1 Corinthians 15:45-49 Thus it is written, “The first man Adam became a living being”; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit. 46 But it is not the spiritual that is first but the natural, and then the spiritual. 47 The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven. 48 As was the man of dust, so also are those who are of the dust, and as is the man of heaven, so also are those who are of heaven. 49 Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven.
On the sixth day, as the universe stood complete, God paused. One final creation remained—a masterpiece unlike any other. This being would bear His own image, a living reflection of the Divine (Genesis 1:26-27).
The Hebrew word for “image,” tzelem, is profoundly connected to tzel, meaning “shadow.” God fashioned Adam to be His shadow on earth—a living, breathing reflection of His glory and nature. From the first Adam to you and me, we are not just flesh and blood; we are living reflections of the Almighty, cast upon this earth to reveal the unseen God.
God reached down, gathered adama (earth), and molded it into a vessel. Then, He breathed His Spirit into that lifeless clay, and Adam became a living soul—a blend of dust and blood, adama and dam. And in this divine act, a profound truth was revealed: when the blood (dam) ceases to flow, life departs, and we return to the dust (adama) from which we were formed.
Centuries later, the Second Adam, Yeshua, entered the world—the visible image of the invisible God (Colossians 1:15-17). Just as the first Adam was formed from earth and infused with divine breath, Yeshua was born of human blood yet carried the very breath of God Himself. And just as Adam was called to reflect the Creator, we are called to reflect the Messiah—to walk as His shadow, bearing the imprint of His life, love, and light.
Never forget: You are His divine shadow—a living, breathing reflection of the Almighty. Let His light blaze through you, that those around you may behold the One who shaped you from dust and ignited your soul with His very breath.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Yeshua (Jesus) used the fig tree—a familiar symbol in Israel’s botanical and prophetic world—as a teaching tool to awaken spiritual discernment. The fig tree, known for losing all its leaves in winter and budding again in spring, became a natural signpost to mark the changing seasons. In the same way, Jesus gave His disciples prophetic markers to discern a coming shift: wars, famines, false messiahs, persecution, lawlessness, and the global preaching of the gospel (Matthew 24:4–14).
On July 4th, America remembers a bold declaration — a break from tyranny, a longing for a better government, and the birth of a nation built on liberty. The Founders risked everything to establish a new way of life, one where freedom could flourish. Their cry was clear: “We will no longer be ruled by kings who oppress–we will be governed by laws that reflect liberty and justice.”
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.
When Yeshua (Jesus) spoke these words not only to the seventy He sent ahead of Him, but to every disciple who follows Him into the world, it’s a striking picture: fields overflowing with a harvest, ready to be gathered. The problem isn’t the readiness of the harvest — it’s the shortage of workers willing to go.
This piercing question opens Psalm 11 like a cry from the heart in troubled times. It’s a question we ask when law and order collapse, when truth is ridiculed, and when those who do evil seem to triumph. The foundations — the principles of righteousness, justice, and truth that uphold society — are under siege. And it begs the question: What can God’s people do when everything righteous seems to be crumbling?
After one of the greatest spiritual victories in all of Scripture–calling down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel and turning the hearts of Israel back to God–Elijah finds himself blindsided by fear.
Elijah heard what no one else did — a storm was coming. Though the sky was still blue and the ground still cracked from years of drought, Elijah discerned the sound of abundance. It was a prophetic knowing, a spiritual sensitivity that saw past what was visible into what God was about to do.