Romans 15:13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.
In a world full of uncertainty, this verse from Romans stands like a lighthouse in the storm: “The God of hope…” Not just the God who gives hope, but the very source of it. When everything around us seems shaken — economies falter, nations rage, relationships strain — it is the God of hope who remains unshaken and unchanging.
The apostle Paul is writing this as both a blessing and a prayer. His desire is that believers wouldn’t just scrape by emotionally, but be filled — overflowing with joy and peace. But there’s a condition: “in believing.” Joy and peace are not produced by circumstances going right, but by faith — by believing that God is good, God is near, and God is working all things together for good.
And here’s the beautiful secret: it’s not up to us to manufacture this hope. Paul says it is “by the power of the Holy Spirit” that we abound in hope. That means when you feel empty, weak, or discouraged, you can cry out to the Spirit of God, and He will fill you. This is not wishful thinking; this is supernatural empowerment.
But it doesn’t end with you. The hope God gives is not meant to be bottled up. If you’re not centered in His hope, you’ll have nothing of substance to give to a hopeless world. But when you are filled — when your life is anchored in His peace and joy through faith — you become a vessel that overflows. You begin to spread abounding hope to those around you: in your family, in your workplace, in your community, and even across nations. Hope becomes contagious. And in these last days, a hope-filled believer becomes a blazing signpost pointing to a living Savior.
So rise up, child of God. The world is drowning in fear, division, and despair—but you carry the answer. Let the God of hope fill you so completely that hopelessness has no room to linger. Let joy silence anxiety. Let peace disarm chaos. And let the blazing hope of the Holy Spirit within you pierce the darkness like a sword of light.
This is your calling — not just to survive in these days, but to abound. To be a walking embassy of heaven’s hope. To lift the weary. To speak life into the broken. To shine with a supernatural confidence that the world cannot explain — because your hope isn’t rooted in headlines, but in the unshakable promises of God.
You were not meant to carry a dim candle. You were meant to burn bright with holy fire. So stay centered in His hope—and then go and spread it with boldness, until the whole world knows: there is a God of hope, and His name is Yeshua (Jesus).
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Life wears us down. We live in a world of relentless motion, pressure, and performance. Yeshua (Jesus) doesn’t deny this. Instead, He speaks directly to those who are “weary and heavy-laden.” The Greek for “weary” (kopiao) means utterly worn out—soul-tired, not just physically fatigued. The burdens He mentions aren’t only external tasks but inward baggage: guilt, shame, expectations, and hidden wounds. Yeshua’s call isn’t merely an invitation to stop—it’s a call to come. He offers what no one else can: rest that restores.
When we read the promises of God, we must read them the way we ourselves want to be heard—in full context. Just as we expect others to understand our words in light of what we’ve said before, God expects us to interpret His promises in light of all He has revealed in His Word.
A few days ago, I shared a quote from B.J. Willhite, and today I want to delve deeper into his powerful insight. He wrote, “The law of prayer is the highest law of the universe—it can overcome the other laws by sanctioning God’s intervention. When implemented properly, the law of prayer permits God to exercise His sovereignty in a world under the dominion of a rebel with free will, in a universe governed by natural law.”
When God spoke to Abram, the command was clear yet profoundly personal. The Hebrew phrase lech lecha carries a dual meaning: “go forth” and “go for yourself.” This journey wasn’t just a physical relocation; it was a spiritual pilgrimage—a call to walk out God’s will and to walk into his divine inheritance. Abram’s journey was not merely about distance but about destiny.
In the stillness of a desert night, surrounded by cut offerings and the lingering scent of sacrifice, Abram beheld something utterly sacred — God Himself, in the form of a smoking oven and a burning torch, passing between the pieces of a covenant. It was not Abram who walked through the blood-soaked path. It was God alone. And that changes everything.
Tonight we’ll participate in the Independence Day celebration in Israel — and what a party! — shows, fireworks, music, dancing, everything under the sun!
Yesterday, Israel observed Yom HaShoah—Holocaust Remembrance Day—honoring the memory of the six million Jews who perished. Tragically, a recent poll reveals that nearly half of Israelis fear the possibility of another Holocaust. In light of this sobering reality, I want to share a powerful story of one remarkable woman who rescued 2,500 Jewish children from the ghettos during World War II.