Philippians 4:5-7 Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
“Don’t be anxious”…even though it's a perfectly natural response to mounting threats; sickness, finances, employment, uncertainty, emotional stress, family crises...Nevertheless, it says, "Don't be anxious about anything". Instead, pray!
But does that really work? How many can affirm, even testify, that praying relieves anxiety about real and present threats and dangers? Anxiety is a powerful emotional condition, even expressing in physical symptoms; stomach upsets, cramps, heart palpitations, headaches, ruminations, muscle contractions, indigestion, cold extremities, dilated pupils, numbness, emotional outbursts, fits of anger, etc. etc. And there are all kinds of prescribed and/or self medications, including everything from beer to valium, or simply the internet...
But is prayer really and truly an effective solution for anxiety? If you can honestly answer "Yes", you are not a novice at praying.
Psalm 62:8 ... "Trust in Him at all times, people, pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us. Selah (which kind of means 'pause for an easy breath')." When you pour out your heart to someone, is time a factor? When you know she's really listening and caring about your situation, and has something to offer, do you expect to feel better after you have emptied your soul? It sounds simple, even perfunctory, but praying out your anxiety implies really trusting the Person you're talking to, and taking the time to empty your heart and soul before Him. That's what God wants you to do.
If and when you do that, and thoroughly, you may find yourself in a peace (a "shalom") which passes comprehension, because you hardly expected it when you started out. What’s amazing about this passage is the hidden mystery of that Shalom, a Hebrew word with such wonderful compound meaning it requires a basketful of English words to be inadequately translated: peace, completeness, prosperity, safety, contentment, health, blessing, and rest, among others.
See if you can manage to experience this when anxiety strikes. Test it and see for yourself if praying can really alleviate your fears. God’s peace is there for you and it will pass all understanding; and most especially in these times … wouldn’t it be great to constantly walk in that shalom, His shalom?
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]These verses are far more than ancient lyrics — they are a spiritual invitation. The psalmist doesn’t just admire the gate — he pleads for it to open. “Open to me the gates of righteousness…” This is the cry of a heart that longs for access to God, not by merit, but by mercy. In Hebrew thought, gates represent transition points — thresholds between the common and the holy, the outside and the inner court, the temporal and the eternal. These are not man-made doors — they are divine entrances into the presence and promises of the LORD.
As we continue our study in Psalm 118, I want to take a deep dive into verses 17-18, where the psalmist makes one of the boldest declarations in all of Scripture: “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD.” This isn’t the voice of someone untouched by pain — it’s the cry of someone who has been through the fire and come out declaring God’s faithfulness. This statement is not a denial of suffering; it’s a defiance of death. It’s the resolve of a heart that’s been chastened, refined, and pressed, yet remains confident in the God who preserves life — not just for survival, but for purpose.
Over the past two devotionals, we heard the song of the redeemed and stood at the wells of salvation. We saw how strength, song, and salvation flow from Yeshua Himself — how the joy of drawing from His presence is not just a poetic promise but a lifeline for our day. Yet today, we stand at a prophetic threshold. Something has shifted. Something has broken open. We are not only being refreshed — we are being awakened and called.
Yesterday, we heard the anthem of the redeemed rise like a trumpet blast: “The LORD is my strength and song, and He has become my salvation.” We explored how this was more than personal — it was prophetic, Messianic, and generational. We saw Yeshua not only as our Deliverer but as the very embodiment of God’s strength, the melody of our praise, and the fulfillment of every promise. We stood in awe as tents of rejoicing rose in the midst of warfare, and households became sanctuaries of celebration. But today, we go deeper — we step to the well.
There’s a reason this verse resounds like a national anthem of the redeemed. It’s not just a personal declaration—it’s a generational cry that echoes back to Moses at the Red Sea (Exodus 15:2) and forward to the final deliverance of Israel. The Hebrew word for salvation—Yeshua—makes this verse unmistakably Messianic. It isn’t a vague deliverance. It is the revelation of Yeshua (Jesus), the Deliverer, who embodies strength, becomes our song, and stands as the fulfillment of God’s redemptive plan.
The cry that shattered the stillness of Golgotha—“My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46)—was not a random cry of despair, but the deliberate voice of Yeshua pointing to Scripture. As He hung on the tree, bearing the sin of the world, He invoked the ancient words of David—not only identifying Himself as the righteous sufferer, but signaling that Psalm 22 was unfolding before their very eyes. In that moment, heaven and earth bore witness to a divine mystery: the Holy One, seemingly abandoned, was fulfilling a prophecy written a millennium earlier. Yeshua did not merely suffer—He fulfilled every word, every shadow, every stroke of divine prophecy.
King David wrote these words generations before the empty tomb shook the foundations of death. At first glance, Psalm 16 reads like a personal prayer of trust — a yearning for security and closeness with God. But beneath the surface, the Spirit was revealing something deeper, something eternal: a promise not just for David, but for all of us.