Hebrews 12:26-29 At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.” 27 This phrase, “Yet once more,” indicates the removal of things that are shaken—that is, things that have been made—in order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain. 28 Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, 29 for our God is a consuming fire.
In a world trembling with uncertainty–political unrest, economic turmoil, natural disasters–God is speaking again. Not in whispers, but with the shaking that reorders lives, redefines kingdoms, and removes everything that cannot stand in the presence of His glory. He is preparing us for a kingdom that cannot be moved. But in the midst of the shaking, there is rest — a deep, unshakable rest reserved for the people of God. Not rest as the world gives — temporary relief or distraction — but the kind that anchors the soul in the storm, the kind that is rooted in Yeshua (Jesus), our rest.
Just as Israel left the wilderness and entered Canaan, so we are invited to leave the wilderness of striving and fear and step into our inheritance. Canaan was not heaven — it had battles, failures, and victories. But it was still the land of promise and rest. For us, that rest begins even now as we walk by faith and obedience. Hebrews tells us, “There remains therefore a rest for the people of God” (Hebrews 4:6-9). That rest is both present and future — entered by faith today and fulfilled in glory at His return. It is the rest of knowing that He is enough. That the battle is His. That the inheritance is secure. And that nothing eternal can be shaken.
Rest is not passive — it is the result of surrender. We rest by trusting in the finished work of Yeshua. We rest by obeying His voice even when the ground beneath us quakes. Faith and obedience are not burdens–they are the wings that carry us into divine peace. Every shaking strips away the false securities of this world and drives us deeper into the one foundation that cannot be moved. The enemy cannot shake what God has sealed. Not our calling, not our future, not our peace. When everything else is removed, what remains is the eternal.
The greatest rest is still to come. When Yeshua, our greater Joshua, returns, He will calm every storm, crush every enemy, and establish His reign of perfect peace. What Canaan only foreshadowed, His Kingdom will fulfill — freedom from toil and tears, fullness of joy, and unbroken fellowship with our King. No more struggle — only triumph. No more shadows — only light. And best of all, we will dwell forever in His presence, having entered His perfect Rest. So begin today — begin this Shabbat — to step into that rest. Lay down your striving, lift up your eyes, and let His peace rule in your heart as a foretaste of the glory to come.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
One night a house caught fire and a young boy was forced to flee flames by jumping to the ground from the roof. His father stood on the ground below with outstretched arms, calling to his son, “Jump! I’ll catch you.” But the boy was afraid — he couldn’t see his father — all he could see was flame, smoke, and blackness. He was afraid. Still, his father kept yelling: “Jump son! I will catch you!” But the boy refused, crying, “Daddy, I can’t see you!” His father replied, “It’s ok son — I can see you — and that’s all that matters!”