Ezekiel 39 continues the vision of Gog’s devastating defeat—this time with even greater detail. What begins as a terrifying confrontation ends in a sweeping declaration of God’s holiness and restoration. The nations that once threatened God’s people are utterly crushed, not by Israel’s might, but by the Lord Himself. His reputation, tarnished in the eyes of the world due to Israel’s exile, is now gloriously vindicated.

Job 41 presents a terrifying portrait of the Leviathan, a monstrous creature beyond human control. But this is no mere sea creature—it is symbolic of Satan, the many-headed serpent mentioned throughout Scripture (Ps 74:12–14; Isa 27:1; Rev 12:9; 20:2). God isn’t describing an exotic animal for sport; He’s pulling back the veil to reveal the spiritual adversary Job has been facing all along. Job’s suffering wasn’t just physical or relational—it was deeply spiritual, a direct assault from the prince of this world.

E. Stanley Jones invites us to abandon the burden of self-improvement and instead rest in the liberating truth of belonging to Christ. He uncovers the subtle trap of pursuing “self-perfection”—a path that may seem noble but ends in frustration, alienation, and inner turmoil. The secret, he says, is not in refining the self, but in surrendering it.

In this reflection on Leviticus 16, Ray Stedman guides us to see Christ pictured in the Day of Atonement ritual, specifically in the scapegoat. As the high priest laid his hands upon the goat and confessed all the sins of the people, those sins were symbolically transferred and carried away into the wilderness. Stedman beautifully shows how this act foreshadowed Jesus Christ, who bore the total weight of our guilt, not just to satisfy God’s justice but to make way for uninhibited love to flow toward us.

A.B. Simpson draws our attention to a beautiful and often misunderstood pattern in our walk with God. So many long for the soaring moments—the times when we “mount up with wings like eagles”—forgetting that these are not the norm but the preparation. They’re grace-filled seasons that give way to the more ordinary paths of running without growing weary and walking without fainting.

The Father has not withheld a single provision from those who are in Christ. Grace—the empowering presence of God in action—and peace—the deep, settled calm of heaven’s rest—are not only gifts we receive, but gifts that God delights to multiply in us. This multiplication doesn’t come through striving but through knowing. As we grow in our intimate knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord, we experience an overflow of what has already been granted to us through His divine power.

In today’s reflection, Oswald Chambers challenges the romantic notion that readiness is merely about waiting for grand assignments from God. Instead, true readiness is shown in our awareness of where we are now—of being fully present and aligned with God in the ordinary places He has placed us. Moses didn’t cry out, “Send me somewhere better,” or “Tell me the plan first.” He simply responded to God’s call from the burning bush with the words, “Here I am.”

"Abiding Liberation" lifts our eyes from self-preoccupation to Christ-occupation. Today’s Abide Above devotional draws a vital contrast between Romans 7 and Romans 6. In Romans 7, the believer still operates from the old mindset—using the personal pronouns I, me, and my repeatedly—striving in self-effort, burdened by continual failure, blind to the truth that the old self has already been crucified. The authors, L.L.L. and N.B.H., gently but firmly urge us to stop trying to live for God and instead rest in the truth that we have been united with Christ, who always pleased the Father.

Today’s eManna devotional invites us to reflect on what truly drew Abraham—and what draws us—into a life of following God. It wasn’t a command or a threat. It wasn’t a list of benefits or the fear of consequences. It was glory. The God of glory appeared to Abraham. That was the source of his calling and the secret behind his willingness to leave all he knew.

At some point in our Christian walk, many of us quietly wonder: Will I see my loved ones again in heaven? And some go further, asking: Will my beloved pet be there too? These questions arise not just from curiosity, but from the ache of separation and the beauty of relationships we hold dear.

To live the Christian life is not to strive toward being like Jesus in our own effort. It is to recognize that the old self has already been crucified with Christ. The life we live now is not a self-improvement project. It is Christ living His life in and through us. Galatians 2:20 makes this clear: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me."

E. Stanley Jones warns us in this entry against one of the most alluring distortions in spirituality: the idea that we are, in and of ourselves, divine. He contrasts this self-centric mindset with the biblical truth that while we share Christ’s life, we do not sustain Him—He sustains us. Any notion that shifts the center from Christ to self, even under religious or spiritual pretenses, is not only misguided but ultimately destructive.

Ray Stedman turns our attention today to a passage in Leviticus that might seem obscure or ceremonial at first glance—rules about bodily discharges and cleansing rituals. But under the surface, there's a rich and grace-filled reminder that God never leaves the defiled without a path to restoration. Even in the smallest imperfections—those not as visible or dramatic as leprosy—God provides a gentle yet uncompromising way back into fellowship.

A.B. Simpson draws our attention to a different kind of strength—not the kind that conquers cities or commands armies, but the quiet and resolute authority of a life ruled by the Spirit. True temperance, he says, is not repression or stoicism, but the Spirit-born ability to live from a place of inner composure, free from the tyranny of emotion, desire, or even good intentions that grow unchecked.

Bob Hoekstra’s reflection for today unveils the beautifully relational nature of the new covenant—one that invites us not just to believe in God, but to know Him personally and intimately. This knowledge, however, is not something we grasp by effort or intellect. It’s received. It's a divine unveiling—God giving Himself to us through the Spirit of wisdom and revelation.

In this stirring entry, Oswald Chambers brings us to the quiet but deeply personal shoreline of surrender. Using Peter's impulsive leap into the sea at the sound of Jesus’ voice (John 21:7), he asks us to consider whether we have truly and deliberately abandoned all to Christ—not just in outward behavior, but in the inner territory of the will. Chambers is not advocating for impulsive, emotionally driven acts of faith. Instead, he presses into the deeper act of volitional surrender—the kind of decision that is not necessarily accompanied by emotion but is rooted in trust and obedience.

Today’s entry from Abide Above gently guides us back to a truth that many miss in their eager pursuit of spiritual growth: transformation in Christ doesn’t come from striving, but from receiving. J.C. Metcalfe reminds us that truth—especially the truth of our union with Christ—is not something to be snatched from God’s hand through exertion or discipline. It’s something received by grace, as we sit before Him in stillness and dependence.

The heart of today’s devotional calls us to consider where God truly chooses to dwell. Through Stephen’s words in Acts 7, we're reminded that God cannot be confined to temples made with hands. He is not looking for stone walls or gold-covered sanctuaries, no matter how majestic they may seem. Instead, He seeks something infinitely more personal—a spiritual home, not crafted by man but cultivated in the human spirit.

E. Stanley Jones guides us to the very heartbeat of union with Christ through one of Jesus’ most beloved metaphors—the Vine and the branches. But Jones refuses to let this picture become a mere teaching aid. Instead, he reveals that Jesus’ words in John 15 point to a present, vibrant, shared life. Christ doesn’t just influence us from above or direct us from afar—He lives in us as His own. We are not merely followers trying to copy a divine example; we are sharers in the very life of the Vine Himself.

Ray Stedman brings out a vital distinction today: healing is God’s work alone, but cleansing is something He invites us to walk in as a response. In Leviticus 14, the priest examines someone already healed of leprosy. The healing had already taken place—so why the ceremony? Because cleansing is the outward testimony of what God has already done inwardly.