Hebrews 10:19-22 Therefore, brothers, having boldness to enter into the Holy of Holies by the blood of Jesus, 20 by a new and living way which He has consecrated for us through the veil, that is to say, His flesh; 21 and having a High Priest over the house of God, 22 let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience and our bodies having been washed with pure water.
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.
But now, the veil has been torn.
When Yeshua (Jesus) died, the veil in the Temple that once separated the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies was ripped from top to bottom–heaven’s own declaration that the way into God’s intimate Presence had been opened. The blood of Yeshua didn’t merely forgive us; it opened a door. Not just to salvation, but to intimacy.
We are not invited to stand in the outer courts, content with distance and ritual. We are summoned into the very heart of the throne room. Into the Holiest. Into the place where God dwells in glory. Into a communion deeper than words, where His love fills every crevice of our being and His whisper becomes our life.
This is not a metaphor. It is a reality. The torn veil is not just a symbol–it is a passage. A blood-stained trail that leads into the very arms of the Father. And it calls for boldness. Not arrogance, but a confidence grounded in Yeshua’s finished work. His blood has made the way. There is nothing left to earn. Nothing left to prove. Only one thing is required: come.
Yet many remain outside–not because God holds us back, but because we have not yet surrendered our inner veils. Pride, fear, shame, self–these are type of veils that must be torn. But the Spirit is ready to do the tearing. He waits for our surrender. For the heart that says, “Whatever it takes, I want to know Him.” And when that veil is removed, the soul enters a realm not of theory but of encounter.
Intimacy with God is not a privilege for the spiritual elite—it is the birthright of every soul redeemed by the blood of Yeshua. To draw near is not striving for favor, but surrendering to love. The veil is no more. The way is open. And the Father waits — not with judgment, but with joy — to welcome you into the fullness of His embrace.
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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.