Luke 6:12 Now it came to pass in those days that He went out to the mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.
Have you ever noticed that most of our phone conversations go something like this? You call, say a word or two, they'll say a short thing or two in reply and then something like "Ok, in the middle of something, gotta run, talk to you later"! That's a good example of most of our telephone conversations with people when we were living in the United States.
Now that we're living in Israel however, it's a slightly different story. When we call America now, people are always making time to talk to us. In fact, usually, they excuse themselves and go into a separate room so they can hear us loud and clear! And vice versa when they call us! But that got us thinking.
If we make some time and excuse ourselves from a room to talk to someone important on the telephone, how much more should we do these things for the Lord of Glory?!
William Wilberforce, a Christian statesman of Great Britain in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, once said, "I must secure more time for private devotions. I have been living far too public for me. The shortening of private devotions starves the soul. It grows lean and faint."
We don't starve our bodies, do we? Then why do we starve our souls? We would never dream of not eating for a month or two, but how long has it been since we've gotten to a quiet room to nourish our souls with the Lord? Seems ironic, doesn't it? Our bodies are only temporary -- they will be buried six feet under someday, along with our belongings eventually. Our soul, though, is what we should be nourishing daily, what we should be guarding as our most prized possession because it will always be around!
Let's make sure our priorities are straight. Let's be sure to excuse ourselves from the hustle and bustle -- so we can hear from the Lord -- loud and clear!
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]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.
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.