Genesis 22:2 He said, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.”
When Abraham is told by YHVH to offer up his son, Issac, the word “love” is spoken for the first time in the Bible. The Hebrew word for love is “ahavah”. This first mention of “ahavah”, which is the very nature of God [1 John 4:8] occurs in direct connection with sacrifice, the sacrifice of a most precious and beloved son. Abraham could not have known at that time that his obedient offering would foreshadow and typify the love of our Heavenly Father who offered up Yeshua, His only begotten Son 2000 years ago.
Notice that in both cases love is directly connected to sacrifice — and that the greatest love comes from God’s sacrifice for our sin. The greatest love involves sacrifice; perfect love is costly.
There are times when loving someone is hard — almost impossible it seems. Yet we have this precedent, Abraham, the Father of faith, and we have Yeshua the Messiah who consummated and perfected “ahavah” in the loving sacrifice of His own life.
So while it’s easy to love when it feels good, loving when it doesn’t — expresses the love of God and His faithful servants. The Holy Spirit, our companion and comforter empowers us to love even when it carries a heavy cost.
Love, even at the most difficult times — realizing that sacrificial love is the very nature of God!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Over the past few years, some leaders who once inspired many have fallen into scandals that have brought harm and confusion to the body of Christ. In moments like these, it’s easy to feel disillusioned or lost, as if the work of God depends on human vessels who have failed us. But I’m reminded of how Elisha responded when Elijah was taken from him. His eyes were not on the departing servant but on the living God. “Where is the Lord God of Elijah?” he cried — not, “Where is Elijah?” That cry holds a lesson for us today: our hope and strength are not in human leaders, but in the God who works through them—and who remains faithful even when men falter.
The day before Israel launched Operation Rising Lion, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu stood before the ancient stones of the Western Wall and placed a prayer in its crevices. He chose Numbers 23:24—a verse that declares a timeless truth: God calls Israel and His people everywhere to rise with strength, purpose, and courage, no matter what challenges they face.
When we read the Beatitudes, we catch a glimpse of Yeshua’s heart and the values that define His Kingdom. His words unveil the kind of life that God calls blessed—marked by humility, mercy, purity of heart, a hunger for righteousness, peacemaking, and faithful endurance in the face of suffering.
We often celebrate beginnings—new chapters, breakthroughs, divine appointments. But in God’s economy, every true beginning requires a holy crossing. Before the Hebrews could enter the Promised Land, they had to leave Egypt. Before they entered the Promised Land, they had to cross over the Red Sea. And before Abraham could receive God’s promises, he had to obey a single command: “Leave.”
When the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness for forty years, they traversed a rugged, unpredictable landscape — mile after mile of mountains, valleys, rocks, and desert sands — as they journeyed from slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land.
For many, God remains a theory—an idea borrowed from tradition, deduced from the cosmos, or tucked quietly into the corners of a creed. He is believed in from afar, but is rarely encountered. Even among believers, it’s not uncommon to live with a distant reverence for God while lacking a vibrant, personal communion with Him.
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.