Isaiah 55:6-7 Seek the Lord while He may be found, Call upon Him while He is near. 7 Let the wicked forsake his way, And the unrighteous man his thoughts; Let him return to the Lord, And He will have mercy on him; And to our God, For He will abundantly pardon.
It was a bright Sunday morning in 18th century London, but Robert Robinson’s mood was anything but sunny. All along the street, there were people hurrying to church, but in the midst of the crowd, Robinson was a lonely man. The sound of church bells reminded him of years past when his faith in God was strong and the church was an integral part of his life. It had been years since he set foot in a church -- years of wandering, disillusionment, and gradual defection from the God he once loved. That love for God -- once fiery and passionate -- had slowly burned out within him, leaving him dark and cold inside. Robinson heard the clip-clop, clip-clop of a horse-drawn cab approaching behind him. Turning, he lifted his hand to hail the driver. But then he saw that the cab was occupied by a young woman dressed in finery for the Lord’s Day. He waved the driver on, but the woman in the carriage ordered the carriage to be stopped.
"Sir, I’d be happy to share this carriage with you," she said to Robinson. "Are you going to church?" Robinson was about to decline, then he paused. "Yes," he said at last. "I am going to church." He stepped into the carriage and sat down beside the young woman. As the carriage rolled forward Robert Robinson and the woman exchanged introductions. There was a flash of recognition in her eyes when he stated his name. "That’s an interesting coincidence," she said, reaching into her purse. She withdrew a small book of inspirational verse, opened it to a ribbon bookmark, and handed the book to him. "I was just reading a verse by a poet named Robert Robinson. Could it be…?"
He took the book, nodding. "Yes, I wrote these words years ago." "Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Imagine! I’m sharing a carriage with the author of these very lines!"
But Robinson barely heard her. He was absorbed in the words he was reading. They were words that would one day be set to music and become a great hymn of the faith, familiar to generations of Christians:
Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace’
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
His eyes slipped to the bottom of the page where he read:
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it—
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.
He could barely read the last few lines through the tears that brimmed in his eyes. "I wrote these words—and I’ve lived these words. ’Prone to wander…prone to leave the God I love.’"
The woman suddenly understood. "You also wrote, ’Here’s my heart, O take and seal it.’ You can offer your heart again to God, Mr. Robinson. It’s not too late."
And it wasn’t too late for Robert Robinson. At that moment he turned his heart back to God and walked with him for the rest of his days. [Ron Lee Davis, Courage to Begin Again, (Harvest House, Eugene, OR; 1978), pp. 145-147]
Is this you? A devoted Christian deep in your heart, who has wandered from the faith? Your loving Father will orchestrate your return to Him.
Copyright 1999-2026 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
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[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]The parable of the fig tree is not just a message to observers — it’s a summons to the faithful. The fig tree puts out its leaves first, then comes the fruit. Spiritually, that’s a call to live in readiness even before the final harvest arrives. Yeshua (Jesus) tells His disciples, “Be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect” (Matthew 24:44).
Among all fruit-bearing trees, the fig tree is uniquely prophetic–because it is one of the few that produces two harvests in a single growing season. First comes the early crop in spring, known in Scripture as the “first ripe fig” (Isaiah 28:4), and then a second, more abundant harvest in late summer or early fall. This uncommon pattern is a living picture of prophecy woven into the fabric of creation.
Yeshua (Jesus) didn’t merely offer a suggestion–He issued a command: “Learn the parable.” In Greek, the word manthano (μανθάνω) implies disciplined learning, not casual observation. In Hebraic thought, to “learn” a parable means to press into its hidden meaning until it transforms how you live. The fig tree is not just a poetic image–it’s a prophetic mandate. And Yeshua expected His disciples, including us, to understand it deeply.
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.