work in places we rarely observe or understand. Each creature, whether wild donkey or warhorse, ostrich or eagle, represents something untamed, strange, or fierce. And yet, God knows them all intimately. He assigns their seasons, their homes, their strengths, and even their limits.

In In Christ, E. Stanley Jones expresses the believer’s identification with Christ by writing, “I lose my personality by a voluntary identification with Him at His lowest place—the cross.” While he likely meant to emphasize full surrender and union, from the exchanged life perspective, it’s not accurate to say we lose our personality. Instead, we are restored in the deepest sense.

E. Stanley Jones takes us deep into the heart of what it means to be in Christ—not as a distant ideal, but as a lived reality. He beautifully highlights the two sides of Galatians 2:20: first, the death of the old self through identification with Christ’s crucifixion, and then the life of Christ now expressed through us. This is not poetic imagery. It’s a real transaction—my old life is no more; now Jesus is my very life.