Monthly Archives: July 2025

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The Hidden Manna and the White Stone

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“To him who overcomes [the world through believing that Jesus is the Son of God], to him I will give [the privilege of eating] some of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone with a new name engraved on the stone which no one knows except the one who receives it.” — Revelation 2:17 (AMP)

Beloved, hear the voice of the One who walks among the lampstands. His promise is not for the casual, but for the conqueror—for the one who resists the corruption of the world by clinging to the Son of God. Not by strength, but by belief. Not by force, but by faith. And to the overcomer, God offers something precious—hidden manna and a white stone with a name etched by His own hand.

The hidden manna is not the bread of the wilderness, which fell with the dew and perished with the sun. This is the heavenly bread of fellowship—the nourishment of divine intimacy. It is the portion prepared in secret, reserved for those who endure in secret. Those who have laid down reputation, surrendered comfort, and waited on God in the unseen place. Yeshua is that bread. And the overcomer feasts on more of Him.

This manna is not for public consumption. It is the meal between the Bridegroom and the Bride, a love feast whispered in the inner courts of the Spirit. He gives it not to the loud, not to the famous, but to the faithful.

Then He gives something even more mysterious: a white stone, pure and unblemished, a token of approval. In ancient courts, a white stone signified acquittal. In the games, it symbolized victory. But here, it is more than innocence or triumph—it is intimacy. On this stone is a new name, known only to the one who receives it. No other voice may speak it. No other eye may see it. It is the name you will wear in the marriage supper of the Lamb, a name that speaks to who you truly are in His eyes.

Beloved, do you long to know what He calls you when no one else is listening? He has a name for you that is not stained by your past or bound by your weakness. It is not the name given by man, nor the one shaped by your failures. It is the name He wrote for you in love before the world began.

But the stone is not handed to the idle. It is given to the one who overcomes.

And what does it mean to overcome?

It is not to live without struggle. It is not to be free of temptation. It is not to walk in the applause of men.

To overcome is to believe—truly believe—that Yeshua is the Son of God, and to let that belief become your anchor, your breath, your life. When all around you rages with confusion, compromise, and convenience, the overcomer clings to the Son. When voices call you to blend in, you choose instead to burn.

The hidden manna is for those who are not satisfied with surface-level faith. The white stone is for those who have denied themselves, taken up their cross, and followed the Lamb wherever He goes.

You call me by the name no other knows,
Not “sinner,” not “stranger,” not “wandering soul.”
You speak and I become what You alone see,
A son, a flame, a bride made ready.
Feed me with the manna hidden in Your hand,
Give me the stone that speaks of love’s command.
I am not forgotten—I am named by Thee,
Carved in eternity, held in intimacy.

Let this word steady your heart, dear one. If you are tired of being misunderstood, wearied by rejection, or tempted by the easy road—remember this: He sees, He knows, and He will reward. When the world forgets your labor, when even the Church misunderstands your fire, He will feed you in secret and name you in love.

Overcome.

Wait.

Believe.

Receive.

Prayer

Father, we long for the hidden manna—for more of Your Son, the Bread of Heaven. Feed us with what cannot be purchased. Satisfy us in the secret place. Give us grace to endure, to overcome, and to believe when the world pulls at us. We ask for the white stone—not for our glory, but to hear You whisper the name You gave us before time began. We are Yours. Strengthen us to walk worthy until the end. In Yeshua’s name, Amen.

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Understanding the Hidden Manna and the White Stone

The promises of Revelation 2:17 are steeped in sacred mystery, yet each element carries deep biblical and historical resonance. The hidden manna recalls Exodus 16:32–34, where a portion of manna was placed before the Ark as a testimony. Jewish tradition taught that a golden pot of manna was hidden when the Temple was destroyed, and some believed it would be revealed again in the Messianic age (cf. 2 Maccabees 2:4–8). Thus, Yeshua’s promise is not merely metaphorical—it speaks of divine nourishment preserved for the faithful in the age to come.

The white stone has layered meanings in the Greco-Roman context of the early churches. White stones were used:

  • As tokens of acquittal in courts (a black stone meant condemnation),
  • As symbols of victory in athletic contests, granting access to celebratory feasts,
  • And as personal invitation markers, sometimes inscribed with the guest’s name for elite banquets.

In each case, the stone represents acceptance, identity, and access—now reimagined by Yeshua as an emblem of intimate relationship with Him. The new name inscribed on it echoes Isaiah 62:2 and Revelation 3:12, affirming that God Himself names His beloved, not by what they were, but by who they are in Him.

Faith & Freedom

True Freedom in Christ

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A July 4th Reflection on Liberty That Lasts

Every year on July 4th, America pauses to remember the moment our nation declared independence—breaking away from tyranny and choosing liberty. Fireworks light the sky, flags wave proudly, and hearts swell with gratitude for those who paid the price for freedom. And yet, as believers, we must ask: is political freedom the highest kind? Or is there a liberty even greater—one that no government can grant and no oppressor can take away?

Scripture tells us plainly: “So if the Son makes you free, then you are unquestionably free” (John 8:36, AMP). This is true freedom in Christ—not a national right but a spiritual rebirth. The founding fathers fought for a nation’s liberty, but the Father in Heaven gave His Son so that all who believe might be freed from sin, death, and shame. This is the freedom that does not fade when the flag is lowered or the fireworks stop. Experiencing true freedom in Christ means being liberated from the burdens that weigh down the soul. This is the liberty that remains when chains fall, hearts are made new, and the soul is no longer bound.

The American Revolution cost blood. So did our salvation. But the Lamb of God did not just throw off the shackles of Rome or stand against earthly kings. He crushed the serpent’s head. He broke the power of hell. He stood in our place and declared, “It is finished!” (John 19:30). On the cross, our liberty was secured—not for a century, but for eternity. And unlike the fragile freedoms of man, this true freedom in Christ cannot be overruled, amended, or undone.

Let us not forget that many in the land of the free are still in bondage. Some are slaves to fear, others to addiction, pride, lust, bitterness, or despair. But there is a Savior who still speaks: “Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28, NASB). His rest is not passive—it is powerful. It is the rest of a heart no longer condemned. It is the peace of a life reconciled to God. It is the joy of walking as sons and daughters, no longer as slaves.

On this Independence Day, may we honor those who fought for our national freedom, but let us worship the One who died for our eternal freedom. Wave the flag, but lift your hands higher. Let the fireworks remind you that there is a day coming when He will split the sky and return for His Bride. And on that Day, there will be no more tyranny, no more darkness, and no more tears. And let us also remember the words of Abraham Lincoln, spoken over the blood-stained fields of Gettysburg: “that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion.” What if we, the Church, gave our last full measure of devotion—not to a nation, but to the King of Kings? What if we lived not for comfort, but for the cause of true freedom in Christ? Not for applause, but for the advancement of the gospel?

Let our celebration today be more than patriotism. Let it be praise. Let the songs of freedom point upward. For we are not just Americans—we are citizens of Heaven (Philippians 3:20). And our King is not elected—He reigns forever.

A Prayer for Freedom

Father, we thank You for the liberty You have granted this nation. But more than that, we thank You for the freedom that comes only through Your Son, Yeshua. Today, we remember the cross, the empty tomb, and the Spirit who now dwells in us. Set hearts free again, Lord. Deliver those still in chains. Let Your Church rise—not in rebellion, but in righteousness. May we walk in true freedom in Christ, and may we give our last full measure of devotion—not in theory, but in truth, with every breath surrendered to Your will. In the mighty name of Yeshua, Amen.

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Prayers

Come Boldly: A Call to Faith-Filled Prayer

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Beloved, we are not called to powerless religion. We are called to divine communion. Prayer was never meant to be lifeless repetition, but the living breath of a people united with their God. We are sons and daughters of the Most High, seated with Christ, indwelt by the Holy Spirit, and anointed for Kingdom work. So why do we pray as if He might not answer?

A Better Covenant Demands Greater Expectation

In the days of Elijah, fire fell. In the days of Moses, seas parted. In the days of David, enemies were defeated by songs. These were mighty works of God under a covenant written on stone. But now, the covenant is written on hearts. We are not merely servants. We are heirs. The Word says, “But now He has obtained a more excellent ministry, by as much as He is also the mediator of a better covenant, which has been enacted on better promises” (Hebrews 8 verse 6 NASB).

Why then do we settle for less?

The early Church moved in boldness. The apostolic foundation was laid with miracles, signs, and wonders. The prophetic voice was clear, calling the Church to purity and courage. The evangelists preached with fire, and the lost came in by the thousands. Pastors shepherded the people with love and tears, and teachers grounded them in truth. They prayed because they believed. And Heaven answered.

Yeshua Said We Would Do Greater Works

“Truly, truly, I say to you, the one who believes in Me, the works that I do, he will do also; and greater works than these he will do, because I am going to the Father” (John 14 verse 12 NASB).

This is not symbolic. This is the promise of the Son of God. Yeshua healed the sick, raised the dead, calmed storms, and cast out demons. He now says to us, you will do greater.

He poured out the Holy Spirit not just so we could have comfort, but power. Not just inner peace, but Kingdom impact. Not just forgiveness, but authority.

So why do we pray like we have none of it?

From Repetition to Revelation

Too often we pray as orphans, not sons. We offer words, but not faith. We rehearse Scriptures, but do not believe they are active. We say, “If it be Your will,” when His will has already been declared. We ask for His presence, forgetting He already said, “I am with you always” (Matthew 28 verse 20 NASB).

The Apostle James warns us: “But he must ask in faith, without any doubting… for that person ought not to expect that he will receive anything from the Lord” (James 1 verses 6 through 7 NASB).

Unbelief, even wrapped in religious language, is still unbelief.

The Model of Elijah

Elijah stood before a nation drowning in idolatry. He watched the prophets of Baal dance, cry, and cut themselves with no answer. Then Elijah stepped forward. He rebuilt the altar. He soaked the sacrifice. He lifted a holy, expectant prayer:

“Answer me, Lord, answer me, so that this people may know that You, Lord, are God” (1 Kings 18 verse 37 NASB).

And fire fell.

Elijah did not pray like a man hoping to be heard. He prayed as one who knew God was already listening.

What About Doctors?

Yes, God can and does use physicians. Luke, the Gospel writer, was called the beloved physician (Colossians 4 verse 14). But Scripture also warns us not to make them our idols. King Asa was rebuked not for seeking help, but for trusting men before God: “Yet even in his disease he did not seek the Lord, but the physicians” (2 Chronicles 16 verse 12 NASB).

Use the medicine, yes. But seek the Lord first. Trust the Surgeon of Heaven above all. Let the healing be a testimony, not a fallback.

Faith Still Pleases God

The teaching ministry of the Church must restore this truth: “Without faith it is impossible to please Him” (Hebrews 11 verse 6 NASB). Not hard. Impossible.

You can cry, kneel, fast, and even quote every right verse. But if you do not believe He hears and responds, your prayer is noise.

The prophetic voice must call us back to expectancy. The apostolic voice must build a house where God’s power is not an exception but a norm. The evangelistic voice must call the lost to a living God who still moves. The pastoral heart must comfort those who wait, and the teaching voice must anchor us in truth.

Together, the fivefold ministers equip us for the kind of prayer that moves Heaven.

Pray Like the Veil Is Torn

The veil has been removed. The Spirit has been given. The blood has been shed. The invitation is clear: “Come boldly to the throne of grace” (Hebrews 4 verse 16 NASB).

So pray like Elijah. Pray like Hannah. Pray like the centurion. Pray like Peter in prison and like the early Church in one accord. Pray like Yeshua, who lifted His eyes and thanked the Father before Lazarus even walked out of the tomb.

Let us pray with authority and tears. With faith and Scripture. With reverence and boldness. With holy expectancy and childlike trust.

Because He still heals. He still speaks. He still moves. He still answers.

And He is looking for someone who will believe again.

Let Us Pray

Abba, we come not with formulas but with faith. Not with fear but with trust. We repent for every prayer we have offered in doubt. We ask for a fresh anointing to pray as sons and daughters. Let the apostolic courage rise in us. Let the prophetic fire burn again. Let the evangelistic boldness fill our mouths. Let the pastoral love soften our hearts. Let the teaching of Your Word anchor us in truth. We believe that You still move. You still heal. You still break through. In Yeshua’s name we pray. Amen.

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Devotion, Purity

Purifying the Altar of Our Hearts

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This evening, something holy happened in the house of God. We gathered to pray, to seek, to wait. The room was quiet—still. And then the pastor knelt low and did what few leaders dare to do. He placed his church on the altar. “Lord,” he said, “if this is not of You, then take it away. If it’s not Your will, we will go to the streets. We just want You.” In that moment, the air shifted. Something unseen trembled. And the Holy One leaned near.

This is what purifying the altar looks like.

It’s not about cleaning up the mess of our outer lives or trimming the excess. It’s about laying down the very thing we love the most. The dream. The ministry. The success. Even the things we believe God gave us. It’s Abraham lifting Isaac. It’s the widow pouring out the last of her oil. It’s the Church saying, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

God is looking for purified altars—because only purified altars can bear His fire.

How many of us are willing to do what that pastor did? Can you picture it? He held nothing back. Not the building. Not the congregation. Not the programs, the plans, or the progress. He placed it all on the altar and said, “If this is not Your will, burn it up. Let the wind blow it away.” That is not resignation. That is pure worship.

Too often, we cling tightly to the very things that hinder the fire. We say we want God’s presence, but we insulate ourselves with preference. We say, “Come, Lord,” but we lock the door of our hearts to His refining. But fire does not fall where altars are cluttered. It descends where altars are empty—where the sacrifice is pure.

“Then Elijah said to all the people, ‘Come near to me.’ So all the people came near to him. And he repaired the altar of the Lord that had been torn down” (1 Kings 18:30 AMP).

Before fire fell on Mount Carmel, Elijah repaired the altar. This was not a hasty act. It was prophetic. The altar had been neglected, and before revival could come, the place of sacrifice had to be rebuilt. Stone by stone. Tribe by tribe. Heart by heart. Only then did the fire fall.

This is the season of purification.

And God is calling His people to purify the altar of their hearts. To tear down the altars of convenience. To remove every idol of control, comfort, recognition, or tradition. We must come to the place where we say, “God, if my plans are not Your will, let them be consumed. If my dream is not from You, I do not want it. Take it all.”

It sounds simple, but it will cost everything. Because the altar is not just where we lay sin down. It’s where we lay everything down. The things we treasure. The things we thought we couldn’t live without. But oh, what beauty there is when God meets a surrendered heart.

“Who may ascend onto the hill of the Lord? And who may stand in His holy place? One who has clean hands and a pure heart…” (Psalm 24:3–4 NASB).

He is not calling us to build bigger altars but to build cleaner ones.

He is not asking for performance, but for purity. He doesn’t want us to offer Him what we’re ready to give. He wants us to offer what we’d rather keep. That is the aroma that draws down heaven. That is the fire-starter. That is what we saw last night: a pastor, a heart, a church—laid down in holy surrender.

And now the Lord is asking: Will you do the same?

Beloved, the fire you are waiting for will not fall until the altar is made ready. Let the Spirit search you. What are you clinging to? What dream? What routine? What ministry model or favorite comfort has become sacred to you? Lay it down. Say to the Lord, “If this is not of You, I do not want it.” Say it with tears if you must. Say it even while trembling. But say it in faith. Because what God takes, He replaces with glory. What He removes, He restores with more of Himself.

“I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies [dedicating all of yourselves] as a living sacrifice, holy and well-pleasing to God, which is your rational (logical, intelligent) act of worship” (Romans 12:1 AMP).

You are the altar now. Not just your prayer time. Not just your gifts. You.

God is not after what you do. He is after who you are.

So let the altar be purified. Let the fire fall again. Let the Church cry out with one voice: “We will go to the streets if we must, but we will not go without You.” And when that cry is pure, when the altar is clean, we will see Him come in power. Not for show. Not for man’s applause. But for the glory of His Name.

Let the altars be purified.
Let the fire fall.

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Prayer

Father, we come before You and lay it all down. Every part of our heart. Every part of our ministry. Every part of our lives. Purify the altar of our hearts. Remove every idol. Burn away every selfish ambition. If something is not of You, take it away. We do not want to carry what You have not ordained. Let the fire fall on a surrendered Church. Let the holy pressure of Your presence rest upon us. Cleanse us. Consume us. And prepare us to carry Your glory. In Yeshua’s name we pray, amen.

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Prophetic Words & Encouragement

He Will Rebuild. He Will Restore.

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Beloved, I see the ruins. I see the places in your life that have collapsed—the altars that once burned with fire but now lie in silence, the relationships that have cooled beneath the weight of disappointment, the prayers still waiting in the bowl of remembrance. I see the weariness in your hands and the questions you don’t dare speak aloud. And I say to you now, I have not turned away.

I was there when it broke. I was near when you crumbled to the floor, and the dream you carried slipped through your fingers like dust. I was not absent in the storm—I was speaking peace in the middle of it. And I am here now. Closer than breath. Stronger than the grave. Ready to rebuild what you thought was beyond repair.

I, the Lord your God, am not finished with you.
What seems like an ending to you is only the doorway to resurrection.
What feels like exile is the beginning of return.

Do you not remember? “For I know the plans that I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans for prosperity and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope” (Jeremiah 29:11 NASB). I do not abandon what I plant. I do not forsake My own.

I will rebuild the broken places in you—brick by brick, breath by breath, promise by promise. I will restore what was stolen by the thief. I will redeem the years the locust devoured—the seasons you thought were wasted, the days spent in mourning, the nights soaked in tears. “So I will compensate you for the years that the swarming locust has eaten…” (Joel 2:25 NASB). Nothing is beyond My reach. Nothing is lost beyond My restoring hand.

You have not been disqualified.
You are not too late.

Though you have cried out, “Is it over for me?”—I answer with thunder from heaven: “Behold, I am doing something new; now it will spring up—Will you not be aware of it?” (Isaiah 43:19 NASB). I do not deal in fragments. I restore in fullness.

Beloved, hear Me. I will not simply return what was lost—I will increase it. “Instead of your shame you will have a double portion, and instead of humiliation they will shout for joy over their portion…” (Isaiah 61:7 NASB). What the enemy meant for evil, I will turn for your good. You will see the ruins become altars again. You will see the gates open. You will walk again in places you thought were shut forever.

Your voice will rise again—not in despair but in praise.
Your strength will return—not in striving, but in resting in Me.
Your inheritance has not passed you by. I preserved it for this moment.

I am laying new foundations under your feet, even now. Foundations of truth. Foundations of grace. Foundations built not on your ability, but on My faithfulness. I will be the wall of fire around you and the glory in your midst (Zechariah 2:5). I will restore your joy in My presence. I will cause the springs to break open in the desert of your soul.

“And the Lord will continually guide you, and satisfy your desire in scorched places, and give strength to your bones; And you will be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water whose waters do not fail” (Isaiah 58:11 NASB). Beloved, you are not forgotten. You are not forsaken. You are not forsaken.

The enemy spoke lies to your heart. He said it was over. He said God changed His mind. He said you missed it. But I say—My covenant with you is not broken. My Word over your life has not returned void. My promises are not yes one day and no the next. “For as many as the promises of God are, in Him they are yes; therefore through Him also is our Amen to the glory of God through us” (2 Corinthians 1:20 NASB).

I am faithful. I am the God who finishes what He starts. I am the One who builds what no man can tear down.

The fire may have burned through the walls, but I remain—Builder, Redeemer, Restorer. “Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it…” (Psalm 127:1 NASB). Let Me build again. Not by your effort, not by your strength—but by My Spirit.

So now, rise.
Rise in the dust.
Rise in the rubble.
Not by your own might, but by My breath.

Watch what I will do. Watch how I rebuild what no one else could. Watch how I take the shattered pieces and make them vessels of glory.

“The Lord will comfort Zion; He will comfort all her ruins. He will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the Lord…” (Isaiah 51:3 NASB). Eden again, Beloved. The place of first love. The garden of communion. I am not rebuilding a structure—I am restoring a relationship.

I am drawing you near again. I am returning you to the place of My presence. And where I dwell, nothing is wasted. Where I dwell, all things become new.

So let the ruins shake. Let the ashes rise. Let the old yield to the new. I will rebuild. I will restore. And I will not fail.

Prayer of Faith

Father, You are the Restorer of all things, the One who breathes life into dry bones and beauty from ashes. I trust You with what has broken, with what I cannot fix. I lay before You the ruins in my life and ask that You rebuild according to Your plan. Renew my strength. Restore my voice. Let hope rise again in me. Let joy return in the morning. I believe that You are faithful and true, and that every promise You made still stands. Finish what You started in me, Lord. I say “Amen” to Your Word. I rise in the dust and trust Your hand to raise me. In Yeshua’s Name, Amen.

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Revival

The Cry That Shakes Heaven

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A Midnight Prayer for Glory

There is a sound rising from the earth—not a song rehearsed, not a performance, not a shallow plea. It is the cry for Heaven to come down, erupting from the depths of those who have tasted the ache of delay, who have seen the ruins of the Church, who groan not for entertainment but for the living God. This cry is not born in comfort but in the night—at midnight—when darkness tries to settle over the saints and silence the watchmen.

This is the cry of a priesthood
This is the cry of a people.
This is the cry of a nation.
It is as in Joel’s day, when the prophet declared:

“Let the priests, the ministers of the Lord, weep between the porch and the altar, and let them say, ‘Have compassion and do not make Your inheritance a disgrace, a byword among the nations’” (Joel 2:17 AMP).

The Spirit stirs the hearts of a remnant. These are those who have turned aside from distractions and lesser loves. They have abandoned comfort for communion. Their prayers are not polite. Their prayers groan. They sound like Hannah before Eli—misunderstood, misread, but heard in Heaven. “Out of the abundance of my complaint and grief I have spoken until now,” she said (1 Samuel 1:16 NASB).

This is midnight prayer—like Paul and Silas in the prison cell, “about midnight they were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them” (Acts 16:25 NASB). Their backs were bleeding. Their voices echoed in the darkness. But that cry? That cry shook foundations. That cry brought an earthquake. That cry opened every door.

Beloved, we are not in peacetime. We are at war in the Spirit. The hour is midnight. Not just chronologically, but spiritually. It is the hour of oil and flame, of lamps trimmed and hearts tested. In this midnight hour, a people must rise who will cry out—not for ease, but for God. Not for the gifts of His hand, but for the beauty of His face. This is not a cry from the convenience of daylight. This is the sound of those who left their beds, left their sleep, left the comfort of routine to stand watch and contend for glory.

It is the sound of those who burn when others slumber.
It is the sound of those who pray when others scroll.
It is the sound of the wise virgins whose lamps are full when the Bridegroom comes (Matthew 25:6 NASB).

The cry for Heaven to come down is not vague. It is bridal. It is the Spirit and the Bride saying, “Come!” (Revelation 22:17 NASB). It is the longing of the Church to be washed and radiant. “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you” (Isaiah 60:1 NASB). The people of God come out of darkness—yes, even spiritual sleep—and are bathed in light.

She, the Bride, is not ashamed anymore.
She rises, leaning on her Beloved (Song of Songs 8:5).
She no longer hides behind walls or waits for another day.
She opens her mouth and lets the cry loose.

This cry is not passive. It is priestly. It stands in the gap like Moses: “Yet now, if You will forgive their sin, very well; but if not, please erase me from Your book which You have written!” (Exodus 32:32 NASB). It wrestles like Jacob, “I will not let You go unless You bless me” (Genesis 32:26 NASB). It presses through like the Canaanite woman, “Even the dogs feed on the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table” (Matthew 15:27 NASB).

This is not noise for noise’s sake. This is the sound of desperation married to hope. This is the sound of Ezekiel’s valley when bones begin to rattle. This is the sound of Elijah’s servant returning the seventh time—“Behold, a cloud as small as a man’s hand is coming up from the sea” (1 Kings 18:44 NASB). The sound is small at first, but it carries the weight of Heaven.

The cry for Heaven to come down is not a corporate strategy—it is a holy ache. It is not born in clever sermons or polished lights, but in the hidden closet, in the midnight hour, when flesh sleeps and the Spirit of the living God broods over the deep.

And God hears it.
He answers fire with fire.
He answers weakness with glory.
He answers longing with presence.

“Oh, that You would tear open the heavens and come down, that the mountains would quake at Your presence!” (Isaiah 64:1 NASB).

This is not the cry of those content with yesterday’s manna. It is the hunger of those who have seen that there is more of Him, and they will not rest until He comes.

And He will come.

Prayer

Father, we cry out to You in the night.
Let our voices rise like incense. Let our tears be a testimony.
Shake the heavens, rend them open, and pour Yourself upon Your people.

Make us a priesthood that weeps, a Bride that watches, a nation that returns.
Let our midnight prayers be heard in the throne room.
Let the light of Your glory shine on us, and let us walk out of the darkness into Your marvelous light.

Come, Yeshua, walk among the lampstands again.
Find us awake. Find us longing.
Let our cry for Heaven to come down reach Your heart.

In Your name, amen.

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