Nehemiah 8:10 Then he said to them, “Go your way, eat the fat, drink the sweet, and send portions to those for whom nothing is prepared; for this day is holy to our Lord. Do not sorrow, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”
This verse in Nehemiah connects the observance of a Holy day with the joy of the Lord. Our identity as “saints” (literally, “holy ones”), called to be holy, means we are and ought to be set apart from the world. But does that mean a solemn and joyless life of boredom as some have been led to believe? I have heard statements like, “I’m miserable, but at least I’m holy!” No, to be simultaneously holy and miserable is “oxymoronic” (if I may coin an adjective). It contradicts the very Spirit of God!
The Lord has given us life and life abundantly; [John 10:10] that is a life full of love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, faith, meekness, and self-control. [Galatians 5:22-23] When someone truly sets himself/herself apart for God and His purposes, he/she will be filled with God’s supernatural joy. It is not a superficial “happiness,” an inability to mourn or empathize with others in pain, but a deeply positive strength that comes from above, a joy that imparts God’s power by His spirit.
Holiness and joy are intimates. Turn your frown upside down and take hold of a deep spiritual truth, “The joy of the Lord is your strength!”
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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.