Isaiah 43:18-19 Do not remember the former things, Nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing, Now it shall spring forth; Shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness And rivers in the desert.
As we celebrated the High Holy days of Rosh Hashanah or Yom Turah (Feast of Trumpets) this past Monday, we entered into a new season. Rosh Hashanah traditionally marks the Jewish New Year. "Shanah" is a unique Hebrew word meaning "to repeat, revise, or go over again". As we begin the new year, with fall, then winter, spring, and summer, we remember the cyclical pattern of time in God's creation. The nature of life is to repeat itself -- to continue in a cycle, marked by Rosh HaShannah -- a New Year. Although time is moving in a direction toward a definite destiny determined by the Creator, it does so in cycles ... truly, "what goes around comes around".
However, "Shanah" does not only mean "to repeat" -- but also, "to change" ...
So, entering this new year, a fresh cycle, we may also grasp the opportunity to change, to do something radically new and different. New beginnings are a time for new choices, new experiences, new hopes, and dreams. Can we allow this season to inspire the desire for new experiences and initiatives in God? Can we choose to pray for, expect and act within the divine order of a new cycle ... break out of the "same old -- same old" and choose to believe in His power to do exceedingly abundantly more than we could ask or imagine? The new season beckons us to this...
If we believe that our Lord is really on top of things, if we believe that He can even redeem our mistakes, then we ought to be filled with expectation for change, great change in our lives, by His divine power to work in and through us. Entering this new season can inspire a choice in faith, to love and serve with greater devotion than ever, perhaps in ways that we have only dreamt of before. A new year is upon us. Let's make the choice for change -- He will "do a new thing."
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Among all fruit-bearing trees, the fig tree is uniquely prophetic–because it is one of the few that produces two harvests in a single growing season. First comes the early crop in spring, known in Scripture as the “first ripe fig” (Isaiah 28:4), and then a second, more abundant harvest in late summer or early fall. This uncommon pattern is a living picture of prophecy woven into the fabric of creation.
Yeshua (Jesus) didn’t merely offer a suggestion–He issued a command: “Learn the parable.” In Greek, the word manthano (μανθάνω) implies disciplined learning, not casual observation. In Hebraic thought, to “learn” a parable means to press into its hidden meaning until it transforms how you live. The fig tree is not just a poetic image–it’s a prophetic mandate. And Yeshua expected His disciples, including us, to understand it deeply.
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?