Matthew 24:33 So you also, when you see all these things, know that it is near—at the doors!
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).
In Hebraic thought, readiness is active, not passive. The Hebrew word for “wait” (קוָה – kaw-vah) carries the meaning of hopeful tension, like a watchman on the wall (Isaiah 40:31). It’s not merely waiting — it’s preparing, expecting, anticipating with purposeful action. As the fig tree moves from dormant to fruitful, we too are called to shift into alignment with the coming Kingdom.
Botanically, a fig tree must be pruned and cultivated to yield good fruit. Without care, it can overgrow and produce inedible figs. This mirrors the parable Yeshua told in Luke 13:6–9, where a fig tree had no fruit for three years. The vinedresser asked for one more year to dig and fertilize. Yeshua is the vinedresser, calling for repentance and fruit-bearing readiness in His people.
The wise virgins in Matthew 25 kept oil in their lamps as they waited for the bridegroom. This oil is a picture of the Holy Spirit and ongoing intimacy with God. Readiness is not about storing canned goods—it’s about keeping your heart in a state of holiness, filled with the Spirit, and aligned with God’s Word.
Let the fig tree awaken your spirit. These signs are not meant to debate — it’s a call to action. Stop watching the clock and start preparing your heart. Live as if the King could step through the door at any moment. Be clothed in righteousness. Keep your lamp full. Stay on watch. The hour is late, and the King is not far–He is at the door.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
One night a house caught fire and a young boy was forced to flee flames by jumping to the ground from the roof. His father stood on the ground below with outstretched arms, calling to his son, “Jump! I’ll catch you.” But the boy was afraid — he couldn’t see his father — all he could see was flame, smoke, and blackness. He was afraid. Still, his father kept yelling: “Jump son! I will catch you!” But the boy refused, crying, “Daddy, I can’t see you!” His father replied, “It’s ok son — I can see you — and that’s all that matters!”