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]When the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness for forty years, they traversed a rugged, unpredictable landscape — mile after mile of mountains, valleys, rocks, and desert sands — as they journeyed from slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land.
For many, God remains a theory—an idea borrowed from tradition, deduced from the cosmos, or tucked quietly into the corners of a creed. He is believed in from afar, but is rarely encountered. Even among believers, it’s not uncommon to live with a distant reverence for God while lacking a vibrant, personal communion with Him.
God has always longed for intimacy with us. He formed us for Himself–to walk with Him, to know Him, to delight in His Presence. This is the very heartbeat of creation: relationship, not religion. Yet sin drove a wedge between us. A veil was drawn, shutting out the light of His face and placing distance where there was once communion.
A beachhead is the first critical objective in a military invasion–the spot where a force lands on enemy territory and secures a position for greater advancement. It’s the place of breakthrough. And it’s also the place of fiercest resistance.
David wrote Psalm 3 while running for his life — betrayed, heartbroken, and hunted by his own son, Absalom. The weight of rebellion wasn’t just political; it was personal. His household had turned against him. Friends became foes. Loyal hearts grew cold. The throne he once held was now surrounded by enemies, and the whispers grew louder: “There is no salvation for him in God.”
Psalm 2 is a divine announcement — a heavenly decree that demands the world’s attention. It begins with a question: “Why do the nations rage, and the peoples plot in vain?” (Ps. 2:1). The nations rise up, not against injustice or tyranny, but against the rule of God’s Meshiach (Messiah). That Anointed is Yeshua — the Son whom the Father has set on His holy hill in Zion (Ps. 2:6). The psalm strips away all pretense and exposes the heart of human rebellion: it is a refusal to be ruled by His Messiah.
Psalm 1 opens with a sobering warning about the quiet, deadly slide into sin. The man without God doesn’t become a scorner overnight — he drifts there gradually. First, he walks in ungodly counsel, entertaining worldly thoughts. Then, he stands in the path of sinners, embracing their way of life. Finally, he sits in the seat of the scornful, hardened in heart and mocking what is sacred. This progression — from a man without God to scorner — reveals how small compromises grow into full rebellion, dulling the conscience and deadening the soul.