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.
Silence

The Silence Before Joy

Weeping may endure for a night, but a shout of joy comes in the morning.
— Psalm 30:5b (NASB)

Joy comes in the morning. This is not a poetic phrase for difficult days—it is a declaration carved into the heart of every believer. This Saturday, the world waits in silence. The cross has done its work, and the tomb is sealed. The disciples are scattered, their dreams crushed beneath the weight of grief. But heaven is not anxious. God is not finished. And even in the shadows of uncertainty, He is still working.

This is the holy hush before the victory shout.

The Saturday before Easter is a mystery. Scripture is nearly silent about it, just as the tomb was silent. But the silence does not mean nothing was happening. On the contrary, behind that heavy stone, life was preparing to break forth. Yeshua, having cried out “It is finished,” had descended to the lower parts of the earth, proclaiming His triumph. “When He had disarmed the rulers and authorities, He made a public display of them, having triumphed over them through Him” (Colossians 2:15, NASB). In this silence, we know joy comes in the morning.

Let this be your confidence today: what looks like the end is often just a hidden beginning. What appears buried is not lost—it is planted. Yeshua told us, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24, NASB). The Son of God was not defeated. He was planted in faith. And with Him, every promise of God was placed in the ground to rise again in power.

We, like the first disciples, often live through Saturdays—those in-between spaces where hope feels fragile, and answers are hidden. But the Spirit speaks still: joy comes in the morning. The Word of God is living and active. It does not end in a sealed tomb. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me” (Psalm 23:4, NASB). God is present in the waiting. He is forming resurrection where we see ruin.

And just as Yeshua rose on the third day, so shall He raise up every weary heart who clings to Him in faith. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18, NASB). Do not let your soul be discouraged today. Press into the promise. Our Redeemer lives. “Let us hold firmly to the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful” (Hebrews 10:23, NASB).

This day may be quiet, but it is not hopeless. Joy comes in the morning. Not the fleeting happiness of men, but the eternal joy of God’s resurrection power. A joy that no man can steal, no tomb can trap, no devil can stop.

So, beloved of God, wait with purpose. Hold fast to hope. Your King is not in the grave—He is about to rise.

⸻

Though night may cloak the promised light,
And grief may steal the song from sight,
Still will I trust the break of day,
For joy shall rise and chase dismay.

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Prayer:

Abba Father, we stand in the stillness of this holy day with hearts that choose hope. Though we do not yet see the dawn, we believe Your Word. You are the God who raises the dead, who speaks life into what was lifeless, and joy into what was broken. As we wait between Friday and Sunday, fix our eyes on Yeshua, the Author and Perfecter of our faith. Let resurrection hope rise in us even now. Teach us to trust in Your silence and believe in Your goodness. Let every buried dream come alive again, for joy comes in the morning. In Yeshua’s mighty name, Amen.

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See Also

Devotion to God, Faith

Before the Rooster Crows

A Devotion for Good Friday Morning

To all the beloved of God, called to be saints, grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Yeshua the Messiah. I write not to stir emotion, but to awaken your spirit. This day—this sacred Friday—is not to be passed over lightly. For today we remember the sufferings of our Lord, not as mere observers, but as those who have been crucified with Him. Let every breath of this day be holy, and every moment a meditation on His love.

Before the rooster crowed, He was already despised.

The night had swallowed the Son of Man, but He did not resist. Betrayed by a kiss, arrested like a criminal, and abandoned by those He called friends, Yeshua was led away to stand before corrupt men. False witnesses surrounded Him like jackals. He was struck in the face, spat upon, and mocked. Yet the Word says, “He did not revile in return” (1 Peter 2:23, NASB). He endured it with divine restraint—for our sake.

And Peter—our brother in weakness—denied Him. Three times, and the rooster crowed. But Yeshua’s eyes found him through the dark. Even in betrayal, there was compassion.

By morning, He was judged by men, but already condemned by sin.

The council convened at dawn. Their hearts were hardened. “Are You the Son of God?” they demanded. “You say that I am,” He replied (Luke 22:70, NASB). For this they sent Him to Pilate, though the governor found no fault in Him. Pilate, desiring to escape the weight of truth, passed Him to Herod, who clothed Him in scorn and returned Him.

Barabbas was chosen. The guilty set free, the Innocent condemned. Yet we know this mystery: it pleased the Father to crush Him (Isaiah 53:10, NASB), for in His wounds we are made whole.

By the third hour (9:00 AM), He was lifted up between two criminals.

They scourged Him until His flesh hung like ribbons. They crowned Him with thorns, clothed Him in mockery, and bowed in cruel jest. And then they led Him out to Golgotha, the Place of the Skull. Simon of Cyrene was pressed into service, but the weight of the cross was always His.

At the hill, they drove the nails. O saints, do not become numb to this: the hands that healed the sick were pierced. The feet that walked upon water were fastened with iron to wood. He was numbered with the transgressors—one on His right, one on His left.

And what did He cry out? “Father, forgive them…” (Luke 23:34, NASB). While bleeding, He interceded. While mocked, He offered mercy. He bore not only pain, but the full curse of sin.

From the sixth hour to the ninth (12:00–3:00 PM), darkness covered the land.

It was as if creation itself could no longer behold the agony of its Creator. The sun hid its face, and the earth trembled under the weight of divine judgment. For three hours, He hung—suffocating, bleeding, rejected.

And at the ninth hour, He cried aloud, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Mark 15:34, NASB). This was no cry of doubt, but the fulfillment of Psalm 22. The sin of the world was upon Him, and the Father, in holy justice, turned His face away.

He who knew no sin became sin, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him (2 Corinthians 5:21, NASB).

And then, He gave up His spirit.

He was not murdered; He surrendered. With one final cry—“It is finished!”—He bowed His head and breathed His last (John 19:30). The veil in the temple tore from top to bottom. Heaven declared: the way to God has been opened.

The earth quaked. Tombs broke open. Even the centurion confessed, “Truly this was the Son of God” (Matthew 27:54, NASB).

And you, O beloved—will you not confess the same?

This is your devotion for Good Friday morning.

Not merely to feel sorrow, but to share in His death. “I have been crucified with Christ,” Paul declares, “and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20, NASB). This day demands more than remembrance—it calls for surrender.

Today, let your heart be pierced anew. Let the world lose its grip on you. Let every convenience and comfort fall away before the cross. For He did not spare Himself. And now, He calls you to take up your cross and follow.

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The sky grew still, the sun withdrew,
The earth in silence mourned;
The Lamb of God, so pure, so true,
By cruel nails was torn.
Yet in that death, a mercy flowed—
A crimson, cleansing stream;
His final breath the veil unsewed,
And woke me from my dream.

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Prayer

Lord Yeshua, I behold You this morning—not from a distance, but from the foot of the cross.

You died for me while I was still a sinner. You held nothing back.

Let me hold nothing back in return.

Teach me to die to myself, that I may live unto You.

Let the weight of Your sacrifice never grow light in my memory.

And let this day be holy to me, as it is holy to You.

You are worthy, O Lamb of God—worthy of my love, my life, and my all.

Amen.

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See Also

Renewal

The Vow Remembered

Returning to the God Who Called You

Beloved, stop for a moment and breathe. Not the shallow breath of busyness or burden, but a deep soul-breath that whispers, “God is near.” This day—this Holy Thursday—is more than remembrance. It is a summons. A sacred trumpet blast echoing from the Upper Room through the centuries, calling you to renew your vow to God.

Do you remember the moment you first said yes to Him? It was the start of renewing your vow to God.

The moment you felt His love break through your shame, when you wept, when your knees buckled beneath the weight of mercy, when you swore—“Wherever You lead, I will go”? That vow was not just emotion. It was covenant. Heaven recorded it. Angels rejoiced. God smiled.

But what has become of it?

Perhaps you still go to church. Perhaps your Bible still lies open in the morning light. But has your heart grown cold beneath the surface? Has routine dulled the flame? Has the voice of the world crept into your spirit, quieting the voice of the Lord?

This day is not for condemnation, but for consecration. Return to your first love. The table is still set. The towel is still in His hands. And His eyes still burn with the same fire that called Peter from the nets and Mary from the crowd. He is calling you—yes, you—to renew your vow to God.

The apostle Paul did not run half a race. He did not make half a vow. He said, “I die daily” (1 Corinthians 15:31, NASB). Why? Because the path of following Yeshua requires daily surrender, daily submission, and daily intimacy. Paul also declared, “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20, NASB). Have you made peace with the crucified life? Perhaps it is time to renew your vow to God.

You see, the vow you made wasn’t just to believe. It was to belong. To belong wholly to Him. To hold nothing back. To follow Him into gardens of sorrow and mountains of transfiguration, to feast and to fast, to rejoice and to suffer, all for the joy set before you—Him.

So today, renew it. Not with shallow words or emotional fluff, but with trembling awe. Say it again:

“I am Yours. All I have is Yours. All I hope to be is Yours.” Take this chance to renew your vow to God.

Let your soul say, “I will follow even if no one else does. I will walk with You even when I do not understand. I will obey even when it hurts.” These are the vows of a disciple. These are the vows of the Bride.

Beloved, this night we remember how Yeshua took bread and broke it. He lifted the cup and said, “This is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for forgiveness of sins” (Matthew 26:28, NASB). And in doing so, He invited us not to comfort, but to covenant. Not to casual belief, but to costly love. With this, He calls us to renew our vows to God.

Will you make that vow again?

Will you weep where you once wept? Will you serve where you once served? Will you repent where you once repented? Will you renew your vow to God?

Let the altar of your heart be rebuilt. Let the fire of first love be reignited. Let your knees find the floor once again. He is worthy. He who washed feet still washes hearts. He who poured out blood still pours out grace. He who died for you still lives to walk with you.

This Holy Thursday is your moment to step back into the flame. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.

Prayer

O Lord my God, I return to You with my whole heart. I renew the vow I once made and confess that I have strayed in ways I did not even see. Forgive my apathy. Forgive my pride. Forgive my self-reliance. I give You my allegiance again—not with mere words, but with my life. Help me to run this race with perseverance. Help me to die daily that You might live through me. Wash me again, renew me again, and anoint me to walk in Your will. I vow this day to follow You, no matter the cost, for You alone are worthy. In the name of Yeshua, my Savior and King. Amen.

See Also

Worship

A Fragrance of Worship

O beloved,

I write to you not with ink alone, but with the weight of the Spirit pressing upon my heart. On this holy Wednesday—this silent eve before the uproar—let us consider a mystery too profound for the natural mind and too precious for the casual glance. Let us look again into that dimly lit room where oil lamps flickered, shadows whispered, and the eternal collided with the earthly through a woman’s hands and a broken jar.

Then came the hush.

I was taken there in the spirit, to a house not large but holy. A woman entered—her face lined with sorrow, yet shining with a light not hers. She bore an alabaster jar, sealed with the cost of years. And when she broke it—O saints!—Heaven leaned in. This was not extravagance; it was revelation. This was not waste; it was worship.

A fragrance of worship filled the house, and angels wept. For the aroma rising was not just perfume, but prophecy. It spoke of death and resurrection, of preparation and promise. The oil did not anoint a man merely for burial—it anointed a King for glory. I saw in the spirit: thorns dissolving into gold, blood into righteousness, sorrow into joy. That room became a throne room, and Yeshua—our Messiah—was crowned in the eyes of Heaven before He ever ascended the Hill. Truly, it was a fragrance of worship.

Beloved, do you see it? The world calls it foolishness, but the Spirit calls it power. That which she poured out in a moment was seen and remembered by the Eternal. Her worship was a holy defiance against despair. Where the enemy plotted destruction, she declared destiny.

Yet, not all who watched saw the glory.

Behind the fragrance lurked a foul spirit. A man named Judas—once counted among the disciples—stood cloaked in silence, his heart coiled by the serpent. I saw the whisper in his ear, the scales of offense hardening around his soul. His mind reasoned where worship surrendered. His hands reached for silver when they could have grasped grace. Thirty pieces of silver—the price of betrayal—fell to the earth like a curse, echoing through the courts of Heaven.

But Yeshua—O bless His Name—lifted His eyes. And though He knew what Judas would do, His eyes were pools of mercy. He saw the betrayal and still chose the cross. He felt the sting of coming abandonment and still gave His body. He beheld the serpent and still crushed its head.

And still, He loved.

So I charge you, brethren and sisters, to let your worship not be contingent on comfort. Pour your heart before the Lord, not with calculation but with consecration. Break your jar before Him. Let the fragrance of your sacrifice rise into the heavens until angels take notice. Let your love speak louder than logic and your surrender ring louder than silver. After all, it is a fragrance of worship that truly honors Him.

We do not worship Him because it is safe.

We worship because He is worthy.

And you—yes, you—are invited into the same offering. The world may scoff, and Judas may still linger in the corner, but the fragrance of true worship will never be wasted. It will fill the room. It will shake the heavens. It will prepare the way for the Lamb. And every act of worship we offer creates a new fragrance of worship that pleases the Lord.

Now unto Him who sees every tear and every jar broken in His name,

To Yeshua, the King of Mercy,

Be all the glory, honor, and power—forever and ever. Amen.

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Prayer

Abba Father,

Strengthen us in the inner man to pour out our hearts as fragrant offerings before You. May we not hold back out of fear or offense. Let our lives be a holy preparation for Your return. Burn away every Judas-spirit of calculation within us and replace it with the fire of first love. Help us to see Your eyes of mercy, even when the betrayal surrounds us. Crown us with worship. Flood us with Your presence. Let us break our alabaster before You, knowing it is never wasted. In Yeshua’s mighty name, amen.

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I broke my jar before the King,
While angels watched and hearts took wing.
Though serpents hissed and silver fell,
Your mercy rose, Emmanuel.

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Seel Also

Hypocrisy

Stand Before the King 

Tuesday’s Final Call

Beloved, imagine walking beside Yeshua on that Tuesday of Holy Week. The air in Jerusalem crackles with tension. The Temple gleams in the sun, but beneath its grandeur lies corruption. As He enters, the eyes of the Pharisees follow Him—sharp, suspicious, and seething. Yet He walks forward with resolve. The Lion of Judah does not shrink. He speaks—not to flatter—but to awaken, to expose, and to call to repentance. On this day, Jesus confronts hypocrisy openly.

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites…” (Matthew 23:13, NASB). His voice echoes through the Temple courts. These were not curses, but cries of heartbreak. Yeshua, the Holy One, saw past robes and rituals into hollow hearts. He saw men who spoke of righteousness but did not know God. And now He speaks to you, to me—not to shame us, but to set us free.

Jesus confronts hypocrisy, and He begins with His own people.

He exposes when we pray long prayers in public but neglect secret communion with the Father. He rebukes when we tithe the smallest herbs but withhold forgiveness. He weeps when we speak of revival but refuse repentance. He is not looking for fans—He is looking for followers who will love Him in truth. Even today, Jesus continues to confront hypocrisy, calling us to deeper authenticity.

“You clean the outside of the cup, but inside you are full of robbery and self-indulgence” (Matthew 23:25, NASB). Yeshua’s words are fire—not to destroy, but to refine. Have you allowed Him to confront the unseen? Are there corners of your heart you’ve kept hidden? This is not the hour for shallow living. This is the hour to burn with holiness.

After silencing every trap and exposing every facade, Yeshua turned His face to the Mount of Olives. There, He revealed the end of the age. He told His disciples of wars, famines, and false prophets. But more than signs, He gave warnings: “Be on the alert then, for you do not know the day nor the hour” (Matthew 25:13, NASB). Then He told of ten virgins—five wise, five foolish. Of servants entrusted with talents. Of sheep and goats divided by how they lived.

These stories are not for the archives. They are for today.

He is still calling. Still warning. Still pleading: “Be ready. Be faithful. Be real.” You cannot borrow oil at midnight. You cannot fake fruit at the throne. And you cannot serve two masters and still say you know Him.

Beloved, today is your Tuesday in the Temple. Let the King walk through your soul. Let Him turn over every table of pride, every counterfeit praise, every dead work. Let Him cleanse the court of your heart. This is not judgment—it is mercy in motion.

Jesus confronts hypocrisy, not to condemn you, but to claim you as His own.

You were not saved to look holy. You were saved to be holy—set apart, Spirit-filled, and flame-lit. You were made to live with a clear conscience, a tender heart, and eyes locked on eternity.

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O King who sees through all my ways,
Burn off the chaff with holy blaze.
Let no pretense in me remain—
Just love that dances in the flame.

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Prayer

Father, I open the gates of my heart to You. Search me. Know me. Strip away every layer of pretense. I repent for seeking appearances over intimacy, for speaking truth with my lips while my heart drifted far. Cleanse me, Yeshua, as You cleansed the Temple. Let my life become a house of prayer, a vessel of Your Spirit, a flame burning in the dark. I yield every corner to You—make me real. Make me ready. Let me be counted among the faithful when You return. In Yeshua’s holy name, amen.

See Also

Understand the Times

Call to the Beloved

A Cry from the Sons of Issachar

Beloved, hear the voice crying out across the winds of this age, for the sons of Issachar still speak. Their bones rest, but their wisdom lives. If they walked among us now—those anointed to understand the times and know what Israel ought to do—they would not whisper comforts or opinions, but proclaim the heartbeat of El Elyon. Their voice would shake pulpits and awaken sleepers. This is not the time for compromise, but for consecration.

Beloved, awaken! You are being lulled to sleep by convenience.

Comfort has become your comforter; preference has replaced presence. The fear of God has grown rare in the sanctuary. The gatherings of the saints have been treated as optional, as though the Lord Himself had not said, “Do not forsake assembling together” (Hebrews 10:25). But the call of Issachar thunders: “Return to the fear of the Lord!” Let the shofar sound once more. Let fasting be restored. Let solemn assemblies rise again to understand the times we are in.

“Blow the shofar in Zion! Consecrate a fast, proclaim a solemn assembly.” — Joel 2:15 (AMP)

Beloved, discern the shaking. God is speaking.

The turmoil you see is not random. This shaking is divine. Earth and heaven tremble at His voice. Systems are failing. Foundations are exposed. Will you continue building upon sand? Or will you lay hold of the Cornerstone, Yeshua? Do not return to Egypt. Do not trust in chariots. Understand these tumultuous times.

“Once more I will shake not only the earth, but also the heaven.” — Hebrews 12:26–27 (NASB)

Beloved, rise—not with influence, but with holiness.

This is not the hour for branding, but for brokenness. Purity must return to the Bride. The sons of Issachar would weep at a Church content with giftedness but bankrupt of obedience. They would cry aloud: Let prayer altars burn again! Let Scripture reign supreme! Let shepherds feed the sheep and stop entertaining goats! They would urge us to understand these trials.

“Judgment begins with the house of God.” — 1 Peter 4:17 (NASB)

Beloved, this is a divine window—do not waste it.

Now is the time to walk in the Spirit. Now is the time to contend for awakening. Now is the time to sow the seeds of weeping that will reap eternal joy. This season will not last. The Beloved must move while the doors remain open. Understanding the urgency of the times is vital.

“Seek the Lord while He may be found; Call on Him while He is near.” — Isaiah 55:6 (NASB)

Beloved, stop looking for Pharaoh’s favor—look to God’s hand.

You cannot rely on Babylon and serve Zion. Jehovah Jireh is your source. Prepare your heart for manna, not menus. He will feed you in the wilderness, but not if you crave the leeks of Egypt. He is jealous for your trust. Understand that the times require complete reliance on Him.

“Come out of her, My people…” — Revelation 18:4 (NASB)

Beloved, disciple your children while there is still time.

The next generation will not stand by inheritance alone. They must know the God of Abraham as their God. Restore the family altar. Fathers, lift your voice in prayer. Mothers, guard the gates with fire. Raise warriors, not watchers. Ensuring they understand the significance of these times is crucial.

“Teach them diligently… when you sit… when you walk.” — Deuteronomy 6:7 (NASB)

O Beloved, wake up. You are not in a season of maintenance—you are in a season of war.

The time is short. The hour is late. The King is coming. Prepare the way. Understand the times. Know what to do.

Prayer

Father, awaken our hearts. Pierce through every false comfort and shake every counterfeit foundation. Teach us to walk in holiness, to love the truth, and to prepare for the coming of our King. Let Your fear return to our assemblies, and Your fire to our altars. May we raise up generations who know You, who worship in Spirit and in truth. May we understand the times and grow in wisdom. In the name of Yeshua, Amen.

See Also

Rest and Renewal

The Quiet Before the Cross

“And He left them and went out of the city to Bethany, and spent the night there.” — Matthew 21:17, NASB

As the weight of the world’s sin drew closer to His shoulders, Yeshua did something unexpected.

He walked away.

After a long day of ministry in Jerusalem—cleansing the Temple, healing the blind and lame, teaching with fire, and confronting the religious elite—He didn’t stay in the city to strategize or gather a following. He didn’t perform miracles that night. He didn’t organize defenses against the coming betrayal.

Instead, He returned to Bethany.

“And He left them and went out of the city to Bethany, and spent the night there.” (Matthew 21:17, NASB)

There is no record of teaching that night. No dramatic events. No great signs or wonders. Just rest.

A Place of Refuge

Bethany, a village on the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, had become a place of refuge for Yeshua. It was the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus—people who loved Him deeply and received Him without condition. He had recently raised Lazarus from the dead there (John 11). A supper had been hosted in His honor. Mary had anointed His feet with costly perfume, weeping in worship (John 12:1–8). These were not crowds—these were covenant friends.

And so, the King of Glory, knowing the time of suffering was near, sought shelter in communion.

He wasn’t escaping the cross. He was preparing for it.

He wasn’t retreating in fear. He was abiding in love.

Resting in Bethany

This quiet evening is often skipped in Holy Week reflections. Yet it holds a treasure for those who are willing to pause.

Yeshua chose stillness.

Yeshua chose rest.

Yeshua chose presence.

Before enduring agony, He spent time in peace. Before sweating blood in Gethsemane, He dwelled in the comfort of friends. This wasn’t laziness—it was obedient stillness. This was the posture of trust.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10, NASB)

“In repentance and rest you will be saved, in quietness and trust is your strength.” (Isaiah 30:15, NASB)

We are not stronger than our Savior. If He needed rest, so do we. If He withdrew to be with those who honored the presence of God, so should we.

Application for Today

How often do we walk into battles without stopping in Bethany?

How many times have we tried to carry tomorrow’s cross with today’s strength?

We live in a culture that glorifies motion—more work, more action, more content, more noise. But God doesn’t anoint noise. He anoints nearness. He empowers those who kneel before Him. He strengthens those who rest at His feet.

Bethany teaches us that we don’t fight spiritual battles by charging ahead—we win them by abiding first.

So where is your Bethany?

Who are your Marys and Marthas—those who help you press into God’s presence?

Are you resting before you’re running?

Or striving before you’re still?

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In stillness You waited, O Lord of Light,
Where the faithful whispered and lamps burned bright.
No throne, no crowd, no crown of acclaim—
Just love in the shadows, and peace in Your name.

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Prayer

Father, teach me to return to Bethany.

When pressure rises and battles loom, call me into stillness. Let me sit at Your feet like Mary. Let me serve in love like Martha. Let me believe like Lazarus, who once lay dead but now lives by Your word.

I do not want to run ahead of You—I want to rest in You. I want to hear Your heartbeat before I face the cross You’ve called me to carry.

Help me become a person of Your presence.

In the name of Yeshua, my Rest and my Redeemer,

Amen.

⸻

Personal Holiness, Prayers

Cleanse the Temple, Bear the Fruit

Beloved, come close and consider the steps of Yeshua on this Holy Monday. Every act was deliberate. Every word, weighty. He was not wandering—He was on a mission from the Father. His eyes were fixed on Jerusalem, and His heart burned with holy fire. He came to restore what religion had corrupted in the House of Prayer. He came to awaken what had fallen asleep.

In the morning, as He walked from Bethany toward the city, He was hungry. He saw a fig tree with leaves, signaling life—but when He came to it, He found no fruit. Then Yeshua spoke, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again!” (Mark 11:14 NASB). It was not just about the tree. It was a prophetic sign. Israel had leaves—rituals, traditions, temples—but no fruit. And the judgment was not delayed.

God does not delight in the form of religion. He desires the fruit of righteousness. As it is written, “Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire”(Matthew 7:19 NASB). This is the hour to search your heart. Are there leaves but no fruit? Activity without intimacy? Noise without prayer? Yeshua is looking for the fruit of faith, humility, repentance, and love.

And then He entered Jerusalem, heading for the House of Prayer.

He found it loud with trade, thick with greed. The courts that should have echoed with songs of praise were filled instead with coins and bargains. So He overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those selling doves. He drove them out with authority, declaring, “It is written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it a den of robbers” (Matthew 21:13 NASB; Isaiah 56:7). That house was not theirs—it was His Father’s.

Jesus drives the merchants out of the temple

Beloved, you are now that temple, the new House of Prayer. The veil was torn. The blood was shed. And the Holy Spirit came not to dwell in buildings but in believing hearts. “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you… and that you are not your own?” (1 Corinthians 6:19 NASB). So the question presses in—what tables must be overturned in your soul?What thieves have crept into your mind, stealing your time, your worship, your focus?

Yeshua doesn’t cleanse the temple to shame—it is always to restore. After the tables fell, the blind and the lame came, and He healed them (Matthew 21:14). The children began to shout, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” and joy returned to the courts. When we cleanse the temple, we become the true House of Prayer, and the glory of God comes near. When we restore the altar, the fire of Heaven falls.

And when evening came, He returned to Bethany—not to isolate, but to rest in fellowship. He stayed among those who loved Him—Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. Even the Son of God drew strength from the warmth of believing friends. Let this speak to you deeply. You were not meant to fight alone. You were not made for isolated struggle. The joy of the Lord often comes through the fellowship of the saints.

As it is written, “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity!” (Psalm 133:1 NASB). And again, “Let us consider how to encourage one another in love and good deeds, not forsaking our own assembling together… but encouraging one another” (Hebrews 10:24–25 NASB). In this hour, the enemy tries to isolate, but God calls you to the table of fellowship, to the circle of prayer, to the family of faith.

So today, beloved, walk the path Yeshua walked:

  • Examine the fruit of your life.
  • Let Him cleanse the temple of your heart.
  • Restore the altar of prayer.
  • And seek joy in the fellowship of believers.

Do not delay. Do not harden your heart. The Lord of the temple has come, and He still speaks: “My house shall be called a house of prayer.” Let it begin with you.

—

Search me, Lord, and test the flame,
Burn the chaff, but leave Your Name.
Make this heart Your holy place—
A house of prayer, a throne of grace.

Prayer

Holy Yeshua, come into the temple of my soul and turn over every table that does not please You. Remove all idols, all distractions, and all false peace. I repent of fruitless works and distant worship. Cleanse me, Lord, and fill me again with the fire of Your Spirit. Let my heart become a house of prayer. Let joy and healing rise where once there was noise and compromise. Surround me with godly fellowship, and teach me to draw strength from Your people. I welcome You, King of Glory—come and reign in me. In Your precious Name, Amen.

See Also

Worship

Worship Comes First

“Worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.” — Matthew 4:10 (NASB)

Children of the Most High, let your hearts be still before the weight of this command: “Worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.” It is not a suggestion. It is not a light instruction for the casual believer. This is the cry of Heaven—the heartbeat of the throne. God demands first our worship, then our work. He who fashioned us in the secret place calls us not to build, not to strive, not to labor first—but to bow, to behold, to burn with holy love.

This is Palm Sunday. The streets once filled with voices shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord!” Palms waved. Cloaks fell to the dust. They worshiped with their words, but their hearts were far off. In a week’s time, the same crowd would cry, “Crucify Him.” They celebrated a King, but not a cross. They loved the moment, not the Man. They wanted victory, but not surrender. Worship that does not lead to obedience is only noise.

Yeshua, tempted in the wilderness, responded not with might or miracle, but with adoration: “Worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.” Satan offered Him dominion without devotion, but our Savior would not trade intimacy with the Father for influence in the world. The Church must not either.

O beloved, how quickly we forget. A soul is stirred, and we say, “Now go! Preach, teach, build!” But God says, “Wait. Sit. Worship.” The disciples, even after walking with Yeshua, were not released to the nations until they tarried in Jerusalem. Not because they lacked knowledge, but because they lacked power. And not just power to work—but power to worship. Power to be undone in God’s presence. Power to love Him rightly.

The Holy Spirit did not fall in a marketplace. He descended upon worshipers in an upper room. Tongues of fire rested on heads bowed low. The power they received was not primarily for signs, but for surrender. Not first for proclamation, but for praise. God’s greatest works are born in the womb of worship.

Hear the truth plainly: A worker without worship becomes a performer. A servant without adoration becomes a slave. But the worshiper—he cannot help but serve. He is caught up in the beauty of God, and his hands move only in response to the heartbeat of Heaven.

This is why many burn out. This is why churches grow cold even as programs multiply. Because they have built altars to usefulness and forsaken the altar of awe. They labor without gazing. They produce without presence. But the Spirit of God will not bless what bypasses worship.

Let your soul be gripped by this: “Worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.” The order is divine. The pattern is perfect. The power flows from it.

Speechless in the Presence of God

When Moses met God on the mountain, he worshiped. When Isaiah saw the Lord high and lifted up, he was undone. When John, the beloved, beheld the risen Christ, he fell as though dead. Before they moved, they worshiped. Before they spoke, they trembled. Before they led, they adored.

Do not seek the assignment until you have seen His face. Do not run into the world with empty hands and distracted hearts. Let the fire fall first upon your altar. Let your soul be enraptured, admiring, adoring. Then, and only then, go.

For the work done by the worshiper carries eternity within it. It is not of man, but of God. It bears His fragrance, His power, His authority. The worshiper serves from overflow. His mission is an echo of Heaven. His labor, an act of love.

So return, child of God. Return to the secret place. Return to the feet of Yeshua. Lay down your tools. Set aside your ambitions. Lift your eyes. Worship comes first.

⸻

Before the hands, let hearts arise,
To seek the flame that never dies.
No greater work than this I find—
To love the Lord with all my mind.

⸻

Prayer

Holy Spirit, awaken me again to the glory of worship. I repent for running ahead without resting at Your feet. Draw me near to the altar, where the only fire that matters falls. Teach me to serve not out of striving, but out of surrender. Let my lips burn with praise before they speak of You. Let my heart be pierced before my hands are used. Restore to me the wonder, the awe, the holy fear that comes from seeing You rightly. Yeshua, You are worthy of all. My life is Yours—first in worship, then in service. In Your holy name, Amen.

See Also

Prayers

Teach Us to Pray Like Moses

There are prayers born in silence, and there are prayers born in fire. Psalm 90 is the latter—a cry formed in the wilderness, where time stretches long and life is stripped bare. It is the prayer of a prophet who stood between a holy God and a sinful people. Teach us to pray like Moses—to stand where heaven meets earth, trembling, yet unshaken—rooted in the eternal.

This is no shallow prayer. It does not begin with man’s needs, but with God’s nature. It does not hide sin—it exposes it. It does not rush—it waits. It asks not merely for relief, but for wisdom, mercy, and eternal fruitfulness. If you would learn to pray like Moses, you must learn to pray in the shadow of eternity.

1. Anchor Your Heart in God’s Timelessness

“Lord, You have been our dwelling place in all generations.” (Psalm 90:1, NASB)

The prayer of Moses begins with God as home. Before requests are made, worship rises. This is the foundation of true prayer—not panic, but praise. Moses teaches that God has always been the refuge of His people. He is not distant. He is not new. He is ancient, tried, and sure.

To pray like Moses, begin not with your fears but with the faithfulness of the Lord. Name His past works. Remember His unshakable presence. When you pray, let your soul rest in the truth that God is your dwelling place, generation to generation.

2. Exalt the God Who Was Before All Things

“Before the mountains were born…from everlasting to everlasting, You are God.” (Psalm 90:2, NASB)

Moses speaks from the heights of revelation. He exalts the eternality of God—the truth that God existed before time and will exist beyond its end. This is not poetic flourish—it is spiritual clarity.

Prayer that moves heaven begins in awe. God is not a helper to summon; He is the I AM, the eternal One. To pray like Moses is to place your temporal worries into the hands of the One who reigns outside of time. This perspective reshapes the heart.

3. Embrace the Brevity of Life and the Need for Humility

“You turn mortals back into dust…a thousand years in Your sight are like yesterday.” (Psalm 90:3–4, NASB)

Moses teaches us that prayer must be honest. We are dust. We fade. The God who made us knows our limits. In His eyes, generations pass like a breath.

To pray like Moses is to pray with humble clarity. It is to lay down pride, confess our frailty, and recognize the urgency of each passing day. This does not lead to despair—but to deeper dependence. For when we acknowledge our limits, we throw ourselves wholly upon the mercy of the limitless One.

4. Bring Sin into the Light

“You have placed our guilty deeds before You, our hidden sins in the light of Your presence.” (Psalm 90:8, NASB)

There is no hiding in the light of God. Moses knew this. He saw how sin kindled God’s righteous anger and how only confession and intercession could stay His hand.

To pray like Moses is to bring every hidden thing into the open. No excuses. No diversions. Only raw truth before a holy God. And yet this is not the end—it is the beginning of restoration. For God desires truth in the inward parts, and He covers the repentant in mercy.

5. Ask for Wisdom in a Wasting World

“So teach us to number our days, that we may present to You a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12, NASB)

This is the great cry of the psalm—the centerpiece of the prayer. Life is short. Troubles are many. So what does Moses ask for? Not more time, but wisdom. Not longer years, but a heart rightly ordered before God.

To pray like Moses is to ask God to teach you the value of each day, to walk in purpose, to waste nothing. It is to exchange shallow living for eternal vision.

6. Cry Out for Mercy and Satisfaction in God

“Satisfy us in the morning with Your graciousness, that we may sing for joy and rejoice all our days.” (Psalm 90:14, NASB)

Here the tone turns. Moses, who beheld plagues and wonders, who endured rebellion and wrath, knows where true joy is found. Not in victory, not in ease—but in God’s steadfast love.

To pray like Moses is to ask for mercy daily, to rise with a cry for soul satisfaction in the presence of God. This is the prayer that sustains in desert places. This is the joy that outlives sorrow.

7. Intercede for God’s Glory to Be Revealed Again

“Let Your work appear to Your servants and Your majesty to their children.” (Psalm 90:16, NASB)

Moses does not end his prayer with himself. He looks ahead—to the next generation. He pleads for the glory of God to be seen afresh, for His power to move once more among His people.

To pray like Moses is to labor in intercession, to yearn for God’s majesty to awaken the hearts of children and grandchildren. It is to believe that the God who parted the sea can still move mountains today.

8. Ask God to Establish What Only He Can

“Confirm for us the work of our hands; yes, confirm the work of our hands.” (Psalm 90:17, NASB)

At last, Moses asks for lasting fruit. He does not want empty toil. He wants labor made eternal by the hand of God.

To pray like Moses is to cry out: “Make it count, Lord.” Let the work of my life—however small—be sealed with Your favor. Establish it. Breathe on it. Let it echo into eternity.

⸻

O God who dwells where time has no end,
Establish the path where Your servants bend.
Teach us to walk with hearts made wise,
And let Your glory fill our skies.

⸻

Prayer

O Lord, our dwelling place in every generation, teach us to pray like Moses. Let our prayers rise in reverence, shaped by eternity and rooted in truth. Help us confess what You already see, to number our days, and to walk wisely. Satisfy us each morning with Your mercy, and let our work endure by Your hand. May Your glory rest upon us and shine through us. In the name of Yeshua our Messiah, we pray. Amen.

⸻

See Also