Romans 13:11-14 And do this, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now our salvation is nearer than when we first believed. 12 The night is far spent, the day is at hand. Therefore let us cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armor of light. 13 Let us walk properly, as in the day, not in revelry and drunkenness, not in lewdness and lust, not in strife and envy. 14 But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to fulfill its lusts.
For nearly twenty years, Romans 13:12 has been my signature verse on every email I send. For me, it’s a constant reminder that the long, dark night of this world is almost over, and the Day of the Lord is just about to dawn.
Paul tells us to cast off the works of darkness. The Greek word he uses, apotithemi, means to throw something off yourself, to take it away and remove it completely.
Imagine this: you come to the realization that the clothes you’re wearing are filthy, soaked with disease, bacteria, and viruses—all designed to harm you and even destroy you. What do you do? You don’t keep them on! Of course not! You strip them off and throw them straight into the fire! That’s what Paul is saying here about the “works of darkness.” Those sinful habits, those weights, and distractions that drag us down—they’ve got to go.
But don’t stop there! Paul says to “put on the armor of light” (verse 12) and to put on Yeshua HaMashiach (Jesus Christ) (verse 14). In Paul’s time, this language would have been understood as putting on the Lord’s glory, His divine majesty, and His righteousness—like clothing fit for royalty. It’s a transformation, not just in how we live but in how we reflect His light and His holiness.
Let’s be challenged today … don’t make any provision for the flesh. Don’t give sin a foothold or a chance to creep back in. Instead, clothe yourself in the Lord’s majesty and glory and walk as His ambassador of light in this dark world.
Every time you cast off the dead things in your life and put on His glory, you’re not only living for Him—you’re helping to prepare the way for His soon return. What a privilege to be part of that! The night is almost over — let’s be ready for the dawn.
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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.