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Faith

Prayer Still Works Today

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We Need to Believe

There is a quiet skepticism that has crept into many hearts today, even among those who regularly attend church and call themselves believers. We talk about prayer, but if we are honest, many of us secretly wonder: does God really answer now? Does He still heal? Does He still move? Or were those miracles only for long ago?

Too often, we pray like atheists. We speak words with our mouths, but in our hearts, we expect little. We offer safe, careful prayers that protect us from disappointment. Society, agnostics, and skeptics have spoken into our minds for generations, lowering our expectations of what is possible. This must be unlearned.

But prayer is not dead. God is not distant. Prayer still works today. We just need to believe again.

Across history and across the globe today, there are documented cases of healing and miraculous answers to prayer. These are not just rumors or unverified stories. They come with real investigation, real documentation, and real testimonies. These modern and historical testimonies remind us: what God did before, He still does today.

Documented Healings Through Prayer

One of the most thoroughly reviewed sources is the Lourdes Medical Bureau in France. This organization investigates healing claims from visitors to the Lourdes shrine. Every claim is put through rigorous scientific and medical examination. Out of thousands of reports, several have been officially recognized as “medically inexplicable” recoveries, including cases of cancer. These include tumors vanishing completely and advanced-stage cancer disappearing without further treatment.

Another source comes from modern medical research. Dr. Harold G. Koenig of Duke University and other researchers have studied cancer patients who, after seasons of intense prayer, experienced spontaneous remission. These remissions are described in peer-reviewed journals as medically unexplainable. Those healed consistently report the same thing: they cried out to God and believed.

In the evangelical Christian world, ministries like Global Awakening have recorded similar events. Under careful documentation, physicians review before-and-after scans and patient reports. These reviews confirm that what some thought impossible has taken place.

Historical Testimonies of Fervent Prayer

This is not new. History has always confirmed that revival and awakening come through prayer. Dr. J. Edwin Orr, a historian of spiritual revival, emphasized this truth repeatedly. He once said, “History is silent about revivals that did not begin with prayer.” To illustrate, Dr. Orr spoke of John Hyde, known as “Praying Hyde.” Hyde was a missionary in India who would labor in prayer until revival swept across whole regions. He prayed not politely but with deep, unrelenting persistence. His prayers were marked by groanings too deep for words, clinging to God until the breakthrough came.

Another example is Rees Howells, known as “The Intercessor.” During World War II, he led fervent intercession for entire nations. Those who prayed with him said he would not rise from his knees until he sensed God had answered. Howells believed, as Scripture teaches, that prayer moves heaven and changes history.

The Biblical Call to Believe

Scripture does not leave this as a mystery. We are commanded to pray in faith:

“Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives…” (Matthew 7:7–8 NASB)

“Whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” (Mark 11:24 NASB)

“The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous person can accomplish much.” (James 5:16 NASB)

These verses are not poetic suggestions. They are declarations of spiritual reality.

When someone is placed in front of us, and we are asked or called to prayer, that is where the real happens, and faith is truly tested. Are we willing to settle for a “not yet” response? I do not read Yeshua telling people to wait. I do not read the apostles telling people to wait. They prayed, and it was done. Where is our faith, brothers and sisters?

Yet we must also be honest. In churches today, people in wheelchairs are brought forward week after week. Hands are laid on them, but they do not rise. They do not walk. We must ask: is this scriptural?

Scripture shows both immediate healings and times when prayer is persistent, even delayed. Yeshua healed instantly many times (John 5:9; Acts 3:6–7). Yet Paul speaks of ongoing illness (Philippians 2:27; 1 Timothy 5:23) and persistent prayer (2 Corinthians 12:8). The Church is called to believe for immediate healing and to persist when the answer tarries.

Our expectation matters. Do we guard our hearts to avoid disappointment if nothing happens? Do we blame the sick person for lack of faith? Or is there something deeper we are missing?

We may be missing unity in prayer (Acts 4:24–31), personal holiness and obedience (James 5:16), and true spiritual authority as children of God. We may be missing the kind of prayer that refuses to let go until the answer comes.

Blame is not the posture of faith. Our role is to pray, not to judge. Faith means standing in the tension: expecting God to move immediately while trusting His timing when the answer delays. We are called to pray expecting immediate answers while standing firm in trust when the answer comes differently than we hope.

We Must Rebuild the Altar of Prayer

The truth is clear. We must rebuild the altar of prayer in our own hearts. Many have allowed that altar to grow cold. We must tear down the altars of pride, self-reliance, and quiet unbelief. We must lay ourselves down again as living sacrifices.

We must pray not once or twice but persistently. Yeshua taught us to pray continually: to ask, seek, and knock until the answer comes. Like Jacob, we must be willing to say, “I will not let You go unless You bless me.” (Genesis 32:26 NASB)

I do not write these words as someone above the struggle. I am waiting on answers too. But I know this: God is faithful. His Word is enough. His power is real. His heart is good.

We do not always see the answer in the way or timing we expect, but this does not change who God is. He remains faithful, good, and true. Our call is to pray, to believe, and to trust Him completely.

Prayer Still Works. Believe Again.

So let today be the day we return. Let us pray again. Not with small, careful words, but with boldness. Let us press in again. Let us build the altar again. Let us believe again.

Because when God moves, everything changes.

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Revival, Visions

When El Shaddai Moves

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A Holy Summons to the Church

Quick question, and I ask this with reverence and humility:

If a revival stays locked within one denomination, is it truly revival?

This is not meant to provoke. It is meant to awaken.

Because something in us knows. We know in our bones that revival, real revival, never builds walls higher. It breaks them down. It does not create clubs of the elite or echo chambers of the like-minded. It stirs hearts to seek the presence of God above all. It draws people from every background to the feet of Yeshua. It makes what we have built feel far too small.

So what do we call it when a group experiences emotional meetings, deeper doctrinal alignment, or organizational growth, but the impact stays inside the walls? It might be renewal. It might be a movement. It might even be blessed by God. But revival—true revival—is something far more costly and far more consuming.

Revival is not loyalty to a form. It is surrender to the Fire.

When the Spirit Moves, He Does Not Play Favorites

We know this:

When El Shaddai moves, He gathers. He unites. He awakens. He pours Himself out without partiality.

That is not a poetic line. That is a biblical truth.

From Genesis to Revelation, God’s movements never belonged to one man, one tribe, or one sect. When YHWH moved on Mount Sinai, the fire was for the whole nation. When the Spirit fell in Acts 2, it was not just for the 120 in the Upper Room. It spilled into the streets and pierced the hearts of every nation under heaven (Acts 2:5 NASB). When the Lamb walks among the lampstands in Revelation, He is not addressing one church. He is speaking to all who have ears to hear.

So we must ask:

If a movement is emphasizing a name other than His, drawing lines tighter rather than tearing them down, is it truly revival or is it something more tame and manageable and man-made?

Revival in Scripture: It Never Stays Contained

Look closely at the patterns of the Word.

  • Josiah’s Revival (2 Kings 22–23): The king rediscovers the Book of the Law. What follows is not internal reformation but nationwide repentance. Altars are torn down. Idols are crushed. The Word is restored to its rightful place.
  • Nehemiah’s Day (Nehemiah 8–9): Ezra reads the Law to the people, and a spirit of brokenness and unity descends. The people stand for hours not to debate doctrine but to hear God’s voice and respond with fasting, prayer, and public confession.
  • Pentecost (Acts 2): Tongues of fire fall on a small group, but within moments, the city is shaken. And three thousand are added in a single day. Why? Because when the Spirit moves, He cannot be domesticated. He is not the property of a group. He is the outpouring of Heaven.

The Voice of the Spirit Unites, Not Divides

What is astonishing is that every time God moves, flesh tries to brand it. Tries to control it. Tries to keep it in safe boundaries.

Paul saw it happen in Corinth:

“Each one of you is saying, ‘I am with Paul,’ or ‘I am with Apollos,’ or ‘I am with Cephas,’ or ‘I am with Christ.’ Has Christ been divided?”

(1 Corinthians 1:12–13 NASB)

Even in the early Church, believers were tempted to retreat into familiar categories. Tribes within the Church itself. But revival refuses tribalism. It is the cry of the Spirit and the Bride: Come (Revelation 22:17).

So again, we ask:

If what is being labeled revival is deepening division, making people more suspicious of other Christians, or reinforcing systems over surrender, can we truly call it revival?

150 Year Old Bible With Sword

History Backs What the Bible Declares

Take a long look at history, and you will see the same fingerprints.

The First Great Awakening (1730s–40s):

Jonathan Edwards. George Whitefield. John Wesley. These men crossed denominational lines in a time when that was unthinkable. Some were banned from pulpits. So they preached in the fields and the fire still fell. People did not leave those meetings talking about denominations. They left trembling under the weight of the glory of God.

The Second Great Awakening (1790s–1840s):

Charles Finney preached with fire. Entire towns wept. Saloons closed. Racial reconciliation began to take root in hearts before the Civil War. This was not the fruit of better systems. It was the fruit of a burning Gospel.

The Welsh Revival (1904–05):

Evan Roberts was not a polished preacher. But he prayed. He wept. He obeyed. The result? The presence of God swept through the nation. Police officers had no work. Churches were packed every night. Children wept under conviction of sin. This was not a revival of programming. It was the invasion of holiness.

Azusa Street Revival (1906–1909):

Led by William J. Seymour, a humble Black man blind in one eye, this revival shattered the racial and gender norms of its time. People came from all over the world. Tongues, healings, prophecy. The book of Acts came alive again. This revival did not come from the denominational elite. It came from the hungry and the humble.

Throughout history, some have tried to engineer revival through methods — altar calls, campaigns, or systems. But as seen in the contrast between Finney’s methods and Nettleton’s quiet reliance on the Spirit, true revival is never mechanical. It is not the fruit of technique but the fruit of surrender.

A fiery preacher declares the Word inside a packed revival tent as worshippers lift their hands in unified hunger, drawn by the presence of El Shaddai.

Revival Makes Our Structures Feel Too Small

And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise the wine will burst the skins. But new wine must be put into fresh wineskins.

(Luke 5:37–38 NASB)

We love our wineskins.
Our churches. Our branding. Our policies and bylaws.
But when El Shaddai moves, He bursts the skins. Not to destroy, but to pour out more.

Revival is offensive to the well-ordered.
It is messy. Loud. Unpredictable.
It calls into question things we have built with decades of effort.
Because it is not for us. It is for Him.

If a move of God fits too neatly into a structure, we should ask:
Are we making room for the Holy Spirit?
Or are we just polishing what is already comfortable?

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.

A Holy Summons to the Church

So here it is, Church.

This is a summons. Not from me, but from the Word.
From the Spirit who broods over chaos and calls forth light.
From the One who is coming soon and looking for a Bride without spot or wrinkle.

Do not settle for sectarian fire. Ask for the flame that burns through every wall.

Do not label organizational momentum as revival.
Wait for the wind that fills the whole house.

Stop seeking unity through agreement. Seek it through surrender.
Revival does not begin when we all believe the same thing.
It begins when we all fall before the same throne.

How Do We Know When It Is Him?

Ask these questions:
Is Yeshua being exalted above all names?
Is the Word being preached with fire and purity?
Are people turning from sin and running into holiness?
Is the Spirit being poured out on all flesh, young and old, male and female, every background?
Is the fear of the Lord increasing?
Are denominational boundaries fading in light of God’s presence?

When El Shaddai moves, it is not only joy and unity. It is holy fear. The fear of the Lord fills the room, bending every heart low. Revival restores to the Church what many have lost: awe, trembling, and reverence before the throne of God.

Do not confuse momentary emotion with enduring transformation. The fire that falls from Heaven does not merely stir a service. It burns a path of holiness through entire communities. Revival leaves a mark not in headlines, but in homes, pulpits, and nations.

If the answer is yes, then fall on your face and worship.
If the answer is no, then pray and wait.
Because the real is worth the cost.

What We Know for Sure

Because this we know:

When El Shaddai moves, He gathers. He unites. He awakens. He pours Himself out without partiality.

He does not come to play favorites.
He does not come to bless our systems.
He comes to take over.
To bring prodigals home.
To make us one.
To prepare a Bride.

The Bride stands at dawn with her lamp burning, ready and watching. She does not hesitate. She is prepared to say yes when El Shaddai comes.
The Bride stands at dawn with her lamp burning, ready and watching. She does not hesitate. She is prepared to say yes when El Shaddai comes.

Let the Bride Say Yes

Church, it is time.
Lay down your pride.
Set aside your labels.
Open the door.

Ask Him to come, not to improve what you have built, but to burn it down if necessary.
Because if it is not built on Christ, it will not stand.

Let the revival that is coming be bigger than your denomination.
Bigger than your favorite preacher.
Bigger than your carefully curated theology.

Let it be Him.

Let the flame fall.

Lord El Shaddai, come.

Gather us.
Unite us.
Awaken us.
Pour Yourself out.

Not just for a moment, but until we are undone.
Until we are holy.
Until we are Yours.

Amen.

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Sound the Shofar Today
A holy cry rises at sunset—the shofar sounds, declaring to heaven and earth: this world belongs to the Lord.

The Shofar

A single sound pierces everything.

It is the cry of the shofar — not from earth, but from Heaven. It echoes across the seen and unseen, splitting the air like lightning, summoning all who have ears to hear. And as the blast rings out, our spiritual eyes are opened. We are drawn into the Spirit, away from the noise of this world, into the place where Heaven’s purposes unfold.

We see a vast expanse before us — stretching wider than nations, higher than the tallest steeples. Across the plain rise countless buildings and tents, each marked by names we recognize: Baptist. Pentecostal. Reformed. Messianic. Methodist. Non-denominational. Some banners are fresh and bright, others faded and torn, but each structure stands separate from the others, as if walled off.

Then comes the Wind.

It does not start small. It rushes in suddenly, as if it had been waiting behind a veil, ready. We feel it before we see it — weighty, holy, unstoppable. The Wind carries with it tongues of flame: golden fire not meant to destroy but to refine.

The banners begin to tremble. Walls crack and shift. We see people inside — some looking out with longing, some clinging desperately to the walls, fearful of the Wind. But there are others. Others hear the Wind, feel the fire, and drop everything. They fall to their knees, faces lifted, eyes burning with tears and awe.

And now — Yeshua.

He walks into view. Not towering in distant majesty, but moving among the people, near. His robe shines with impossible light, yet is dipped in blood. His eyes are as flames of fire. His feet tread the plain as though claiming every inch for Himself.

He does not speak yet. First, He walks among the lampstands — seven, seventy, seven hundred — more than we can count. Each one represents a gathering, a place once marked by human hands but now aflame with His presence. Some lampstands burn brightly, others flicker weakly, yet He tends them all. Adding oil. Adjusting wicks. Nothing escapes His notice.

And then Yeshua speaks.

His voice is like many waters. It rolls through the plain and into the heart of every person:

“Let the Bride make herself ready.”

At once, the walls collapse — but there is no panic. There is only worship. People stream out from every tent and building, from every tribe, tongue, and denomination. No one cares about labels now. They come forward to a single, living altar: no platform, no lights, no brand. Just stone and fire. Holy. Untouched by human design.

Around the altar stand angels with shofars in hand. Their eyes shine like lightning. Their faces burn with the glory of God.

And we hear the call again:

“Come. Come to Me.”

The people fall prostrate. Pastors, preachers, theologians, children, elders — all alike in this moment. The sound of weeping rises. The sound of rejoicing follows. It is the sound of hearts being undone before the living God.

And above it all — the shofar sounds once more.

Not as a beginning, but as a seal. A final summons.

The Spirit is moving. El Shaddai is moving.

This is not just a dream. It is already beginning — in quiet places, in small churches, in prayer rooms, in homes.

The Wind is coming.

The Fire is falling.

The Bride is awakening.

Let every heart cry:
Lord Yeshua, we are Yours.
Gather us.
Unite us.
Awaken us.
Pour Yourself out.

Not for a moment, but until we are fully, completely Yours.

Amen.

Intimacy, Spiritual Growth

The Burning Heart

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When the Word and Love Ignite

“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)

There is a fire that comes when the Word of God is opened by the Spirit of God. It is not emotionalism, yet it ignites emotion. It is not mere intellect, yet it awakens understanding. This is the fire that burned in the hearts of the disciples on the road to Emmaus—a burning heart born not of hype, but of revelation. And it is this same fire that the Bride in the Song of Songs speaks of as she longs for her Beloved. The balance of truth and love, of Scripture and desire, is where the Church must walk if we are to burn rightly.

David: A Man After God’s Heart

David is one of the clearest living pictures of the burning heart. He was a shepherd, a warrior, a poet, and a king—but above all, he was a lover of God. He said, “My heart has heard You say, ‘Come and talk with Me.’ And my heart responds, ‘Lord, I am coming’” (Psalm 27:8, NLT). His life burned with longing—not just for God’s power, but for God’s presence.

David meditated on the Law of the Lord day and night (Psalm 1:2). He cherished the Word, even as he danced before the ark. He wrote songs of deep intimacy, but also proclaimed truths that fed the generations after him. His tears watered the Psalms, but his hands were trained for battle. He sought the face of God like the Bride in Song of Songs and trembled at His Word like the disciples on the Emmaus road.

The Word that Ignites

On that road to Emmaus, Yeshua revealed Himself through the Scriptures. He opened the Law and the Prophets and showed how every word pointed to Him. As the disciples listened, something divine stirred within them—a burning they could not explain. David experienced this same burning centuries earlier: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119:105, NASB). He didn’t just read the Word—he sang it, memorized it, and let it form his inner life.

Revival begins when the people of God fall in love with the Word of God again. But not the letter only—the Spirit must breathe through the pages. The fire falls when the Word is not just opened, but rightly divided, joyfully received, and lived out with trembling delight.

The Fire of Love for the Bridegroom

David cried out, “As the deer pants for the water brooks, so my soul pants for You, God” (Psalm 42:1, NASB). His soul ached for nearness. Like the Shulamite in Song of Songs, he would rather be with God than in the courts of power. “Better is one day in Your courts than a thousand elsewhere” (Psalm 84:10). This wasn’t poetic exaggeration. This was the confession of a man who knew the presence of the King was his truest reward.

The Church must awaken to this again. A people who know the Scriptures but do not burn for Yeshua are as lifeless as those who chase emotion without the anchor of truth. We are called to more than study—we are called to intimacy. David refused to offer worship that cost him nothing. So should we.

The Balance We Must Recover

David’s life gives us the blueprint. He honored the Word, but he also worshiped with abandon. He treasured the Law, but he sang love songs to his God. He danced in joy and wept in repentance. He ruled with justice and waited in caves with humility. He was not perfect—but he was burning.

The modern Church must return to this balance. Let us not choose between truth and love. Let us walk with both. Let our doctrine be sound, and our hearts be tender. Let us be scholars and singers. Lovers and listeners. Warriors and worshipers. Like David. Like the disciples. Like the Bride.

When the Church Burns Again

Imagine what happens when the Bride walks this narrow way. A Church whose heart burns with truth and love becomes a light to the world. No longer tossed by every wind of teaching. No longer seduced by shallow emotionalism. But rooted in Scripture and alive with holy passion. This is what Yeshua deserves—a Bride who knows Him and desires Him, who listens to His voice and leans on His chest.

When the Word is opened and love is stirred, the fire never goes out. This is the fire Elijah called down. This is the fire that fell at Pentecost. This is the fire that prepares the Bride for the Bridegroom. It is more than study, more than song—it is surrender.

O Lord, I come as David came, with harp and sword,
With scroll in hand and fire in my bones.
Make my heart a furnace for Your truth,
And my soul a chamber for Your love.
Open Your Word, awaken desire—
Let me burn with holy fire.

Prayer

Father, kindle a burning heart in us. Let us tremble at Your Word and long for Your presence. Make us like David—lovers of truth and pursuers of Your heart. Let our hearts burn as the Scriptures are opened, and let us weep with longing for the Bridegroom. May the Church walk again in the fullness of the Word and Spirit, wisdom and intimacy, knowledge and love. In the name of Yeshua, our King and our Beloved, amen.

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Prayers

Come Boldly: A Call to Faith-Filled Prayer

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

A Better Covenant Demands Greater Expectation

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

Why then do we settle for less?

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

Yeshua Said We Would Do Greater Works

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

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

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

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

From Repetition to Revelation

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

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

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

The Model of Elijah

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

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

And fire fell.

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

What About Doctors?

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

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

Faith Still Pleases God

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

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

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

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

Pray Like the Veil Is Torn

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

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

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

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

And He is looking for someone who will believe again.

Let Us Pray

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

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Devotion, Purity

Purifying the Altar of Our Hearts

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

This is what purifying the altar looks like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the season of purification.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let the altars be purified.
Let the fire fall.

⸻

Prayer

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

⸻

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Prophetic Words & Encouragement

He Will Rebuild. He Will Restore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prayer of Faith

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

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Revival

The Cry That Shakes Heaven

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A Midnight Prayer for Glory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And He will come.

Prayer

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

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

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

In Your name, amen.

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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!”

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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.

Revival and Awakening, Visions

Maranatha: Come, Lord Yeshua, Come

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

Love

Hearts on Fire: The Spirit and the Word

“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.

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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.

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