All posts by warren

Warren Lavallee is a follower of Yeshua with a passion for seeing the Body of Christ united in Spirit and truth. As the author behind 133.church, Warren writes to call believers into deeper fellowship with God and with one another, inspired by the heartbeat of Psalm 133. His writings are marked by a love for Scripture, a pursuit of holiness, and a longing for revival rooted in prayer and intimacy with the Lord. Warren believes that true unity comes when we seek the face of God together, laying aside every division for the sake of Christ. Through every essay, devotion, and prayer, he invites readers to pursue more of God and to live fully surrendered to His purposes. When Warren is not writing, you’ll find him engaged in prayer gatherings, speaking life into churches, and encouraging believers to walk faithfully with God. His greatest desire is to see the Church become one again — a living testimony of God’s glory in the earth.
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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Presence

The Presence

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Here, Yet Longed For – Waiting, Yet Responding

There is a holy tension woven into every step of the believer’s walk: God is here, yet we still cry out for Him to come. We are filled with the Holy Spirit, yet we pause in sacred stillness, waiting to receive. We are seated with Christ in heavenly places, and yet we stand on trembling knees, longing for His touch, listening for His whisper. This paradox is not confusion—it is communion. It is the heartbeat of a people who know the nearness of God and still yearn for deeper glory.

Yeshua promised, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20, NASB). His presence is not a fleeting emotion or a rare visitation; it is an unshakable truth. He is the indwelling King, the One who lives in us through His Spirit. And yet, the cry of the Bride has never ceased: “Come, Lord Jesus!” (Revelation 22:20). We do not cry out because He has left us—we cry because our hearts burn for the fullness of His reign. We carry both the fire of His presence and the ache of His return. We are lovers caught in the tension of already and not yet.

In the quiet morning hours, we wait—not as beggars, but as children with open hands. We are not pleading for the Spirit to visit as a guest; we are welcoming Him as Lord. The Spirit does not merely come upon us; He abides within us (John 14:17). But abiding does not cancel out pursuit. Presence does not negate hunger. In fact, it deepens it. To truly know God is to want more of Him. To experience His nearness is to be undone by His holiness and cry out, “Let me see Your glory!” as Moses did (Exodus 33:18).

This is the mystery of The Presence—He is here, and yet we seek. We are filled, and yet we thirst. This is not double-mindedness; it is devotion. It is the heart that refuses to settle for the outer courts when the veil has been torn. It is the spirit that says, “Thank You, Lord,” and “Come, Lord,” in the same breath. To wait on the Lord is not inactivity; it is posture. It is listening with the ears of the heart and responding with readiness.

I’ve found myself in that place more than once during worship. A moment comes where the air changes—where the room stills, and I feel as if Yeshua Himself just passed by my side. It’s not imagination. It’s not emotion. It’s Presence. My heart reaches out, desperate to hold onto Him, to catch Him, to remain in that moment. I stretch toward Him—not with hands, but with spirit—and still, He slips just beyond reach. Not out of cruelty, but invitation. He stirs my hunger so I will seek Him more. He walks by not to tease me, but to awaken my pursuit.

Elijah stood on the mountain, waiting for God. The wind came, but the Lord was not in it. The earthquake shook, but still, He was not there. Then came the still, small voice (1 Kings 19:11–12). That whisper was not absence; it was intimacy. To know The Presence is to slow down enough to hear the whisper and be still enough to recognize the weight of glory.

We stand in worship not to awaken God, but to awaken ourselves. We listen not to earn His presence, but to align with it. The Church must learn again how to wait—not as those abandoned, but as those expected to move when He speaks. Like the priests who stood still in the Jordan while the people passed through, or the servants at Cana who filled jars before they knew why, we are called to obey even when we don’t understand. The Presence moves with those who are willing to respond.

The Presence is not a mood. It is a Person. He is not summoned by music or stirred by emotional theatrics. He is drawn to humility, hunger, and holiness. And He is already here. The question is not, “Will He come?” but rather, “Will we notice, and will we respond?”

Beloved, this is the posture of a people who know their God: waiting without wavering, listening without rushing, worshiping without distraction, and obeying without delay. The Presence is here. The Spirit lives within you. But the measure of your awareness determines the depth of your response. He stands at the door and knocks. Not because He is far—but because He is kind. He wants to be welcomed, not merely acknowledged.

So we say, “Come, Lord,” not from absence, but from adoration. We wait—not because He delays, but because we trust His timing. We stand—not to impress Him, but to align with Him. We listen—not because He is silent, but because His voice is worth every ounce of our attention.

And when He speaks, we move.

Prayer

A Cry for the Fullness of His Presence

Abba Father,

In the name of Yeshua, I bow low before You. I lay down every agenda, every distraction, every false comfort, and I lift my heart in holy surrender. I do not seek what Your hand can give—I seek Your face. I long not for blessings, but for The Presence of God, the nearness of Your glory that transforms everything it touches.

King of Majesty,

I confess: You are here. You dwell within me by Your Spirit. But I cry out for more—not because You are absent, but because I have not yielded all. Burn away every barrier I have built. Tear down every idol I have entertained. Let there be no room in me untouched by Your holiness.

Yeshua, my Bridegroom and King,

I want to walk with You as Enoch walked. I want to host Your presence as David did—undignified in worship, unshaken in trust, unrelenting in pursuit. Let the fear of the Lord mark my steps. Let the oil of intimacy flow from my life. Make me a living altar, a burning lampstand, a ready vessel.

Holy Spirit,

I submit my time, my thoughts, my strength, my affections—all of it. Teach me to wait without impatience, to listen without assumption, to respond without delay. May my ears be tuned to Your whisper and my soul quick to obey. Set a fire in my bones that only Your presence can sustain.

I declare by faith: Your presence is my portion, my pursuit, and my prize. Let nothing satisfy me but more of You. Let my life echo one cry—“Come, Lord, dwell in me fully and reign through me completely.”

In the name of Yeshua,

Amen.

See Also

The Vision (for the seekers)

The One Who Walks Among the Lampstands

A Companion to “The Presence”

I stood in worship, hands lifted, heart burning, when the atmosphere shifted. The room was still, but something eternal began to move. The air thickened—rich, like frankincense mingled with rain. It was the kind of stillness that makes you forget your surroundings and remember your soul.

Then—I saw Him.

He walked among golden lampstands, their flames alive and unyielding. No smoke, just fire—pure and holy. The scent of burning oil and sacred history lingered in the air. Each flame seemed to bow as He passed, and though He moved with quiet authority, every step reverberated through the floor like thunder sealed in mercy.

His eyes were not just aflame—they were alive. They searched, they saw, they pierced and healed. His robe flowed like light through water, and across His chest was the golden sash of a High Priest. I knew in that moment: this was the One who walks among the churches. The One from Revelation. The Lord Himself.

But more than that—He looked at me, and He saw me.

Not as a background worshiper. Not as an unnoticed soul. He saw me—and in His eyes I wasn’t just included. I was known. I mattered. His gaze didn’t expose me in shame—it clothed me in love. I was no longer a bystander. I was being drawn in.

He said nothing at first. He just looked. And in that holy silence, waves of knowing crashed over me. My spirit stirred, aching for more, overwhelmed by a love too fierce to describe.

He moved past me—so close the air felt charged with glory. My skin tingled. My heart raced. I breathed in, and the air itself tasted heavy with holiness—sweet like honey, but deep like earth after rain. My spirit cried out, Don’t let Him pass me by. I reached—not with hands, but with hunger. I could not move. I could only ache.

Then He turned.

His voice was the sound of many waters—like the ocean speaking Scripture. Fierce and tender. Strong and near. “You have cried out for My presence,” He said, “but My presence is not a moment. It is a life. A lamp kept burning.”

“I do not walk among the lampstands to be observed. I walk to inspect, to ignite, and to call. You are not waiting for Me to arrive. I am waiting for you to become ready.”

He stepped closer. His hand rested on my chest, and I expected fire—but it was weight, like glory wrapped in peace. My knees buckled beneath the touch. I tasted my own tears, but they were holy—not sorrowful, but set apart.

“Let this be your portion,” He said, “to wait when others rush, to listen when others speak, to move when I breathe. Keep the flame. Trim the wick. Be the dwelling place. I do not visit the casual—I abide with the surrendered.”

Then He was gone.

But the scent remained. The fire remained. The ache remained. I opened my eyes and the room was just a room again—but I was no longer the same.

He had passed by—but not to tease or to test. He passed by to awaken. To stir the cry that says, “More of You, Lord—whatever the cost.”

And that cry still burns in me now.

Unity, Visions

Is Christ Divided? 

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A Call to Unity in the Body of Christ

Beloved, we must return to what is written. The body of Messiah is not divided, though we have made it so. We build walls of preference and call them doctrine. We form camps and name them after men. Some say, “I follow Paul,” and others, “I follow Apollos,” or “I follow Cephas,” or even, “I follow Christ.” But the Apostle cries out to the Corinthian church—and to us—“Has Christ been divided?” (1 Corinthians 1:12–13, NASB). The Gospel was never meant to be fractured. The cross was not split in pieces. The blood of Yeshua was poured out for one Bride, one Body, one eternal covenant people.

Yet we gather under banners that exalt style, tradition, and personality instead of exalting the Lamb. We have preferred comfort to consecration, familiarity to fellowship, and our stream to the fullness of the river. But the Spirit of the Lord calls out even now: There is one body and one Spirit, just as also you were called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all who is over all and through all and in all(Ephesians 4:4–6, NASB).

This is not a call to shallow compromise. It is a call to holy alignment. Unity does not mean erasing the truth. Unity means we bow to the truth together. We submit not to each other’s opinions but to the Word of God, which remains forever. The Gospel is not about what we prefer. It is about what God has declared. It is time to return to the authority of Scripture, the Lordship of Yeshua, and the fellowship of the Spirit.

Yeshua is walking among the lampstands (Revelation 1:12–13). He sees every church, every pulpit, every prayer meeting. His eyes are like flames of fire, and He is examining the heart of His Bride. What does He find? Division? Competition? Suspicion? We are quick to judge others who do not worship like us, pray like us, teach like us—but are we so sure we are the standard? Beloved, the standard is Yeshua. And He is calling for oneness—not sameness, but unity born of the Spirit.

Before He went to the cross, our Lord prayed: “I am not asking on behalf of these alone, but also for those who believe in Me through their word, that they may all be one; just as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You, that they also may be in Us, so that the world may believe that You sent Me” (John 17:20–21, NASB). This is not a secondary issue. Our oneness is part of our witness. A divided Church cannot reveal a united Savior.

And yet, even now, revival is knocking. The Spirit is brooding over the deep waters again. But revival will not rest on a scattered Bride. It will rest where there is repentance, humility, and unity. It will rest on a people who say, “Not to us, O LORD, not to us, but to Your name give glory” (Psalm 115:1, NASB). Revival begins when the Church stops building its own towers and begins rebuilding the altar. It begins when we gather not around personalities, but around the Person of Yeshua.

Let us tear down the walls. Let the elders reach across the aisle. Let pastors seek each other out. Let worshipers find common ground in the holiness of God. Let the Church be one again. The hour is late. The return of the King is near. He is not coming for many brides—He is coming for one. He is not coming for denominations—He is coming for disciples.

And so we cry out: Come, Lord Yeshua. Find us ready. One heart. One voice. One faith. One Bride made pure by Your Word.

A community gathered in Spirit-led worship, encircling the fire—symbol of God’s presence—each heart lifted in surrender and awe before the Lord.

Prayer:

Abba Father, we come before You as one people in need of mercy. Forgive us for building altars to men instead of laying ourselves down at Yours. We have divided where You have called us to unite, we have exalted our streams above Your river, and we have guarded our preferences more fiercely than Your Word.

But today we turn. Today we lay down our pride, our names, our camps. We cry out for the unity that only comes by Your Spirit. Make us one, O God, even as You and Yeshua are One. Let the walls crumble. Let the fire fall. Let the sound of true repentance rise from every corner of Your Church.

Walk among us again, King of Glory. Speak to every lampstand. Revive what is dying. Rebuke what is false. Restore what has been broken. We long for the day when every tongue will confess that Yeshua is Lord. Until then, let us live as one body—holy, pure, and waiting for the sound of the trumpet.

In the name of the Lamb who was slain and lives forever,

Amen.

O Shepherd of the scattered fold, gather now Your holy flame,
Call the tribes from every land, one Bride to bear Your name.
No more boasting, no more pride, no more thrones of man,
Let Your Word be lifted high across the broken span.
In the fire of Your presence, melt our hearts as one—
Until all the Church together cries, “Come, Lord Yeshua, come!”

See Also

Love is breaking through when the Father's in the room
Believers gathered in deep intercessory prayer, lifting silent groanings before God, surrounded by symbols of His covenant promises.

A Vision: When the Lord Comes to Tear Down the Walls

It was not in a cathedral. It was not on a stage. It was in a forgotten upper room in the back of a crumbling church—plaster peeling, carpet torn, a single lightbulb swaying overhead. The world outside mocked their weakness. Even other believers had stopped attending. But inside, seven saints knelt on the floor, faces to the dust, soaking the threadbare rug with their tears. No agenda. No performance. Just hunger. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied” (Matthew 5:6, NASB).

They whispered no eloquent prayers. They groaned. They wept. They called upon the Name above all names, and they would not rise until He came. “Yet even now,” declares the Lord, “Return to Me with all your heart, and with fasting, weeping, and mourning” (Joel 2:12, NASB). It was not loud, but it was deep—deeper than music, deeper than preaching, deeper than structure. It was desperation.

And then, suddenly, without warning or cue, He came.

Not the Christ of paintings or songs. Not the sanitized Savior we’ve hung on sanctuary walls. This was the King of kings, “clothed with a robe dipped in blood, and His name is called The Word of God” (Revelation 19:13, NASB). His eyes burned like fire. His voice thundered like many waters (Revelation 1:14–15). He did not knock. He tore the heavens open (Isaiah 64:1). The room shook violently—but not from earthquake—it was glory.

The walls groaned, trembled, then crumbled. Not just in that upper room, but across the land. Church buildings across cities felt it: pulpits split, stained glass shattered, pride cracked open. The Lord had come—not to decorate—but to overthrow. “See, I am doing something new… I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:19, NASB).

What poured in was not chaos, but holiness. Not confusion, but cleansing fire. His feet touched the floor where their tears had fallen, and it turned to gold like the streets of heaven (Revelation 21:21). Their sobs became songs. Their weariness became wings. “Those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles” (Isaiah 40:31, NASB).

As they looked up, their eyes were opened—and they saw Him walking not only in their midst but among the lampstands of the earth (Revelation 1:13). One lifted hand from the Lord, and across oceans and time zones, house churches caught flame. Sanctuaries became sanctified. Altars were rebuilt. Mega churches fell to their knees. Bishops repented. Teenagers prophesied. Denominational names dissolved in the fire. “The glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all flesh will see it together” (Isaiah 40:5, NASB).

One cry rose from every tongue and tribe: “Worthy is the Lamb!” (Revelation 5:12).

Angels rushed to and fro—reaping, healing, anointing (Hebrews 1:14). Dreams flooded hearts. The sick leapt from hospital beds (Luke 7:22). Families reconciled in living rooms. The fire touched Asia, Africa, Europe, the Americas, islands and prisons. One Spirit. One Body. One Lord. “Until we all attain to the unity of the faith… to a mature man, to the measure of the stature which belongs to the fullness of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13, NASB).

And He smiled—not because they were perfect—but because they were yielded. “To this one I will look, to him who is humble and contrite of spirit, and who trembles at My word”(Isaiah 66:2, NASB).

In the sky, the clouds pulsed with light. The earth itself seemed to bow. Creation groaned—but this time not in pain, but in expectation. “For the anxious longing of the creation waits eagerly for the revealing of the sons of God” (Romans 8:19, NASB). The final harvest had begun. Not a revival of man’s making, but a visitation of the Holy One. Not revival to extend our comforts, but revival to gather the Bride. “Behold, the Judge is standing right at the door” (James 5:9, NASB).

It began not with fanfare, but with tears. Not in crowds, but in a room.

And the sound of that weeping rose like incense (Revelation 5:8)…

Until He came—and everything changed.

Let every heart tremble. Let every church listen.

He is not coming to bless our divisions. He is coming to burn them down.

And when He does, may He find us low… seeking His face… ready.

Renewal

He Walks Among the Lampstands

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Christ in the Midst of His Church

Beloved,

The risen Christ is not distant. He is not watching from the clouds, disinterested in the state of His Church. The Lord is among His churches and walks among the lampstands. “Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking with me. And having turned, I saw seven golden lampstands; and in the middle of the lampstands I saw one like a son of man” (Revelation 1:12–13 NASB). Yeshua, glorified and enthroned, has not abandoned His people—He stands in the very center of His Church, examining hearts, calling us to return.

He sees beyond the surface. His eyes are like a flame of fire (Revelation 1:14), discerning the true condition of the Church—not what we present, but what we actually are. His voice is like the sound of many waters, full of power and authority. He holds the messengers of the churches in His hand and walks with holy purpose through the sanctuaries that bear His name. The Lord is among His churches. Every congregation matters to Him. Every lampstand must burn with holy oil, not human effort.

The Lord is among His churches right now.

He is not a memory or a theological concept. He is present. As He spoke to the seven churches of Asia, He speaks to us now—calling out compromise, commending faithfulness, and offering the reward of His presence. His walk among the lampstands is not a stroll; it is an inspection. The Lord is among His churches, and like a vinekeeper tending His vineyard, He examines each branch for fruit. “Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that does bear fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit” (John 15:2 NASB).

Church, this is our hour of visitation. Will we recognize Him? Will we open the door? “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me” (Revelation 3:20 NASB). This is not only personal; it is corporate. He knocks on the doors of entire congregations. And when He enters, everything changes—power returns, holiness is restored, love reignites, and the fear of the Lord comes back to the sanctuary.

Let us make room for the Lord who walks among us.

This is not a time for spiritual apathy. It is a time for repentance, reverence, and renewal. We must be like John, who “fell at His feet like a dead man” when he saw the Lord (Revelation 1:17 NASB). There must be awe again in the Church. There must be the fear of the Lord—not terror, but holy trembling before the One who holds the keys of death and Hades. He is not asking us to perform. He is asking us to return.

He called Ephesus back to her first love (Revelation 2:4). He warned Laodicea that her lukewarmness made Him sick (Revelation 3:16). He praised Smyrna’s endurance, Pergamum’s holding fast, and Philadelphia’s faithfulness. Every message begins with the same declaration: “I know your deeds.” The Lord who walks among the lampstands is not fooled. He knows what is real and what is not.

And yet, He is full of mercy.

He speaks that we might live. He disciplines that we might awaken. “Those whom I love, I rebuke and discipline; therefore, be zealous and repent” (Revelation 3:19 NASB). If we respond, He will come in glory. If we humble ourselves, He will dwell with us. If we prepare Him a resting place, He will pour out His Spirit once again.

Beloved, let us prepare our hearts and our churches.

The Lord is here. Let the lampstand be holy. The Lord is among His churches, and let the oil be fresh. Let the Bride be adorned. Let us burn again—not with strategy or entertainment, but with the fire of His presence. Let every elder, pastor, intercessor, and believer cry out: “Come, Lord Yeshua. Walk in the midst of Your people. Purify Your Church. Be pleased to dwell among us.”

Prayer:

Lord Yeshua, You are the One who walks among the lampstands. You see what no man sees. You know our true condition. We ask You to come—not just to observe, but to reign. Let Your presence purify our altars, renew our love, and restore our fear of the Lord. We repent for every form of compromise. Let the fire fall again. Let the light shine bright again. Let Your Church become the place where Your glory dwells. In Your holy and awesome name, amen.

⸻

See Also

Revival and Awakening, Visions

Maranatha: Come, Lord Yeshua, Come

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Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus, come. This is not just a prayer for the end; it is the deep longing of a Bride yearning for her Bridegroom. The phrase “Maranatha Come Lord Jesus Come” has been whispered in the catacombs, shouted through the fields of revival, and wept in hidden places of persecution and prayer. Every generation that has truly known Yeshua has joined in this ancient cry, echoing the words that close the book of Revelation: “Come, Lord Jesus” (Revelation 22:20 NASB).

And yet, He waits.

Why?

“The Lord does not delay [as though He were unable to act] and is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is [extraordinarily] patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9 AMP).

This is not slowness. It is divine mercy. He delays not from hesitation, but from love. Every moment the trumpet is withheld, another soul finds mercy. Every hour He waits, another broken heart returns home. We may cry “Maranatha Come Lord Jesus Come” with passion and urgency, but God cries out for the nations still to be saved.

The Gospel Must Reach Every People Group

Yeshua’s words in Matthew 24:14 remain clear: “This gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all the nations, and then the end will come”(NASB). This truth drives missionaries into dangerous places and fuels Bible translation efforts in the most remote corners of the earth. Some believe that once every unreached people group hears the Gospel, the Lord will return.

This theory holds weight. For the Lamb who was slain deserves worship from every tribe and tongue. The great commission is not optional—it is the heartbeat of the Church. Yet we must remember that many generations before us believed their time was the final hour. The apostles in Jerusalem, the reformers in Europe, the revivalists in America—they all cried “Maranatha Come Lord Jesus Come,” and they were right to do so. The time has always been urgent.

But only the Father knows the hour.

Only the Father Knows the Day and Hour

“But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father alone” (Matthew 24:36 NASB). Even now, the Son—worthy to open the seals—awaits the Father’s word. Heaven is ready. The saints cry out. Creation groans. But the skies will not split by human calculation or desperation. The time is not revealed to satisfy curiosity, but to awaken holy preparation.

This truth should sober us. It should also set us free from fruitless speculation. We are not called to predict—we are called to prepare. We do not wait in idleness, but in readiness. We do not guess—we burn. The cry “Maranatha Come Lord Jesus Come” is more than a prophecy; it is a posture of the heart.

A Vision of Global Revival

{Don Francisco Style from Vision of the Valley}

Some believe that before Yeshua returns, the earth will experience the greatest revival in history. Picture it: A Shepherd walks through valleys, calling His sheep by name. His presence heals the brokenhearted and restores the blind. Then, others like Him rise—not famous or noble, but filled with the same fire of love. They go out into the fields and mountains, gathering the wounded and bringing them home.

They lead the flock to green pastures and still waters. They stand guard against the darkness. They speak one common Word the sheep recognize—and they follow.

The news spreads from city to village, from street to street: Heaven has come down.Millions who had long been betrayed by false promises begin to trust again. The hearts of stone become hearts of flesh. A Bride once drowsy and distracted is now wide awake. And then the trumpet sounds. The Bride is ready.

Why the Delay Is Also the Preparation

Let us not miss the greater mystery: We are the reason for the delay. But we are also the means of the preparation. The same Church that cries out for His return is also the Church being sanctified and sent. The Bridegroom delays, not because He is absent, but because He is making us ready.

Beloved, if you truly say “Maranatha Come Lord Jesus Come,” then live like it. Let every word, every moment, every breath testify to His worthiness. Burn for Him. Preach the Gospel. Live holy. Forgive quickly. Love deeply. The Bridegroom is coming. But He waits for a pure and prepared Bride.

I heard a voice in twilight
Like thunder soft with grace,
It whispered through the harvest fields,
And shone on every face.

The Shepherd’s feet were moving,
The winds began to blow,
And every heart that waited
Could feel the trumpet’s glow.

Prayer

Abba, we lift up the cry of the ages: Maranatha Come Lord Yeshua Come. Thank You for Your mercy that has waited long enough to save us. Teach us to carry the weight of Your delay not with frustration but with faith. Let us be part of the final harvest. Let us speak the Gospel with boldness and love. Awaken Your Bride. Purify us. And when the last soul has come and the final cry has risen, speak the word—and come for us. We are ready. Amen.

The Worthy Lamb

The Scroll and the Silence Before the Storm

I saw it—

In the right hand of the One seated upon the throne, a scroll. Rolled tight. Written within and without. Sealed with seven unbroken seals. The silence in the throne room was not absence—it was weight. It was the hush of judgment poised to fall. The hush before the voice of God shakes the heavens once more.

And then a strong angel, shining like fire, cried out with a voice that shattered the stillness:

“Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?”

Not who is willing—who is worthy?

His voice did not stop at the walls of heaven. It pierced into the earth, beneath the earth, through the ages. The question resounded into every grave, every throne, every altar, every idol. Who has the authority to unlock the will of God? Who has conquered death, sin, and every nation’s pride?

And no one answered.

Not one in heaven—not Gabriel, not Moses, not David, not any righteous soul of old.

Not one on the earth—not priest, prophet, king, or martyr.

Not one beneath it—not Abraham, not Elijah, not even the cherub who guarded Eden’s gate.

And I wept.

John’s tears were mine. They were yours. They were the sobs of a world waiting for justice, aching for redemption. Because if the scroll remains sealed, then the kingdom remains delayed. The wicked go unpunished. The righteous go unheard. The promise remains unread. And the plan of God seems paused.

But then—a voice.

Not from the angel. Not from the throne. From one of the elders. He leaned close and whispered with thunder clothed in comfort:

“Do not weep. Look—Behold! The Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has overcome. He is able to open the scroll and break its seven seals.”

Hope surged.

I turned. But I did not see a lion—not yet. I saw a Lamb. Standing as if slain. Still bearing wounds that speak louder than thunder. The fire of glory did not erase the scars. No—He kept them. Because it was not brute force that won the right to break the seals. It was blood. It was surrender. It was the eternal sacrifice of Yeshua, the Lamb of God.

He stepped forward.

The scroll did not resist His hand. The Father did not hesitate. The heavens did not delay. The Lamb took the scroll—the very testament of God’s justice and mercy, sealed by the hand of El Shaddai—and when He did, heaven erupted.

Angels bowed. Elders fell. Creatures cried. A new song rang out from every realm:

“Worthy are You to take the scroll and to break its seals, for You were slain, and with Your blood You purchased people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.”

This is not mythology. This is not metaphor. This is the divine courtroom where the end of the age begins.

Yeshua is not waiting for permission—He is waiting for the appointed moment. The scroll is still in His hand. The seals are still unbroken. But heaven is not idle. The Bride is being prepared. The nations are being warned. And soon—very soon—the first seal will open, and the plan of the Most High will thunder forth.

Maranatha. Come, Lord Yeshua, come.

See Also

Encountering God, Visions

God’s Love Revealed on the Mount of Transfiguration

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Matthew 17:1–8 (AMP)

Beloved, if only we could hear the voice of the Father calling our name and singing love songs over us. The ache for identity, the hunger for belonging, the thirst to be known—all of it would be satisfied in one holy moment if our ears were tuned to heaven. And yet, that voice has spoken. It still speaks. On a high mountain bathed in light, God did not merely reveal glory—God told us He loves us.

The Transfiguration of Yeshua was not just a demonstration of divine power—it was the unveiling of divine affection. The Father’s voice did not thunder out commands or declarations of wrath. It sang. It affirmed. It invited. “This is My beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased and delighted! Listen to Him!” (Matthew 17:5 AMP). These words echo with the joy of a Father who delights in His Son—and in all who are found in Him.

Yeshua brings Peter, James, and John up the mountain. Suddenly, the veil between earth and heaven lifts. His face shines like the sun, His garments radiate with holy light, and Moses and Elijah appear—representing the Law and the Prophets, both now converging in the One who fulfills them all. But even more powerful than what they see is what they hear.

While Peter speaks—still trying to manage glory—the Father interrupts from a bright cloud. He does not instruct them to build, sacrifice, or prove themselves. He says, “This is My beloved Son… Listen to Him.” This is the Father telling us what matters most. Not systems. Not striving. His Son. His love. His voice.

This is God telling us He loves us—by showing us the Son and bidding us to listen. His words are not sterile affirmations; they are love songs sung across the heavens. Just as Zephaniah prophesied:

“The Lord your God is in your midst… He will rejoice over you with joy… He will be quiet in His love… He will rejoice over you with shouts of joy.” (Zephaniah 3:17 AMP)

Do you hear it? The Father rejoicing—singing—over His people. Not with rebuke. Not with shame. But with joy. Just as He delighted in Yeshua before the disciples’ eyes, He delights in all who are hidden in Him. When the Father calls Yeshua “beloved,” He is opening the door for you and me to be beloved, too.

When the disciples fall in fear, Yeshua comes and touches them. He says, “Get up, and do not be afraid.” (Matthew 17:7 AMP). This is what love does. It lifts. It comforts. It silences fear. The One who shines with divine glory also stoops low to touch trembling hearts. He is the voice of the Father’s love made flesh.

And then they look up—and see no one but Jesus alone. This is the destination of love: all other voices, all other fears, all other distractions fade away. Only Yeshua remains. Only love remains. Because in Him, the fullness of the Father’s heart has been revealed.

He told us this long ago:

“You are precious in My sight… and I love you.” (Isaiah 43:4 AMP)

And again:

“I have loved you with an everlasting love;
Therefore I have drawn you with lovingkindness.” (Jeremiah 31:3 AMP)

All of Scripture is God saying, “I love you.” But here, on the mountain, He says it by pointing to His Son—by inviting us to listen to Him, follow Him, and be found in Him.

And in case you still wonder if that voice could ever call your name, hear this:

“I am the good shepherd, and I know My own, and My own know Me… and I lay down My life for the sheep.” (John 10:14–15 NASB)

“My sheep listen to My voice… and they follow Me.” (John 10:27)

The voice that spoke from the cloud on that mountain is the same voice that now calls you by name. The same voice that sang over Yeshua now sings over you. Not because you are perfect. But because you are His.

Let the striving cease. Let the fear be silenced. Let every other name fade.

Only Jesus.
Only love.
Only the voice that calls you “Beloved.”

The heavens thundered, not with wrath but grace,
Your voice sang joy across time and space.
And in Your gaze, we found our name,
Beloved, known, forever the same.

⸻

Prayer:

Abba Father, let us hear Your voice again. Let every barrier, every lie, and every fear be silenced by the sound of Your delight. Thank You for revealing Your heart through Yeshua. Thank You for calling Him beloved—and through Him, calling us Your children. Sing over us until our hearts believe it. Let us rise, unafraid, with Jesus alone in view. And may our ears never stop listening for the song You are still singing. In Yeshua’s name, amen.

The King is coming, not in judgement for believers, but with love
When the Father sees you coming home, He doesn’t wait on the porch—He runs to embrace you. There is no place better. 🕊️

Vision:

A Vision: Called by Name and Held in Love

(in the style of Revelation)

Then I looked, and behold—a door standing open in the heavens. And the voice I had heard before, like the sound of many waters, called to me again, saying, “Come up here, beloved one, for I have longed for this hour.”

And immediately, I was in the Spirit—and I saw a vast throne, high and lifted up, and around it were storms of sapphire and emerald light. Lightning laced the sky like veins of glory, and thunder rolled like deep laughter through the foundations of the heavens.

Yet in the midst of all majesty, I saw a Lamb standing, radiant and slain, and He smiled at me. And then I heard the voice of the Ancient of Days, the Father of spirits, the One whose robe fills all eternity, saying: “Call him by name.”

And my name—yes, my name—was spoken aloud. Not with judgment, not in wrath, but in joy. It was like the song of a thousand rivers flowing into one—full, rushing, unmistakable. Every syllable dripped with affection. Every sound thundered with kindness. I felt it in my bones, as if my very soul had been waiting forever to be called just like that.

And then—O wonder of wonders—the King rose from His throne, and the cherubim fell silent. The song of the twenty-four elders paused. And He, the Father of Lights, opened His arms wide and said, “Come to Me, My child.”

With trembling knees, I drew near. But before I could fall before Him, He knelt down, and with hands as vast as galaxies yet gentle as morning mist, He lifted me. He gathered me to Himself, as a father lifts his little one after a long journey.

I was seated in His lap—yes, the lap of El Shaddai—and He held me close to His chest. His breath was like warm wind after rain, filled with the fragrance of myrrh and cedar and joy. I smelled the sweetness of heaven—honey and fire, incense and wildflowers from Eden’s garden.

And then He began to sing.

His voice wrapped around me like a weighted blanket of glory. The melody rose and fell like waves of peace. I felt each note in my skin, like sunlight on closed eyelids. His song had no beginning and no end—it was the music of forever, and it was for me.

He sang of when He formed me in the womb, how He traced every line of my face with delight. He sang of the days I wept and didn’t know He wept too. He sang of the battles I thought I lost and how His angels were guarding me the whole time. He sang of my future—full of purpose, full of presence, full of Him.

And I wept.

But He wiped every tear with His own hand, whispering, “I catch every one. I sing over every scar.”

As He sang, my eyelids grew heavy, not from sorrow, but from perfect rest. The kind of rest that only love can bring. The kind of sleep that Adam knew before the world was wounded. I rested my head against His chest and heard the rhythm of eternity—His heartbeat, steady and strong. I heard it call again: “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

The stars danced above me, and angels hushed their praises to listen.

And I, called by name, held in glory, fell asleep in the lap of God, cradled by the song of the Father.

Forever safe.
Forever home.
Forever loved.

⸻

See Also

Discipleship

The Cost and Crown of Discipleship

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What It Means to Take Up Your Cross Today

“If anyone wishes to follow Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.”(Matthew 16:24 AMP)

These words from Yeshua are not poetic suggestions. They are the heartbeat of Christian life—a daily call to surrender and a sacred summons to follow Him no matter the cost. In 2025, this ancient call is just as urgent. What does it look like to deny yourself and take up your cross in the modern world? What does it mean to truly follow Jesus in a culture built on self-promotion, comfort, and compromise?

Let us open our hearts to this holy invitation.

What It Means to Deny Yourself Today

To deny yourself is to reject the lie that your life is your own. It is to willingly lay aside your preferences, pride, and personal ambitions so you may fully follow Yeshua. In our modern context, this looks like:

  • Turning down financial gain when it requires moral compromise.
  • Choosing time with God over endless scrolling or entertainment.
  • Honoring biblical truth even when it isolates you socially.
  • Choosing humility in marriage and meekness in conflict.

Self-denial is not self-hatred—it is Christ-exaltation. You are choosing a better Lord over a lesser life.

What It Means to Take Up Your Cross Today

Taking up your cross is not a one-time act. It is a posture of heart, a willingness to endure suffering, rejection, or even death for the sake of following Yeshua. In 2025, the crosses we carry may look like:

  • Being mocked for standing on Scripture in a hostile workplace.
  • Choosing sexual purity in a world obsessed with indulgence.
  • Enduring family rejection because of your faith.
  • Staying obedient when it’s costly or painful.

The cross is not just a burden—it is a bridge to glory.

What It Means to Follow Jesus Today

To follow Jesus is to walk in His footsteps—trusting Him, loving others, and obeying His Word no matter the consequences. It means:

  • Imitating His compassion to the broken.
  • Speaking truth boldly, even when unpopular.
  • Seeking intimacy with God above all else.
  • Living like eternity is real—because it is.

Yeshua does not offer a safe path. He offers a holy one. But in following Him, we find life more abundant than anything this world offers.

Losing Your Life to Find It

Yeshua’s paradox still confronts every generation: “Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.” (Matthew 16:25 AMP)

This isn’t religious rhetoric—it’s the deep reality of discipleship. Saving your life means clinging to control, comfort, and compromise. Losing it means surrendering it fully to Yeshua. Only then do we truly find life with God—here and forever.

Examples today include:

  • Letting go of relationships that hinder your walk.
  • Choosing obedience when no one is watching.
  • Investing in God’s Kingdom instead of worldly treasures.

You were never made to carry the weight of your own life. You were made to give it back to the One who gave it to you.

What Is Your Soul Worth?

“What will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but forfeits his soul?” (Matthew 16:26 AMP)

Fame, fortune, and influence mean nothing if you lose your soul. This is the quiet tragedy of our age: people trading eternity for a few fleeting years of applause. But your soul is priceless. Do not sell it for anything.

In 2025, soul-selling may look like:

  • Abandoning convictions to climb the corporate ladder.
  • Compromising your values to keep peace.
  • Silencing your witness to be accepted.

Let us be the generation that guards our souls with fear and trembling—and joy.

The King is coming, not in judgement for believers, but with love
When the Father sees you coming home, He doesn’t wait on the porch—He runs to embrace you. There is no place better. 🕊️

The King Is Coming

“The Son of Man is going to come in the glory and majesty of His Father with His angels, and then He will repay each one in accordance with what he has done.” (Matthew 16:27 AMP)

Yeshua will return—not as a lamb, but as a reigning King. He will reward every hidden act of faithfulness and judge every work. This is not a threat, but a promise. Live like eternity is near. Because it is.

Every choice matters. Every moment counts.

Living in the Tension of the Kingdom

“Some standing here will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in His kingdom.” (Matthew 16:28 AMP)

That word came to pass through the Transfiguration, the resurrection, and Pentecost. But its full fulfillment is yet to come. We live in the “already, but not yet”—citizens of a Kingdom we cannot yet see, but already belong to.

So, we:

  • Pray like revival is near.
  • Preach like souls are at stake.
  • Live like our King reigns now.

Final Reflection

The cross still calls. The crown still awaits. Yeshua’s words have not changed—only the culture around us. In a world screaming “preserve yourself,” Jesus whispers, “Lose yourself… for My sake.”

And in losing our lives, we find the life that never ends.

Closing Prayer

Abba, we come with open hands and surrendered hearts. We no longer want to preserve our lives—we want to pour them out for Your glory. Teach us to deny ourselves daily, take up our cross with joy, and follow Your Son with fire in our hearts. May we live with eternity in view and obedience in every step. Let us treasure the soul more than success, the cross more than comfort, and the Kingdom more than the world. In the name of Yeshua, our King and Savior, Amen.

See Also

Faith & Sacrifice, Visions

A Pain Felt in Heaven

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When Jesus cried out, “It is finished,” He did not speak as a defeated man, but as the victorious Son of God. With that cry, the heavens shook and the earth trembled. The curtain in the temple was torn from top to bottom. The work of redemption was complete. But have you ever considered what it meant—not just for Jesus—but for the heart of the Father?

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life” (John 3:16, NASB). We quote this verse often, and rightly so. But we must pause and feel the weight of what it says: God gave His Son. He didn’t loan Him. He didn’t shield Him from suffering. He gave Him, fully, painfully, and completely.

This was no ordinary giving. This was the giving of the most precious, most holy, most beloved relationship in all eternity. The Father gave the Son, and the Spirit empowered the Son, that we might live. There was no division within the Trinity, no conflict of will. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit were in perfect unity—a divine agreement made before the foundation of the world (1 Peter 1:19–20). Yet still, when Jesus hung upon that cross, the pain pierced more than flesh—it pierced the very heart of heaven.

Let’s not imagine the cross as a scene where Jesus suffers alone while the Father remains unmoved. That’s not the God of Scripture. God is love (1 John 4:8). And love suffers. “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all…” (Romans 8:32, NASB). What kind of love is this, that the Father would give what was most dear to Him, knowing full well the price?

When Yeshua bore the full weight of our sin, something unfathomable occurred. “God made Him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians 5:21, NASB). That transaction required justice. And for a moment—just a moment—the Father turned His face away. Not in abandonment, but in holiness. Not in rejection, but in judgment. And in that moment, the cry of Jesus pierced the heavens: “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46, NASB).

It’s not wrong to say that heaven felt that pain. God is not indifferent. He is not a cold judge. He is our Abba Father—tender, merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love (Psalm 103:8). When the spear was thrust into the side of the Son, the Father knew. When the thorns pierced His brow, the Father wept. This wasn’t just a human tragedy; it was a divine agony.

But it was also a divine triumph.

“It is finished” (John 19:30). That declaration meant more than the end of pain—it meant the beginning of grace. The wrath of God was satisfied. The debt of sin was paid in full. The way back to the Father was opened. Heaven did not just feel the pain—it rejoiced in the victory. And all of it—every step—was born out of love.

So now, beloved reader, you must ask yourself: What will you do with this love?

You were bought with a price (1 Corinthians 6:20). Not with silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish (1 Peter 1:18–19). You are not your own. If the Father gave His Son for you, how can you live casually toward Him? If the Spirit groans for you, interceding with groanings too deep for words (Romans 8:26), how can you neglect so great a salvation?

You must not stand aloof from the cross. You must come near. Let it break your heart. Let it cleanse your sin. Let it reorient your entire life. Heaven felt the pain that redeemed you.Will you now live as though it costs you nothing?

Paul writes, “I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20, NASB). That’s the response of a heart that has seen the cross. Not religion. Not routine. Not a Sunday-only faith. But a life crucified, a life surrendered, a life aflame with gratitude.

Friend, if you have become numb to the cross, ask God to awaken your heart. Pray that you never grow comfortable with His sacrifice. Ask Him to show you what it meant—for the Son to suffer, for the Spirit to empower Him, for the Father to give Him up. That kind of love is not safe. It demands everything.

And yet, it gives everything.

Because of that pain felt in heaven, you now have peace. Because of the sorrow of the cross, you now have joy. Because of the silence of Saturday, you now have resurrection Sunday.

Do not waste this gift.

Come again to the foot of the cross. Let it wreck your pride. Let it shatter your excuses. And then rise, filled with the Holy Spirit, and live like someone who knows that God Himself bled for your freedom.

A Prayer for Today:

Father, thank You for the love that gave Your Son. Yeshua, thank You for the obedience that led You to the cross. Holy Spirit, thank You for staying with me and showing me the depth of this love. Awaken my heart again. Let me never treat lightly the agony of Calvary. Help me to live sacrificially, joyfully, and boldly in response to Your grace. Let my life reflect the weight of what was done for me. In Yeshua’s holy name, Amen.

Vision

Elderly man with long white hair and beard stands solemnly in a sunlit stone room, with a cross-shaped window glowing behind him.
In the stillness of heaven, the Father grieved. Light poured through eternity’s window, but His heart bore the weight of the cross.

In heaven, the atmosphere was weighty—thick with holy sorrow and glory. The golden streets, so often resounding with songs of praise, fell into a stillness that echoed through eternity. The scent of incense, always rising before the throne, was now mingled with something deeper—an aroma of sacrifice, like the offering of Isaac remembered and fulfilled. The air carried the tension of divine justice and eternal love colliding in one sacred moment.

The Father stood robed in radiant light, yet His expression bore the agony of a grieving King. His eyes—all-seeing—beheld His Son stretched on wood, blood mingling with dirt, and heard every cry, every mocking voice, every gasping breath. From His throne, He could feel the vibrations of the Roman hammer striking nails—each blow shaking the pillars of creation. The sounds of the earth—groaning, thundering, cracking—were not missed in heaven. The cry “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” pierced even the silence of eternity.

Around Him, the angelic host did not sing—they wept. Seraphim who had never ceased to cry “Holy” now covered their faces. The light of heaven shimmered with reverence and pain, like a storm forming just beneath the surface of peace. Thunder rumbled in the spirit realm. Flashes of glory stirred, restrained only by the will of the Father. All power stood clothed in stillness. The Son, robed in humility, did not summon the hosts of heaven though they waited—ten thousand times ten thousand, swords drawn in perfect obedience. The earth shook not from their advance, but from the trembling surrender of Love. Yeshua held back the storm, not for lack of strength, but for the joy set before Him.

All might, all angelic legions stood ready—yet none moved. Not a seraph’s wing stirred, not a cherub dared breathe without His command. He could have called them. But He chose the cross. Not because He was overpowered, but because He came to overpower death with mercy. This was the Lamb’s hour. This was the Father’s plan.

And still, the Father breathed in the moment, tasting the bitterness of wrath He would not withhold. His hands, sovereign and eternal, did not tremble—but His heart did feel. He knew the end from the beginning, but this was the cost. He felt the tear in the Son’s flesh as if it were His own. And He did not stop it. For love. For you.

Even in that pain, a fragrance began to rise—stronger than incense, sweeter than myrrh. The fragrance of redemption.It was the smell of blood that would wash nations, of obedience that would open graves, of a sacrifice that would welcome prodigals home. The throne shook not in fury, but in fulfillment. And somewhere, just beyond the veil, resurrection waited.

See Also

Love

Hearts on Fire: The Spirit and the Word

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“Were not our hearts burning within us while He was speaking to us on the road, while He was explaining the Scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32, NASB)

The two disciples on the road to Emmaus had just encountered the risen Yeshua. They didn’t recognize Him at first, but as He walked with them and opened the Scriptures, something deeper stirred—their hearts burned. Not from manipulated sentiment or hyped theatrics, but from divine revelation breaking through veils of sorrow and confusion. This burning was not a fleeting feeling; it was the ignition of truth meeting the Spirit within.

Beloved, this is how God works. God does not play with our emotions. He doesn’t stage artificial atmospheres to provoke momentary sentiment. He is not in the business of entertaining souls, but of transforming them. His Spirit and His Word always work in unity, and when they touch a willing heart, the result is conviction, awakening, and worship.

There is a troubling trend in our generation: many are drawn to religious environments where emotionalism replaces anointed preaching, and psychological techniques masquerade as spiritual encounters. But let us be discerning. Emotions are not evidence of truth—they are merely responses. When the Spirit of God moves, emotions may rise, but they are the byproduct, not the proof. The Psalmist cried, “The entrance of Your words gives light” (Psalm 119:130, AMP). Light does not need to stir a tear to prove it has entered—it simply reveals.

The apostle Paul warned of a time when people would “accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance with their own desires” (2 Timothy 4:3, NASB). In such times, truth is replaced with experience, and conviction is replaced with sensation. But true revival never begins with a tear—it begins with truth and repentance. “Sanctify them in the truth; Your word is truth” (John 17:17, NASB). Where the Word is rightly preached and the Spirit is welcomed, there will always be transformation.

To be clear, God is not against our emotions. He created them. But they are not the foundation of our faith—they are its fragrance. When Peter heard the voice of the Father declare Yeshua’s Sonship on the Mount of Transfiguration, he later wrote, “We have the prophetic word made more sure” (2 Peter 1:19, NASB). Peter valued the Word above the experience. This is the true order of the Kingdom: the Word gives the foundation, the Spirit brings life, and emotion flows as a holy response.

We must ask ourselves: What burns within us? Is it truth igniting holy passion? Or is it the flicker of manipulated feeling soon to die out when the music fades? The early Church burned with a fire not fed by smoke machines or stirring choruses, but by the Word made flesh, crucified, risen, and soon returning. Their message pierced hearts, not by volume or rhythm, but by Spirit and truth. “For the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12, NASB).

There is a deep need in the Body today to return to that Emmaus road—to walk with Yeshua again, to listen as He opens the Scriptures, to allow the fire of truth to burn away the dross of shallow religion. The Church does not need another show; it needs another awakening. It is time to build altars, not stages. It is time to host His presence, not emotions.

“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32, NASB). But only if we receive it. Only if we linger long enough to let the Spirit breathe on it. Only if we resist the temptation to replace depth with entertainment. Beloved, God wants your heart, not just your tears. He desires truth in the inward parts (Psalm 51:6), and He sends His Spirit to seal it within us.

So today, let us pray not for a passing feeling, but for a fire that remains. Let us seek not to be stirred but to be changed. Let our hearts burn again—not because a preacher moved us, but because God spoke.

⸻

Let your Word Burn again
The Power of the Word

A Prayer for the Burning Heart

Father, we come not to be entertained but to be transformed. Let Your Word burn within us again. Let Your Spirit open our eyes to truth, convict our hearts, and renew our minds. Strip away every counterfeit emotion, every religious pretense, and every shallow substitute for Your presence. Ignite a holy fire in us—not for performance, but for purity. We want to walk with You, listen to You, and burn with love for You. Give us a heart that trembles at Your Word and rejoices in Your truth. Let our worship rise not from manipulated tears, but from a heart set ablaze by revelation. In the name of Yeshua, amen.

⸻

See Also

Truth

Love Truth, Not Applause

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Beloved, I say this with love in my heart and concern for your soul: not every word that comforts is from God, and not every truth that stings is from the enemy. Sometimes, the voice that unsettles us the most is the one we need to hear. In a world obsessed with applause, God still calls His children to love truth not applause.

Truth has never been popular. From the days of the prophets to the ministry of Yeshua, those who spoke God’s Word plainly were rarely applauded. They were rejected, misunderstood, even hated—not because they lacked love, but because they would not compromise. We must remember: truth is not the enemy of love—it is the foundation of it.

Paul’s warning to Timothy was not a prediction for a distant generation; it is our reality: “For the time will come when people will not tolerate sound doctrine, but wanting to have their ears tickled, they will accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance with their own desires” (2 Timothy 4:3, NASB). Many today gather in crowds to hear what pleases them, but few sit at the feet of Jesus to hear what purifies them.

As a shepherd who longs to see you grow in grace and walk in fullness, I plead with you—do not despise the voice that confronts your sin. Do not run from the correction of the Lord. Every pruning, every rebuke, every uncomfortable truth is an act of holy love. Our Father disciplines those He receives as sons (Hebrews 12:6, NASB). To be corrected is not to be cast out—it is to be drawn in.

If a doctor saw cancer in your body but withheld the diagnosis to spare your feelings, would you call that love? No. It would be cruelty disguised as kindness. And yet this is what many pulpits offer—harmless words while sin quietly devours the soul. Beloved, the Word of God is not sentimental—it is surgical. It cuts in order to heal, wounds in order to restore.

“For the word of God is living and active and full of power… piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit… exposing and judging the very thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Hebrews 4:12, AMP). When you read His Word and feel conviction, do not harden your heart. Fall to your knees. Let the Great Physician do His work.

There is a tenderness in truth that only those who love God can recognize. Yeshua never spoke to impress; He spoke to save. When He looked at the rich young ruler and said, “Sell everything you own,” it was not a cruel demand—it was an invitation into freedom. But the young man walked away, clinging to comfort instead of clinging to Christ (Matthew 19:16–22). What will you choose?

As your brother in the Lord, I urge you: let go of the need to be liked. Release the addiction to approval. Seek the face of God, not the applause of men. The path of obedience may be lonely at times, but it is paved with peace, joy, and the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit. The crowd may never understand, but your Shepherd will never leave your side.

Know the Living God
Moses spoke to God face to face

When Jeremiah tried to hold back the Word of the Lord, he could not. “His word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones… I cannot hold it in” (Jeremiah 20:9, NASB). That is what happens when we love truth more than comfort. We burn with it. We ache to speak it. And we find that in the end, truth does not isolate—it liberates.

So, dear one, ask God for a heart that welcomes His truth. Surround yourself with voices who speak it, even when it cuts. Open His Word not only for promises, but for correction. For “the wounds of a friend are faithful” (Proverbs 27:6, NASB), and there is no greater Friend than the One who laid down His life to rescue you from lies.

Let my lips not speak the flattery of fools,
Nor my heart chase the praise of the proud.
Teach me to rejoice in rebuke, O God,
And tremble before the words of Your mouth.
For Your truth alone is my safety and light.

Prayer

Abba Father, we come as children who often resist what is good for us. Break the power of people-pleasing in our hearts. Deliver us from soft lies and lead us into the light of Your Word. Teach us to love truth even when it is hard, and to trust Your voice above every other. Speak to us clearly, lovingly, and directly—and give us the courage to obey without delay. Let Your truth dwell richly within us, transforming us day by day. In the name of Yeshua, the Faithful and True One, amen.

⸻

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