Psalms 27:3-4 Though an army should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this I will be confident. One thing have I desired of the LORD, that I will seek; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD, and to inquire in His temple.
As the war in the Middle East rages, its raised our “prayer intensity” and this reminded me of a story I came across some time ago, which I hope is a blessing.
A United States Army officer who trained pupils at Fort Sill for over 20 years once described the different qualities of the students during the two decades of his tenure. During the 1950s, he observed the students’ attitude as being so lax that the instructors had trouble keeping their students awake during their lectures. This drastically changed in the mid-1960s. The students began taking meticulous notes and absorbing every word of instruction. So, what changed? The lectures weren’t any different. Were mid 60s students somehow more diligent? No… but the circumstances had changed. The pupils of the 1950s weren’t expecting to be sent to war, but the men in the 1960’s were being prepared to go to Vietnam.
We are already at war and the battle is raging. We cannot afford to be unprepared, as though we were at peace. Each of has a post or a position to occupy, or a battlefront to advance upon.
So let us stay awake, alert and in constant preparation, feeding and abiding in the Word of God, continuing instant in prayer and growing mighty in it. There’s so much work to be done, and our Commander in Chief is looking for eager volunteers who are well prepared to serve. Honoring Him in the battles ahead will bring great joy through the exploits He will enable us to do.
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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.