Colossians 4:5-6 Walk in wisdom toward those who are outside, redeeming the time. 6 Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one.
As ambassadors of Christ, we don’t just represent His Kingdom–we reflect His heart. Paul’s words in Colossians 4:5-6 are not just good advice; they’re a commissioning. We are called to walk wisely among those who do not yet know Christ, recognizing that every interaction is a divine opportunity.
To “walk in wisdom” means we approach others with discernment and humility, especially those outside the household of faith. Cultural intelligence is not just about knowing customs — it’s about understanding people. It’s about listening more than speaking, learning before correcting, and seeing through the lens of compassion instead of criticism.
Paul emphasizes timing and tone: making the most of every opportunity and letting our words be gracious, full of life, not judgment. “Seasoned with salt” doesn’t mean bland; it means flavorful and preserving. Salt adds value. It heals. It provokes thirst. In the same way, our words should point to something deeper–something eternal.
In a world quick to cancel, offend, and divide, the ambassador of Christ is one who builds bridges. We don’t compromise truth, but we carry it in a vessel of grace. This is how hearts are softened. This is how lives are changed.
So today, as you enter conversations, scroll through timelines, or cross paths with those who think, live, or believe differently–don’t just speak–represent. You are not merely commenting–you are carrying the authority of Heaven. Ask the Holy Spirit for divine insight before you open your mouth. Let your words be more than opinions–let them be weapons of light, truth wrapped in grace, bearing the fragrance of Christ in a world suffocating on bitterness and division. Be the voice that turns hearts, not just heads. Speak as one sent.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
Last night marked the beginning of Shavuot–a feast that many Christians recognize as Pentecost, the day the Holy Spirit was poured out in Acts 2. But the roots of Shavuot stretch back much further. Long before that upper room encounter–about 1,500 years earlier–Shavuot was the day God gave the law to Moses on Mount Sinai, writing His commandments on tablets of stone.
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.