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]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.
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.