Psalms 3:1-8 A Psalm of David, when he fled from Absalom his son. O LORD, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me; 2 many are saying of my soul, “There is no salvation for him in God.” Selah 3 But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. 4 I cried aloud to the LORD, and he answered me from his holy hill. Selah 5 I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the LORD sustained me. 6 I will not be afraid of many thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around. 7 Arise, O LORD! Save me, O my God! For you strike all my enemies on the cheek; you break the teeth of the wicked. 8 Salvation belongs to the LORD; your blessing be on your people! Selah
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 3:2)
But David didn’t answer his enemies — he answered with worship.
“But You, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.” (Psalm 3:3) In the midst of collapse, David turned his eyes upward. When everything else was falling apart, he clung to the truth that God had not. The Lord was his shield — not just ahead of him, but around him, covering the blind spots, the unseen threats. When others stripped away his dignity, God became his glory. When grief bowed his head low, God lifted it again.
David didn’t just endure—he rested. “I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the LORD sustained me.” (Psalm 3:5) That single verse speaks volumes. David didn’t sleep because the danger was gone—he slept because his trust was anchored in the God who never sleeps. Surrounded by betrayal and hunted in the dark, he laid his head down in faith, not fear. And when morning came, breath still in his lungs, it was proof: God was still writing his story.
And because of that, he faced the day unshaken. “I will not be afraid of many thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around.” (Psalms 3:6) The odds didn’t matter anymore. God was with him. The same voice that silenced storms now steadied his heart.
“Arise, O LORD! Save me, O my God!” (Psalm 3:7) David called out — not in panic, but in confidence. He had seen what God could do. He knew the One who breaks the power of the wicked and silences every mocking mouth. And then he makes a bold declaration that echoes across generations: “Salvation belongs to the LORD; Your blessing be on Your people.” (Psalm 3:8)
This isn’t just David’s testimony — it’s the battle cry of every believer who’s ever stood in the fire and refused to bow. When betrayal breaks your heart, when fear grips your chest, when the enemy hisses, “You’re finished” — lift your eyes. The same God who shielded David surrounds you now. He is your defender. He is your honor when shame tries to stain you. He is the hand that lifts your head when the weight of life pulls it down.
Your rescue doesn’t come from strategy or strength, from plans or performance. Salvation is God’s alone — and He’s never lost a battle. His blessing isn’t fragile. It doesn’t vanish in the storm. It rests still — on those who trust Him. Selah. Let that truth thunder through your soul while the battle rages on!
Copyright 1999-2025 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
How to display the above article within the Worthy Suite WordPress Plugin.
[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]The prophet Isaiah begins with language so familiar that it’s often read too quickly. Yet within this brief phrase lies a depth of mystery and majesty that anchors the entire gospel. “For unto us a Child is born” speaks of an earthly event–Messiah’s humanity. He was born as all men are born, taking on flesh, entering a specific culture, time, and lineage. The Hebrew word for “born” (yalad) reinforces His full identification with us. This is the miracle of the incarnation: God wrapped in the vulnerability of a newborn child.
When the Lord called us to be His ambassadors, He didn’t merely give us a message — He gave us a lifestyle to embody it. An ambassador is not just a messenger, but a living representation of the Kingdom they serve. That means our behavior, words, and example all matter deeply.
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.
“All this is from God…” These words usher us into the breathtaking reality that salvation is not born of human effort, wisdom, or willpower — it is entirely the work of God. From beginning to end, it is His plan, His initiative, His unrelenting grace. Through Yeshua (Jesus), God stepped into our brokenness and reconciled us to Himself, repairing the relationship that sin had shattered. Reconciliation is not merely a theological concept — it is the restoration of intimacy with the Father. We did not ascend to Him in holiness; He descended to us in mercy. The Creator did not wait for us to find our way back. No, He came down in Yeshua, arms stretched wide in love, calling us home.
In the age of social media, where hot takes go viral, outrage spreads in seconds, and comment sections become battlegrounds, James offers a divine pattern that stands in stark contrast to the digital frenzy. His instruction is timeless but urgently needed today: be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger. These three commands — revolutionary yet straightforward — cut through the noise of our reaction-driven culture and call us to a Spirit-led posture in a screen-lit world.
In Matthew 21, Yeshua (Jesus) approached a fig tree full of leaves but found no fruit. He cursed it, and it withered. This dramatic act was not about the tree—it was about Israel. The fig tree had the appearance of life, but it lacked the substance of transformation. It was a warning to a nation full of religion but void of repentance. The tree became a symbol of spiritual barrenness, of form without fruit.
The parable of the fig tree is not just a message to observers — it’s a summons to the faithful. The fig tree puts out its leaves first, then comes the fruit. Spiritually, that’s a call to live in readiness even before the final harvest arrives. Yeshua (Jesus) tells His disciples, “Be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect” (Matthew 24:44).