Beloved, there is a fire that does not come from man. It cannot be stirred up by music or forced by emotion. It descends from heaven. It rests on those who tremble at the Word. It burns in the soul of those who have seen the face of God and cannot remain silent. It is the fire shut up in the bones.
The prophet Jeremiah cried out in anguish, “But if I say, ‘I will not remember Him or speak anymore in His name,’ then my heart becomes a burning fire shut up in my bones; and I am tired of holding it in, and I cannot endure it” (Jeremiah 20:9, NASB). This was not the complaint of a man seeking attention. This was the groan of one possessed by the Word of the Lord. The message was not something he carried—it carried him.
When the Spirit of God dwells in you, He does not come to sit quietly. He comes with flame. He comes with weight. He is not an accessory to your life—He is your life. “In Him we live and move and exist” (Acts 17:28, NASB). If He does not breathe into us, we are dust. If He does not speak, we are lost. If He does not move, we are powerless. We are utterly dependent on Him for all things.
This holy fire reveals our nothingness apart from Him and fills us with the fullness of His presence. And oh, the joy of knowing we are His! Not because we are strong, but because He is faithful. Not because we are worthy, but because He is rich in mercy.
The Power of the Word
And when that fire takes hold of you, you cannot help but overflow.
Like David, who cried, “My heart was hot within me, while I was musing the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue” (Psalm 39:3, NASB), you will not contain the praise. The praise will contain you. Like the apostles, who declared, “We cannot stop speaking about what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:20, NASB), your life will become a living testimony. Not because you try to evangelize—but because the flame in you draws the cold and the broken near.
Unbelievers will be pulled by the light. They will ask, “What is this joy that burns in you? What is this peace that does not flicker? What is this love that consumes fear?” And you will tell them: It is Yeshua, the Lamb who was slain and now reigns in glory. He set me ablaze. He is my fire, my breath, my song.
This fire is not a passing feeling. It is not a temporary high. It is the mark of those who have been with Jesus. It is the seal of those who are crucified with Him and yet live—not they themselves, but Messiah in them. (Galatians 2:20)
When God sets you on fire, you will burn with love that intercedes, with truth that pierces, and with mercy that welcomes. You will long not only to dwell in the secret place but to call others into it. The fire in your bones is not only for you—it is for the nations.
And that fire will not be quenched. The more you give, the more He fills. The more you pour, the more you overflow. And what you cannot contain becomes your witness. It becomes your worship. It becomes the sound of heaven through a yielded vessel.
So cry out if you must. Shout if you must. Dance if you must. Let the fire speak. Let it be said of you, “This one burns for God.”
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You lit a fire I cannot still, It burns through flesh and breaks my will. It roars with love and speaks Your name— Until the world beholds Your flame.
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Closing Prayer:
Yeshua, You alone are life. I have no breath apart from You. No strength. No hope. No light. Set me ablaze with holy fire, that my bones may not rest until You are glorified in all the earth. Let the overflow of Your Spirit in me draw the lost, heal the broken, and exalt Your name. I lay myself at Your feet in total dependence—consume me with Your presence. In the name of the Risen One, amen.
My heart is grieved. It has become painfully rare to find a church today that still hosts regular corporate prayer. The prayer meeting—once the heartbeat of revival, the furnace of intimacy with God—has all but vanished in this age of programs and production. When I brought this burden before the Lord and asked Him why, this is what He gave me:
Church of the Living God, return to the altar of prayer. You have polished your buildings but left your knees clean. You host conferences without consecration, and you wonder why the fire does not fall.
You say, “We are growing,” but you are swelling with pride, not revival. You measure success by attendance, not obedience. You have lost your first love.
“If My people, who are called by My Name, humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” —2 Chronicles 7:14 (NASB)
But you have not humbled yourselves. You have sought My hand, not My face. You have turned to platforms, not prayer closets. You organize your Sundays but neglect the secret place.
Before the healing comes, the jar must break. This is where revival begins—on our faces, with nothing held back.
Did Stephen stand firm as stones crushed his body, gazing into heaven with blood on his face, just so we could stay silent in a world desperate for truth?
Did John, exiled to Patmos for the Word of God and the testimony of Yeshua, receive visions of glory and judgment, so we could scroll endlessly and call it devotion?
Did the early Church gather in catacombs, risking imprisonment and death, just so we could cancel prayer night for game night?
Did Peter walk away from everything—his trade, his safety, his pride— so we could build churches without altars?
Did Mary break her alabaster jar and pour it all out at Yeshua’s feet, so we could tip God with leftovers and guard our calendars from inconvenience?
Did Paul endure lashes, mobs, betrayals, shipwrecks, and sleepless nights, just so we could spend our lives in comfort, never weeping over sin, never groaning for souls, never truly desperate for God?
Did Yeshua leave the glory of heaven, wrap Himself in frail flesh, suffer temptation, betrayal, rejection— then carry a Roman cross to Golgotha, so we could nod politely at a sermon and leave untouched?
She broke her jar before the Lord—her tears, her pride, her past spilled out in surrender. This is where healing begins: at the feet of Yeshua, with nothing held back.
The price of your redemption was blood. The way of the Kingdom is a narrow road. The call to follow Him was never comfortable—but it was always worth it.
The Son of God gave everything. The apostles lived and died in prayer and power. The Holy Spirit fell on a praying Church. So why are you asleep?
Where is your grief over the silence in the prayer room? Where is the travail for the lost, the hunger for His glory? Where are the nights of groaning, the upper rooms, the sound of saints knocking on heaven’s door?
Prostrate before the altar, they seek His face, not His hand—surrendered in a lifestyle of prayer and worship.
You forget—but Heaven remembers: There was a time when churches filled the week with prayer. When mothers wept for prodigals, and fathers cried out for cities. When children fell on their faces, and revival fire swept the land. You traded it for coffee bars and branding kits.
This is your correction: Return.
Return to the altar. Return to unity. Return to the sound of a praying Church.
It begins not with the masses, but with the few. God has always moved through a remnant. He is holy. He is just. He is jealous for His Bride. He will not share His glory with another.
A holy cry rises at sunset—the shofar sounds, declaring to heaven and earth: this world belongs to the Lord.
The time is now. Call the elders. Light the lamps. Gather in His name and wait for the wind.
The fire will fall where there is hunger. The rain will pour where there is repentance. The glory will dwell where there is unity.
He who has ears to hear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the Church.
PS
Some will say, “We’ve replaced prayer meetings with small groups. We still pray—just differently.” But let’s be honest: ten rushed minutes at the end of a discussion isn’t a prayer meeting. It’s not the sound of saints groaning for souls, or elders weeping for their city. It’s not the upper room. It’s not the altar.
Prayer was never meant to be an add-on. It was the furnace. The early Church didn’t fit prayer in—they built everything around it.
Did Pentecost fall after snacks and small talk? Or did it fall on a room filled with desperate hearts, crying out as one?
We haven’t replaced prayer—we’ve removed it. And the result is a Church with clean programs but cold fire.
If we’ve let the altar go cold, then let us be honest—and let us rebuild it. Not with convenience. But with fire.
Mi corazón está afligido. Se ha vuelto dolorosamente raro encontrar hoy una iglesia que aún tenga reuniones de oración corporativa con regularidad. La reunión de oración—que alguna vez fue el latido del avivamiento, el horno de la intimidad con Dios—ha desaparecido casi por completo en esta era de programas y producción. Cuando llevé esta carga ante el Señor y le pregunté por qué, esto fue lo que me mostró:
Iglesia del Dios Viviente, vuelve al altar de la oración. Has pulido tus edificios pero dejado limpias tus rodillas. Organizas conferencias sin consagración, y te preguntas por qué no cae el fuego.
Dices: “Estamos creciendo,” pero estás hinchada de orgullo, no de avivamiento. Mides el éxito por la asistencia, no por la obediencia. Has perdido tu primer amor.
“Si se humilla Mi pueblo sobre el cual es invocado Mi Nombre, y oran, y buscan Mi rostro, y se arrepienten de su mal camino, entonces Yo oiré desde los cielos, perdonaré su pecado y sanaré su tierra.” —2 Crónicas 7:14 (NBLA)
Pero no se han humillado. Han buscado Mi mano, no Mi rostro. Han corrido a las plataformas, no a los aposentos de oración. Organizan sus domingos pero descuidan el lugar secreto.
Rompe tu vaso delante del Señor. Antes de que venga la sanidad, el vaso debe romperse. Aquí comienza el avivamiento—de rodillas, sin reservas.
¿Acaso Esteban se mantuvo firme mientras las piedras trituraban su cuerpo, mirando al cielo con sangre en el rostro, solo para que nosotros guardemos silencio en un mundo desesperado por la verdad?
¿Acaso Juan, exiliado en Patmos por la Palabra de Dios y el testimonio de Yeshúa, recibió visiones de gloria y juicio, solo para que nosotros deslicemos la pantalla infinitamente y lo llamemos devoción?
¿Acaso la Iglesia primitiva se reunía en catacumbas, arriesgando prisión y muerte, solo para que hoy cancelemos la noche de oración por una noche de juegos?
¿Acaso Pedro dejó todo—su oficio, su seguridad, su orgullo— para que nosotros construyamos iglesias sin altares?
¿Acaso María rompió su vaso de alabastro y lo derramó todo a los pies de Yeshúa, para que nosotros le demos a Dios las sobras y cuidemos nuestro calendario de molestias?
¿Acaso Pablo soportó azotes, turbas, traiciones, naufragios y noches sin dormir, solo para que vivamos cómodamente, sin llorar por el pecado, sin gemir por las almas, sin estar verdaderamente desesperados por Dios?
¿Acaso Yeshúa dejó la gloria del cielo, se envolvió en carne frágil, sufrió tentación, traición y rechazo— y luego cargó una cruz romana hasta el Gólgota, para que nosotros asentemos con cortesía durante un sermón y salgamos sin ser tocados?
Ella rompió su vaso delante del Señor—sus lágrimas, su orgullo, su pasado fueron derramados en rendición. Allí comienza la sanidad: a los pies de Yeshúa, sin reservas. El precio de tu redención fue sangre. El camino del Reino es angosto. El llamado a seguirle nunca fue cómodo—pero siempre fue digno.
El Hijo de Dios lo dio todo. Los apóstoles vivieron y murieron en oración y poder. El Espíritu Santo descendió sobre una Iglesia que oraba. Entonces, ¿por qué duermes?
¿Dónde está tu dolor por el silencio en la sala de oración? ¿Dónde está el gemido por los perdidos, el hambre por Su gloria? ¿Dónde están las noches de clamor, los aposentos altos, el sonido de los santos golpeando las puertas del cielo?
Postrados ante el altar, buscan Su rostro, no Su mano—rendidos en un estilo de vida de oración y adoración. Tú lo has olvidado—pero el Cielo recuerda: Hubo un tiempo en que las iglesias llenaban la semana con oración. Cuando las madres lloraban por sus pródigos, y los padres clamaban por sus ciudades. Cuando los niños caían sobre sus rostros, y el fuego del avivamiento barría la tierra. Lo cambiaste por cafeterías y kits de marca.
Esta es tu corrección: Regresa.
Vuelve al altar. Vuelve a la unidad. Vuelve al sonido de una Iglesia que ora.
No comienza con las multitudes, sino con los pocos. Dios siempre ha obrado a través de un remanente. Él es santo. Él es justo. Él es celoso por Su Novia. No compartirá Su gloria con nadie.
Toca el Shofar Hoy. Un clamor santo se eleva al atardecer—el shofar suena, declarando al cielo y a la tierra: este mundo pertenece al Señor. El tiempo es ahora. Llamen a los ancianos. Enciendan las lámparas. Reúnanse en Su Nombre y esperen el viento.
El fuego caerá donde hay hambre. La lluvia caerá donde hay arrepentimiento. La gloria habitará donde hay unidad.
El que tenga oídos para oír, que oiga lo que el Espíritu dice a la Iglesia.
PD
Los grupos pequeños son valiosos. Fomentan relaciones, animan la rendición de cuentas y ofrecen compañerismo. Pero no pretendamos que diez minutos apresurados de oración al final de un estudio bíblico pueden reemplazar lo que la Iglesia primitiva practicaba día y noche.
La oración no era un complemento. Era el motor.
“Todos estos perseveraban unánimes en oración…” —Hechos 1:14 (NBLA)
¿Cayó Pentecostés en un grupo pequeño donde alguien cerró en oración después del refrigerio?
No—cayó en una sala llena de corazones desesperados, clamando con una sola voz, esperando la promesa del Padre.
No hemos reemplazado las reuniones de oración—las hemos eliminado.
Y ahora vemos el fruto: púlpitos sin poder, corazones apáticos, y una Iglesia cómoda sin el fuego.
El avivamiento nunca ha venido de una conversación. Viene de la desesperación.
Así que no nos conformemos con sustitutos casuales.
Volvamos al altar, no por conveniencia—sino por comunión con Dios.
Picture this: A vast, dry valley—scattered with the bones of saints who once burned with fire. Altars cold. Eyes dim. Prayers shallow. The wind is still, and silence hangs like a veil. Amidst this, envision dry bones holy fire rising.
But suddenly, from the east, a whisper.
From the west, a stirring.
From the north and the south, a groaning deep within the bones, where dry bones holy fire begins to stir.
The breath of God is coming.
Church of the Living God, rise to attention—this is not a suggestion, this is a summons. This is a voice crying in the wilderness of complacency. This is a prophetic trumpet shaking the walls of slumber.
“The Lord your God is in your midst, a Mighty One, a Savior [Who saves]! He will rejoice over you with joy; He will rest in His love and make no mention of past sins; He will exult over you with singing.” —Zephaniah 3:17 (AMP)
O Bride of Christ, your Beloved walks among you. He is not silent in indifference, but silent in satisfaction—longing for your return. And when you do, He will sing over you. Do you not see? Your repentance becomes His rejoicing. Your trembling becomes His melody.
But where is the trembling?
Where is the fear of the Lord that once marked the sanctuary? Can the dry bones holy fire revive this fear?
Where are the tears that once stained the altars—not because of pain, but because of His presence?
Church, you have not been called to blend in. You were born of the Spirit, raised by the Word, and commissioned by fire. You were meant to live in holiness, not entertain sin. You were meant to walk in power, not in form without force.
So hear now the call: Return to the Living God!
This is not about style.
This is not about tradition.
This is about presence—the tangible weight of the glory of God that makes knees buckle and mouths fall silent in awe, lighting the dry bones holy fire once more.
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The Spirit of the Lord says:
“Prophesy to these bones, and say to them, ‘O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord!’” —Ezekiel 37:4 (NASB)
O Church, your bones are not dead—they are dry. And dryness is not final. It is the sign that the wind must blow again.
So we call to the east: Blow, Breath of God!
We call to the west: Stir what has settled!
To the north and the south: Break the silence with the roar of revival!
Let the holy fire fall—not upon stone, but upon surrendered flesh. Let the altars be rebuilt, not with programs and policies, but with purity and praise. Let pastors weep again. Let prophets burn again. Let worshippers tremble again. Let the body be one again, filled with the same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead.
“Return to Me,” declares the Lord of armies, “and I will return to you.” —Malachi 3:7 (NASB)
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An Apostolic Charge:
Apostles—rise in boldness. Lay the foundation of repentance and truth again.
Prophets—speak not to please, but to pierce.
Evangelists—run to the lost, but cry out to the sleeping saints.
Pastors—shepherd with tears, not pride.
Teachers—wash the Bride with the water of the Word, without mixture.
Saints—this is your hour. Not to observe, but to burn.
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Let bones that once lay in the dust, Now rise with fire anew. Let every cry of “Holy!” ring With power strong and true. O Breath of God, sweep through this house, And claim Your Church once more— We live again, by mercy stirred, To worship and adore.The dry bones holy fire echoes through the congregation.
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A Prayer to Plant in Faith
Lord Yeshua, We have grown dry. We have filled our altars with noise, but not with fire. We repent for every form without substance, every song without surrender. Blow upon us again, Ruach Elohim. Ignite our pulpits, our prayer rooms, our gatherings, our homes. Let us burn with a holiness that purifies and a love that overflows. We return to You—not with words only, but with trembling hearts. Breathe on us, and we will live. In Your Name, we rise. Amen.
When Moses descended from Mount Sinai, Scripture says, “he was not aware that the skin of his face was shining [with a unique radiance] because he had been speaking with God”(Exodus 34:29, AMP). His glow was not cosmetic, nor was it a symbol of status. It was the natural consequence of prolonged communion with the Almighty, making him radiant with God’s presence. And though his lips were silent in that moment, his face preached holiness with unmistakable power.
So it is with all who dwell in the secret place of the Most High. They become radiant—not with ego or charisma—but with the nearness of God. They do not strive to be seen, yet the atmosphere around them burns with conviction, and they shine radiant with God’s presence. The prophets had it. The apostles carried it. That sacred aura that silences the room and draws the soul to repentance.
When Peter stood before the Sanhedrin, they perceived something unusual. “Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John… they were amazed, and began to recognize them [as] having been with Jesus” (Acts 4:13, NASB). Do you see it? Their authority did not come from education, but from proximity to the Savior. They had been with Him, radiant with God’s presence. That was the difference.
Even Paul, who had training under Gamaliel, counted it all as loss. He longed to “know Him [experientially, becoming more thoroughly acquainted with Him, understanding the remarkable wonders of His Person]” (Philippians 3:10, AMP). For it is not head knowledge that changes the world, but the fire of God resting upon a surrendered vessel.
Have you ever met someone like that—someone whose life testified louder than their lips? They don’t parade their spirituality. They don’t declare themselves prophets. But when you sit in their presence, your heart begins to tremble. Sin rises to the surface. Holiness pierces your conscience. Why? Because they are radiant with God’s presence.
This is more than charisma. It is conviction wrapped in humility. This is what made Elijah feared by kings. It is why Elisha’s bones raised the dead. It is why John, even in exile on Patmos, heard the voice like a trumpet and saw the risen Christ with eyes like blazing fire (Revelation 1:10–14). These men carried the presence. They bore the weight of glory, and it showed.
God in the Fire
And now the question must come to you, dear reader: Do you shine with the light of His presence, or merely reflect the ideas of religion? Do people leave your company entertained or changed? Are your prayers heavy with heaven or empty with habit?
God is calling us higher. Not to perform, but to behold. Not to be impressive, but to be possessed—by His Spirit. As Paul wrote, “But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed… from glory to glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18, NASB).
If you want the radiance of Moses, you must climb the mountain, just as he became radiant with God’s presence. If you want the power of Peter, you must wait in the upper room. If you want the conviction of Elijah, you must kneel with your face between your knees and pray until heaven answers.
The world does not need louder preachers. It needs holier ones. It needs burning ones. Ones who carry the fragrance of Yeshua and walk with the weight of His presence. This is the hour. Will you come away? Will you ascend the hill of the LORD with clean hands and a pure heart? Will you shine—not for applause—but because you have been with Him?
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Let us pray:
Abba, we do not seek to be seen. We seek to be changed. Let us dwell so near Your throne that Your radiance marks us. Make us holy vessels that carry the awe of heaven and the light of Christ. May our countenance testify of our secret place. May conviction flow from our presence because we have been with You. Give us clean hands, a pure heart, and the courage to ascend. Let us be radiant with Your presence, for Your glory alone. In the name of Yeshua, the Lamb and the Light, Amen.
Beloved, do you not know that God still walks in the fire?
There is a holy summons today—a call echoing from the pages of Daniel to the depths of your spirit. You are not called to a lukewarm life or a faith of comfort. You were made to be among the People of the Fire. These are the ones who stand when the world demands they bow. These are the ones who refuse the golden idols of culture and comfort and, in doing so, awaken the very presence of El Shaddai in their midst.
Recall the moment in Babylon—when Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stood before Nebuchadnezzar, refusing to worship the statue he set up. They declared without hesitation, “Our God whom we serve is able to rescue us from the furnace of blazing fire… but even if He does not… we are not going to serve your gods” (Daniel 3:17-18, NASB). This was not bravado. It was breathless adoration—the kind of worship that has counted the cost and chosen God above life itself.
They were bound and thrown into the fire. But the fire meant to destroy them became where Yeshua walked among them. The king himself saw and cried out, “Look! I see four men untied and walking about in the middle of the fire unharmed, and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods!” (Daniel 3:25, NASB).
This is what it means to be People of the Fire—to live a life where God’s presence is not theoretical but tangible in the crucible.
Restore Breathless Adoration
Have you settled into a rhythm of religion but lost the breathless wonder of being near to God? Have you traded the fire for the flicker of convenience?
There is more. There is always more of Him. The Lord is not found in safe places. He meets us in surrender, in sacrifice, and yes—in the flames.
Moses saw the bush ablaze, yet not consumed, and turned aside to look. That holy turning became the beginning of divine commission (Exodus 3:2-4). Elijah called down fire to reveal that God alone is Lord (1 Kings 18:36-39). Isaiah beheld the burning ones—the seraphim—crying out, “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of armies, the whole earth is full of His glory” (Isaiah 6:3, NASB). He too was touched by fire and sent forth.
Even now, Yeshua speaks: “I have come to cast fire upon the earth; and how I wish it were already kindled!” (Luke 12:49, NASB). He longs for your heart to burn with holy affection again.
Called to Walk in the Fire
Being People of the Fire means you must embrace the furnace. Not because you love pain—but because you love the One who stands in it with you. It is in the fire that chains are loosed. It is in the fire that spectators see the Son. It is in the fire that intimacy with God is made visible.
The early Church burned with this fire. Their love was so consuming that they rejoiced when counted worthy to suffer for His name (Acts 5:41). They turned the world upside down not by power, but by passion—a holy obsession with the living Christ.
You, beloved, are called to this same burning. You are not called to blend in but to blaze. You are a torch in a darkened age, and the oil of your lamp must not run dry. Stir the embers. Feed the flame. Seek His face until your heart is undone.
Breathe Again, Burn Again
The Church needs fire again—not noise, programs, or performances. Fire. Heaven’s fire. The kind that fell at Pentecost filled the Upper Room with tongues of flame (Acts 2:1-4). The type that set men and women ablaze to preach the gospel without fear, fueled by breathless adoration for Yeshua.
Let this be your cry: More of You, Lord. Less of me. Set me on fire again.
Return to the place of wonder. Return to the altar. Lay your life down—not in part, but whole—and let the fire of God consume you in holy love.
Prayer
Abba, we have grown too comfortable. We have built walls where You sought altars. Forgive us. We no longer want a safe religion—we want the fire. We want the flame that purifies, the presence that walks with us in the furnace. Lord Yeshua, walk with us again. Ignite every cold corner of our hearts. Restore breathless adoration in Your Bride. Make us a people who burn for You and You alone. We are Yours, El Shaddai. Kindle the fire. Amen.
Let the world see it. Let Babylon tremble again. You are People of the Fire.
Beloved, do not be deceived—there is always more of God to be found. Have you tasted the sweetness of His presence, only to realize how little you have truly known Him? Has the fire of His revelation burned away the illusions of your past faith, leaving you undone? Do not shrink back. This is His mercy drawing you deeper. Remember, there is always a chance for more of God no matter the cost.
Many say they know Him, yet they walk in shadows, content with a dim reflection of His glory. But you—He is calling you higher. He is shaking the very ground beneath you, removing what can be shaken, so that only He remains. Will you resist Him? Will you cling to the old, lifeless things He is tearing away? Or will you fall before Him and say, Take it all, Lord—only give me more of You!
The Fire of His Presence Demands Everything
Isaiah saw Him and cried out, “Woe is me!” (Isaiah 6:5).Moses trembled before Him and removed his sandals (Exodus 3:5).Peter fell at Yeshua’s feet, saying, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, Lord!” (Luke 5:8).
What will you do when the weight of His glory comes upon you? Will you shrink back in fear, or will you press in, crying, “Burn away every impurity, Lord—only let me know You!” This is the journey of seeking more of God no matter the cost.
The Spirit is calling, but the cost is high. You cannot hold onto your comfort, your pride, your reputation, your control. He is asking for your entire life. Nothing less. All that you are, laid at His feet.
“If anyone wants to come after Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23 NASB)
Many have stopped at salvation, satisfied that they have escaped hell. But there is more, far more. Yeshua did not die merely to rescue you from destruction—He died to bring you into the fullness of Himself. His cross was not the end of your journey but the beginning. Will you press on, or will you settle for less? Choose to seek more of God no matter the cost.
Break the Illusions—Come Into the Light
You thought you knew Him before. Perhaps you did. But now you see—there is an ocean of glory you have yet to dive into. Every revelation, every breaking, every fire He allows is an invitation: Come closer. See more. Be transformed.
Paul, a man who saw the risen Lord, who was caught up into the third heaven, who performed mighty signs and wonders, still cried out:
“I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Yeshua my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them mere rubbish, so that I may gain Christ.” (Philippians 3:8 NASB)
Are you willing to count all things as loss? Your past experiences, your reputation, your plans—will you lay them down, if only to have more of Him? This is the path of desiring more of God no matter the cost.
The lukewarm will not see His face. The comfortable will not taste the depths of His presence. But to the hungry, to the desperate, to those who cry out, “More of You, Lord!”—He will reveal Himself.
Will You Answer His Call?
This moment is holy. He is drawing you now. You feel the stirring, the weight of His voice calling you out of shallow waters. Will you listen? Will you follow?
Do not delay. Do not harden your heart. Lay everything down and run after Him. He is waiting to fill you with more of Himself than you ever thought possible. Truly, you can have more of God no matter the cost.
A Prayer of Surrender
Father, I hear You calling, and I will not turn away. I lay my life at Your feet—every dream, every plan, every comfort. Burn away everything that is not of You. Take me deeper. Open my eyes. Break me if You must, but do not let me remain as I am. I want You, Lord—more of You, no matter the cost. I give You my whole heart. In Yeshua’s name, amen.
In the heavens, I saw the throne of God surrounded by a great cloud of incense, rising like a sweet fragrance. It was the prayers of the humble—those who wept in secret, those who cried out for mercy, and those who longed for the presence of the Lord with all their hearts. Their prayers carried the essence of brokenness, repentance, and surrender, and they ascended together, joined as one voice, to the One who hears the cries of His people.
Then I saw the Lord reach down with His hand and gather the incense. It glowed like molten gold, alive with power and holiness. With His divine authority, He forged it into a sword, brilliant and blazing with fire. Its edge gleamed with the truth of His Word, and its hilt was engraved with the prayers of His saints, woven together in unity. The sword pulsed with a living light, and as it was completed, the Spirit of the Lord spoke:
“This is the Sword of Revival. It is forged from the prayers of the repentant, sanctified by My holiness, and empowered by My Spirit. It shall go forth to shatter the chains of darkness, break the strongholds of sin, and pierce the hearts of the lost. Only the humble and united shall wield it, for My glory rests upon those who are one as I am one with the Father.” The Sword of Revival is a testament to the power of unified prayer.
The Lord extended the sword to the remnant—those who had laid down their pride, turned from their sin, and sought Him with all their hearts. I saw them not as scattered individuals, but as a body, joined together in love and purpose. They took the sword with trembling hands, their voices lifted as one, crying, “Come, Lord Jesus! Reign in us and through us!” A voice like rushing waters called out, “Go now, for the hour of revival is at hand. Lift up the sword, proclaim My Word, and let My Spirit flow through you!”
And I saw the remnant arise, moving in unity, their steps guided by the Spirit, their voices filled with boldness. Wherever they lifted the Sword of Revival, rivers of living water flowed before them. The water surged into dry, cracked lands, bringing life where there had been death. Deserts bloomed, trees of righteousness took root, and their fruit brought healing to the nations. The fragrance of life filled the air, mingling with the sound of angelic shofars that echoed across the heavens, announcing the glory of the Lord.
As the sword moved, chains fell from captives, strongholds crumbled, and blind eyes were opened. The remnant cried aloud, “Repent and return to the Lord, for He is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love!” (Joel 2:13, AMP). Multitudes came, weeping in repentance, drawn by the Spirit. The fire of revival ignited in hearts, spreading like a holy blaze that could not be quenched. The Sword of Revival played a central role in this awakening.
I saw the remnant gather together in prayer, their hands lifted not for themselves, but for one another. They cried out, “Lord, make us one, as You and the Father are one! Let there be no division among us, but unite us in Your Spirit, that the world may see Your glory!” Their unity became a beacon, shining brightly in the darkness, and the Spirit poured out in fullness. Fires of revival ignited across cities, counties, and nations as the people of God moved as one body under one King with the Sword of Revival.
The heavens resounded as the Lord proclaimed: “This is the hour of My great outpouring! Let those who have ears to hear, repent. Humble yourselves before Me, love one another, and I will heal your land. My rivers will not cease, and My fire will not be quenched. The sword is ready, but only the surrendered and the united can wield it.”
To you, dear reader, hear this call: The Lord is extending the Sword of Revival to His people. But it is not given lightly. Lay down your pride, your sin, your idols, and even your offenses. Humble yourself before Him and seek unity with the saints. Let your prayers rise as incense, and let Him forge in you a vessel for His glory. The Spirit is moving, the time is now, and the call is clear—repent, unite, and let His glory flow through you. Will you take up the call and wield the Sword of Revival?
Prayer:
Father, we come before You with broken and contrite hearts. We repent of our sins and lay down our pride. Forgive us for the divisions among us, and teach us to love one another as You have loved us. Cleanse us, Lord, and make us one body, united in purpose and filled with Your Spirit. Take our prayers, our tears, and our surrender, and forge them into instruments for Your glory. Let Your living water flow through us, breaking chains, healing hearts, and igniting revival with the power of the Sword of Revival. Use us to bring life to the barren places, and let Your glory cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. In Jesus’ mighty name, Amen.
Behold, the day is coming when God’s glory will shine in its fullness, and every eye will witness the splendor of His grace. The Lord is near, drawing close to His people, preparing hearts for a divine renewal and transformation.
God’s Spirit is Moving Powerfully
The Word of God declares: “I will pour out My Spirit on all mankind; and your sons and your daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions” (Joel 2:28, AMP). This is a season of awakening. God is stirring hearts with holy fire—a fire that ignites passion for His name and fuels His purpose in His people.
In this moment, the call is clear: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you” (Isaiah 60:1, AMP). The time to shake off spiritual complacency has arrived. Cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light (Romans 13:12). The night is passing, and the dawn of God’s kingdom draws near.
The Church Must Stand Firm
You are part of a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, called to declare His praises (1 Peter 2:9). The world needs your light, now more than ever. Jesus reminds us, “Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16, AMP).
Stay watchful, beloved, for Jesus promises: “I am with you always, [remaining with you perpetually—regardless of circumstance], even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20, AMP). He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End (Revelation 1:8). His Word will not fail; it will accomplish His perfect will (Isaiah 55:11).
Keep Your Lamps Burning
As the Bridegroom approaches, Jesus warns us to remain prepared: “Be on the alert [stay awake and watch], for you do not know which day your Lord is coming” (Matthew 24:42, AMP). Do not let the distractions of this world dim your focus. Keep your lamps burning bright with unwavering faith. Encourage one another and build each other up (1 Thessalonians 5:11), for the days are short and evil abounds.
The King of Glory is Coming
Rejoice, for the King of Glory is coming with power and majesty! Scripture declares: “Lift up your heads, O gates, and be lifted up, ancient doors, that the King of glory may come in” (Psalm 24:7, AMP). The King is faithful, and His promises endure forever.
Let your life be a testimony to His unfailing love. Stand firm in hope, grounded in His truth, and filled with His peace. As you eagerly await His return, live each day in surrender to His will, declaring boldly, “Come, Lord Jesus” (Revelation 22:20).
A Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father, prepare our hearts for Your glory. Stir within us a holy passion for Your presence. Teach us to stand firm in faith, to shine as lights in a dark world, and to remain watchful for the return of our Lord Jesus Christ. May our lives reflect Your love and truth, now and forever. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Focusing on God’s promises, keeping our lamps burning, and standing firm will prepare us for the day of His glory.
