James 4:8 Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; and purify your hearts, you double-minded.
Elul is a month when the distance between heaven and earth seems to shrink. The rabbis used a picture to explain this: “The King is in the field.” Normally, when a king resides in his palace, his people must pass through gates, guards, and endless protocol to gain an audience. Few are admitted, and even then, only with fear and trembling. But during Elul, the King is said to leave His palace and walk among His people in the open fields. He is close, approachable, and available to anyone who desires to draw near.
This picture captures the essence of Elul. God does not wait for us to ascend to Him by our own efforts; instead, He bends low, stepping into the ordinary places of our lives. He comes near where we labor, where we wrestle, where we sow and reap — and in His nearness, He invites us to turn aside and approach Him.
To “draw near” in this season means more than a fleeting prayer or a moment of religious duty. It is an intentional turning of the heart. James 4:8 says, “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.” Elul reminds us that God is already moving toward us — He is in the field, waiting for our response. To draw near is to make space, to set aside distraction, to step out of our routines and meet Him in the openness He has provided.
Even the name Elul hints at this intimacy. Its letters (Aleph-Lamed-Vav-Lamed) form the acronym for “Ani l’dodi v’dodi li” — “I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine” (Song of Songs 6:3). Elul is covenant love in action — not distant, not unreachable, but near and personal.
Beloved, the King is in the field. He is not behind walls or palace gates. He is walking where you walk. This is the time to stop, to look up, and to respond. Do not miss His nearness. Do not let the shofar sound without awakening. The Beloved is calling His Bride to Himself — to intimacy, to repentance, to readiness. The King is in the field … and He is waiting for you.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]Yeshua (Jesus) used the fig tree—a familiar symbol in Israel’s botanical and prophetic world—as a teaching tool to awaken spiritual discernment. The fig tree, known for losing all its leaves in winter and budding again in spring, became a natural signpost to mark the changing seasons. In the same way, Jesus gave His disciples prophetic markers to discern a coming shift: wars, famines, false messiahs, persecution, lawlessness, and the global preaching of the gospel (Matthew 24:4–14).
On July 4th, America remembers a bold declaration — a break from tyranny, a longing for a better government, and the birth of a nation built on liberty. The Founders risked everything to establish a new way of life, one where freedom could flourish. Their cry was clear: “We will no longer be ruled by kings who oppress–we will be governed by laws that reflect liberty and justice.”
In a world full of uncertainty, this verse from Romans stands like a lighthouse in the storm: “The God of hope…” Not just the God who gives hope, but the very source of it. When everything around us seems shaken — economies falter, nations rage, relationships strain — it is the God of hope who remains unshaken and unchanging.
When Yeshua (Jesus) spoke these words not only to the seventy He sent ahead of Him, but to every disciple who follows Him into the world, it’s a striking picture: fields overflowing with a harvest, ready to be gathered. The problem isn’t the readiness of the harvest — it’s the shortage of workers willing to go.
This piercing question opens Psalm 11 like a cry from the heart in troubled times. It’s a question we ask when law and order collapse, when truth is ridiculed, and when those who do evil seem to triumph. The foundations — the principles of righteousness, justice, and truth that uphold society — are under siege. And it begs the question: What can God’s people do when everything righteous seems to be crumbling?
After one of the greatest spiritual victories in all of Scripture–calling down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel and turning the hearts of Israel back to God–Elijah finds himself blindsided by fear.
Elijah heard what no one else did — a storm was coming. Though the sky was still blue and the ground still cracked from years of drought, Elijah discerned the sound of abundance. It was a prophetic knowing, a spiritual sensitivity that saw past what was visible into what God was about to do.