Romans 15:13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.
In the 1950s, a Harvard psychologist named Dr. Curt Richter conducted a now-famous experiment involving rats and buckets of water. At first glance, it was a grim study, but a profound truth about the human spirit was buried within it.
In his initial test, Richter placed rats in water to see how long they could swim before giving up. On average, they lasted just 15 minutes before succumbing to exhaustion. But then something remarkable happened, he added the possibility of hope to see the results.
Just before the rats were about to drown, Richter would reach in, pull them out, dry them off, let them rest, and then return them to the water.
And this time?
They didn’t just swim another 15 minutes.
They lasted hours with one rat that continued to swim for an astonishing 60 hours.
What changed? Richter concluded “the rats quickly learn that the situation is not actually hopeless” and that “after elimination of hopelessness the rats do not die.”
Because they had been rescued once, the rats now believed they might be rescued again—and that hope gave them the strength to endure far beyond what they were capable of before.
Let that settle in your heart for a moment: hope kept them swimming.
If hope can keep a tired rat going for 60 hours, imagine what hope in God can do in your life.
Difficult seasons are inevitable. But the crushing weight of hopelessness is far more dangerous than hardship itself.
Hope doesn’t deny the difficulty — it gives us strength in the middle of it. It lifts our eyes off the storm and fixes them on the Savior. And sometimes, that small flicker of hope is all we need to keep swimming.
That’s why Scripture reminds us that the God of hope is able to fill us with joy and peace as we trust in Him—so that, by the power of the Holy Spirit, we can overflow with hope even in the hardest moments.
Perhaps you feel like you’re treading water, moments from going under. Maybe someone close to you is silently struggling to stay afloat. Never underestimate the power of hope, especially the kind rooted in Yeshua (Jesus). It can carry you further than you ever imagined.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
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.