We have the Word. We know the words. We say what we say, and we know what we shouldsay. We repeat them often enough. We try to stir up enough faith to believe. We convince ourselves that we are holy, that we are doing what the Lord wants—but to what end?
How do we reach the end of ourselves, the end of all this stuff, to see God’s power manifest, present, and carried with us again?
Beloved, hear the call of the Spirit: return to the fire of His presence.
Not to the words only. Not to the form. Not to the motion. But to the living presence of the Lord.
We say the right things. We know the Scriptures. We quote the prophets. We recite the creeds. We cry, “Lord, Lord,” and we work in His name. But the aching question remains: Where is the power? Where is the trembling of the ground under His footsteps? Where is the weight of glory that makes men weep and fall on their faces?
O generation—you have built much, but have you touched the hem of His robe? You have filled the air with worship, but have you heard His voice in the secret place? You’ve followed strategies and ministries and models, but have you fallen in love with the Lord Himself? You are not alone—I, too, have walked this path. You are just like me. But we cannot stay here.
The time has come for holy desperation. The time has come to say with tears and trembling:
“Lord, we have nothing left but You.”
What does that mean? It means the idols must fall. It means we throw down the golden calves of comfort, ego, platform, and applause. It means we stop clinging to religion that denies the power of God—and we press in until the fire falls again. It means the pursuit of His presence becomes everything. Not a side note. Not a sermon point. Everything.
O brother. O sister. O weary heart—have you reached the end of yourself yet?
When your strength fails, He becomes your strength. When your words fall flat, His Spirit groans with power. When your plans are spent and your hands are empty—then, finally, you are ready. You are not disqualified because you’re weak. You are disqualified only if you still trust in your own strength.
Believers gathered in deep intercessory prayer, lifting silent groanings before God, surrounded by symbols of His covenant promises.
God waits—for those who will weep between the porch and the altar, for those who will rend their hearts and not just their garments.
“Return to Me with all your heart,” says the Lord, “and I will return to you” Joel 2:12–13, NASB).
A holy cry rises at sunset—the shofar sounds, declaring to heaven and earth: this world belongs to the Lord.
Let the shofar blast awaken you. Shake yourself from the dust! The King is at the door!
Will He find faith? Will He find fire?
Or will He find us asleep in the comfort of our programs, while His presence waits outside?
Return to the fire of His presence.
Return with fasting. Return with weeping. Return with longing. He is not far. He waits for the brokenhearted. He dwells with the contrite and lowly of spirit. Let the cry rise again from the depths of your soul:
“We have nothing left but You.”
And beloved—He is enough.
A Prayer for the Returning Heart
Father, we have wandered in our own ways. We’ve sung Your songs but not sought Your face. We’ve built our altars, but we left off the fire. Have mercy on us, O God. Strip us of every false thing. Let the fear of the Lord return to our hearts. We cry out—not for blessings, not for breakthrough, not for platforms—but for You.
We want You, Yeshua. We need You, Ruach HaKodesh. Consume us. Burn away everything that hinders love. Let the fire fall again—not around us, but in us. Make us the kind of people who carry Your presence. Let the world see again that You are not an idea.
You are the Living God. In the holy name of Yeshua,
When the day of Pentecost had fully come, the disciples were not busy making plans or debating strategies. They were hidden away, hearts low to the ground, souls turned upward. “When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place” (Acts 2:1, NASB). They were not idle. They engaged in tear-soaked prayer—quiet, desperate, persistent prayer in the Upper Room (Acts 1:14, NASB). Pentecost teaches us that absolute reliance on God begins not with action but with prayer.
Prayer was not an afterthought; it was the furnace where their dependence was forged. In the Upper Room, they wept, waited, and wore the floor thin with their knees. They had no other plan. They had no fallback. The strength to fulfill the Great Commission could not be conjured by willpower—it had to be born in prayer. If we are to learn anything from Pentecost today, it is this: we must return to the Upper Room posture. Absolute reliance on God means sinking to our knees and refusing to rise until He answers.
In our generation, prayer is often the last resort. We strategize first, act second, and pray third. Pentecost rebukes this order. The fire of God falls on soaked altars, on lives marinated in the secret place. Prayer must again become our lifeblood, not a hurried sentence but the slow, aching cry of a heart desperate for Him. The world tells us to be busy; Pentecost calls us to be still before El Shaddai, the All-Sufficient One, and wait for His power.
Pentecost also reminds us that prayer is corporate as well as personal. “These all with one mind were continually devoting themselves to prayer…” (Acts 1:14, NASB). They were of one accord—not arguing about doctrinal differences, not boasting, “I follow Paul,” or “I follow Apollos.” Their hearts were knit together in humility and dependence. Division would have quenched the Spirit before He even came. In that upper room, the Spirit of God found a vessel unified and emptied.
And what was the cry of their hearts? These disciples, hunted and threatened, did not ask for protection. They did not pray, “Lord, send angels to defend us,” or “Deliver us from our enemies.” They prayed for boldness—the holy courage to preach the gospel without fear (Acts 4:29, NASB). Absolute reliance on God means trusting not in physical safety but in the triumph of His Word. They understood what it meant to be crucified with Christ. Their lives were already laid down; they sought only the strength to proclaim the Name of Yeshua boldly, even unto death.
The Church today must recover this fearless heart. If we long for revival, we must pray not for ease but for fire—not for comfort but for courage. Absolute reliance on God means trusting Him to sustain, strengthen, and embolden us when the world rages against us. God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and sound judgment (2 Timothy 1:7, NASB).
Beloved, the lesson of Pentecost is clear: if we are to walk in the power of the Spirit, we must first kneel in utter dependence. Absolute reliance on God is not passive—it is an active, unyielding trust formed in the furnace of prayer. Like the disciples, we must forsake all other hopes, all other strengths, and look only to Him who promised, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you” (Acts 1:8, NASB).
Our world is desperate for revival, but revival will not come through clever sermons or polished programs. Revival will be born when men and women of God are found once again in Upper Rooms, floors damp with tears, hearts lifted like incense. Pentecost calls us to be that generation.
Self-Reflection: Walking in Absolute Reliance on God
For the Believer:
Am I seeking the fire of God through tear-soaked prayer or am I relying on my own strength?
When fear rises, do I pray for protection, or do I ask God for boldness to proclaim His Name?
Have I set aside personal ambitions to become fully dependent on El Shaddai, the All-Sufficient One?
Is my heart unified with my brothers and sisters, or is division hindering the move of the Spirit in my life?
For the Local Congregation:
Are we a church of prayer or a church of programs?
Have we created an Upper Room culture where dependence on the Spirit is our first response?
Do we spend more time strategizing or more time seeking the face of God together?
Is boldness to preach the Gospel part of our prayers, or have we settled for safety and comfort?
For the Denomination:
Are we leaning on heritage and tradition, or are we actively dependent on the living Spirit of God?
Are we unified in mission and spirit, or divided by secondary matters that grieve the Holy Spirit?
Have we lost our boldness, forgetting the fearless prayers of the early Church?
How will our generation be remembered — as those who sought revival through prayer and unity, or as those who trusted in human plans?
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Prayer
O Sovereign Lord, we come to You stripped of all pretense and power. Teach us again to wait before You in prayer, to soak the ground with tears, to hunger for nothing but Your presence. Forgive us for trusting in our strength and teach us absolute reliance on You. Birth in us the Upper Room cry, the unrelenting groan for Your Spirit. And when You come, Lord, grant us boldness—not comfort, not safety—but boldness to declare Your Word without fear. May our lives be the altar, and may Your fire fall again. In the mighty name of Yeshua, we pray. Amen.
When God moves, He does not simply fill a room—He shakes the very foundations of hearts and nations. Revival is never about bigger crowds, more services, or even temporary excitement. It is about the manifest presence of God descending upon His people with power, holiness, and undeniable glory. As we reflect on previous moves of God, they instruct us not only in recognizing true revival but in preparing ourselves for it.
During the First Great Awakening, it was not eloquent sermons but the heavy conviction of sin that swept across entire towns. The Azusa Street Revival was not built on slick programs but on humble prayer, with miracles, healings, and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit marking the days. In the Welsh Revival, society itself bowed—crime plummeted, taverns closed, and homes became houses of prayer. Revival, historically, has never been about filling seats; it has been about emptying hearts before God.
Today, some churches rejoice in growth—three services, full pews, and five or six salvations a month. And indeed, heaven rejoices over one sinner who repents (Luke 15:10, NASB). Yet, revival is not simply more activity or bigger buildings. True revival is when the very atmosphere becomes saturated with God’s holiness. It is not measured by numbers but by transformation—radical, visible, undeniable change.
And there is a deeper problem in the body today: walls. Many churches have built up barriers against fellow believers over “doctrinal errors,” disagreements, and prideful divisions. Instead of the body being one, it has been fractured into camps. But in a true revival, God would tear down those walls.
“For He Himself is our peace, who made both groups into one and broke down the barrier of the dividing wall.” (Ephesians 2:14, NASB)
Revival will demolish the pride that fuels division. It will make theological arguments melt before the overwhelming presence of God. It will cause us to weep not only for the lost but for the way we have treated one another. Doctrinal purity matters, but love for the brethren is the mark of true discipleship (John 13:35, NASB). In revival, the walls man built will crumble under the hand of the Almighty, and the Church will be called back to unity in Christ—not uniformity of opinion, but unity of Spirit.
What would revival look like today?
It would break out of our carefully crafted schedules. It would overtake ordinary days with extraordinary encounters. Miracles would once again be signs that point to the living God, not spectacles for entertainment. Broken bodies, broken hearts, and broken homes would be healed.
It would not be confined to one church. True revival would leap from city to city, home to home, heart to heart—uncontainable and unstoppable.
It would not simply save souls but disciple nations. It would not just gather crowds but gather worshipers who worship in spirit and truth.
And it would be fueled by repentance—deep, raw, tear-streaked repentance. Not only for our sins but for our divisions. For our pride. For the walls we built where God called us to be one.
Revival today would be holy chaos: sinners saved, saints sanctified, the proud humbled, and the walls between believers torn down by the hand of God Himself.
No man could orchestrate it. No program could schedule it. No wall could withstand it.
Only God could do it—and only hungry hearts will see it.
But before we cry out for revival in our nation, we must ask: are our own houses ready to host His presence?
Self-Reflection for Houses of God: Preparing the Congregation for Revival
Before revival sweeps through cities, it must first sweep through the house of God—the local congregation. We often long to see the fire fall, but have we prepared the altar where it might rest? Revival does not begin in the crowds; it begins in the hearts of the leaders, the worshipers, and the intercessors within the house.
“For it is time for judgment to begin with the household of God.” (1 Peter 4:17, NASB)
If we truly desire revival today, we must first examine our house:
Is Jesus exalted above all programs and personalities?
Is the Word of God honored without compromise?
Is prayer the engine of the congregation, or an afterthought?
Are we walking in unity, or are divisions and offenses quietly tolerated?
Are miracles welcomed or explained away?
Is holiness pursued, or is it considered optional?
Far too often, churches today are busy building walls—walls of doctrinal division, walls of competition, walls of pride. We must repent. In true revival, God will tear down every wallwe have built to separate ourselves from the larger body of Christ. If we cling to factions, if we protect our image more than His presence, revival will bypass us.
Revival will come to the house that is hungry for God, not for applause. It will fall where the Spirit is not grieved but welcomed. It will rest where repentance is real, prayer is fervent, and Jesus alone is glorified.
How can we apply this to our house of God?
Call the congregation to fasting and prayer.
Tear down unspoken offenses and seek reconciliation.
Re-center the ministry on the Word and the Spirit.
Remove anything that quenches the move of God—whether pride, control, or tradition.
Teach and model humility, holiness, and hunger.
Be willing to lose the crowds if it means gaining His presence.
Revival today will not look like bigger budgets and flashier lights. It will look like a humble congregation on their knees, weeping for more of God, welcoming His Spirit, and abandoning everything else for the sake of His glory.
If we prepare the house, He will come.
“Prepare the way of the Lord, make His paths straight!” (Mark 1:3, NASB)
The Eternal Creator Reigns — Return to Him. This is the call echoing across the earth in this hour. Our God, the Maker of heaven and earth, reigns with unchanging power and glory. He calls His people, the remnant, to return to Him — to forsake idols, to lay aside distractions, and to behold the beauty of His holiness once again. The Eternal Creator Reigns — Return to Him and find restoration for your soul.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1:1, NASB). By His Word, all things were made — the stars in their courses, the oceans in their bounds, the beasts of the field, and mankind in His image (Genesis 1:20; Psalm 33:6). He alone stretched out the heavens, laid the foundations of the earth, and calls the hosts of heaven by name (Isaiah 48:13; Job 26:7).
Today, the Spirit of the Lord speaks clearly: “Return.” Return, O remnant, to the One who formed you from the dust (Genesis 2:7). Return to the Creator who breathed life into your soul. “Remember your Creator in the days of your youth” (Ecclesiastes 12:1). “Return to Me, for I have redeemed you” (Isaiah 44:22).
The prophets cried out. The psalmists sang it. The apostles preached it. The Eternal Creator reigns, and He is calling His people back. His Word does not change (Malachi 3:6). His covenant stands sure. “The counsel of the LORD stands forever” (Psalm 33:11). He is the Alpha and the Omega, who was, and is, and is to come (Revelation 1:8).
O Church, return to the LORD who made you. Return to the One who forms the mountains and creates the wind (Amos 4:13). Return to the One who fills the heavens with His glory and the earth with His majesty (Isaiah 6:3). Return to the only true God, for He alone gives life and breath to all things (Acts 17:24-25).
Now lift your voice with holy fear and boldness:
You are awesome, O God of power, Lord of glory. Fill this place with Your manifest presence!
Let the weight of Your glory descend. Let every heart be stilled. Let every tongue confess: You alone are God. As You filled the tabernacle with the cloud and the temple with Your glory, so fill this house, fill this people, fill this hour.
Manifest Your presence, O LORD! Let Your power shake the heavens. Let Your glory fall as fire on the altar. Let us not merely know about You but behold You. Come, Ancient of Days, and let Your remnant arise — purified, humbled, burning with holy fire.
Declare it boldly, Church: The Eternal Creator reigns — and He calls us to return. This is the word for the season. Return to Him while He may be found. Seek Him while He is near (Isaiah 55:6).
Our God reigns — now and forever!
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Prayer
O LORD, Ancient of Days, we hear Your call to return. You are the Eternal Creator, the Maker of heaven and earth, the One who was before all things and in whom all things hold together. We return to You — to Your holiness, to Your truth, to Your glory.
You are awesome, O God of power, Lord of glory. Fill this place with Your manifest presence. Let the fire of Your holiness fall. Let the remnant rise. Let the sleeping awaken. Draw us to Yourself with cords of love and make us vessels of Your glory in this generation.
Come and dwell among us, O King of Glory. Be enthroned in our praises. Be magnified in our midst.
In the mighty name of Yeshua HaMashiach, we pray. Amen.
Unlocking the Mystery: The Four Kinds of Tongues in the Bible – Part 4
There are moments in the life of a believer when words fail, and prayer moves beyond language into the realm of deep spiritual groanings. This is not the formal tongues spoken in public, nor even the personal prayer language; it is Spirit-led intercession so profound that it cannot be expressed in human speech.
“In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know what to pray for as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26, NASB)
These are the times when the Holy Spirit prays through us — birthing, warring, and interceding for the will of God to be done on earth as it is in heaven.
What Are Deep Spiritual Groanings?
Unlike other kinds of tongues where structured speech is given, deep spiritual groanings are the sighs, cries, and wordless utterances born from the deepest part of the soul. The believer’s spirit, under the influence of the Holy Spirit, utters what the mind cannot conceive.
Paul describes it as a kind of divine burden:
“For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now.” (Romans 8:22, NASB)
Just as creation groans for redemption, so believers sometimes enter into deep spiritual travail — groaning with God’s Spirit for breakthrough, for nations, for revival, or for the salvation of souls.
Why Deep Spiritual Groanings Matter
These moments are not simply emotional experiences; they are spiritual transactions. In these times:
The Holy Spirit aligns our prayers with the perfect will of God.
Intercession becomes deeper and more effective, bypassing human limitations.
Spiritual breakthroughs are birthed unseen, but felt powerfully.
When we are too weak, too burdened, or too confused to know how to pray, the Spirit steps in — carrying our prayer life beyond what our minds can comprehend.
Travail for Revival
In the late 20th century, before a major revival broke out in Brownsville, Florida, a small group of intercessors gathered weekly. During those gatherings, prayer often moved beyond words. People groaned and cried out under the weight of a burden they couldn’t articulate. Shortly after, a wave of revival swept through their church, impacting thousands with salvation and restoration — a visible answer to the invisible groanings of the Spirit.
The Labor Pains of New Birth
Paul compares the work of prayer to childbirth:
“My children, with whom I am again in labor until Christ is formed in you.” (Galatians 4:19, NASB)
Labor is intense, exhausting, and filled with groanings. But labor results in new life. So it is with deep spiritual groanings — they are the labor pains of birthing God’s purposes into reality.
Self-Examination Questions
Have I invited the Holy Spirit to lead me beyond my own understanding in prayer?
Do I press deeper when prayer becomes difficult, trusting the Spirit to intercede through me?
Am I willing to carry burdens in prayer until breakthrough comes?
A woman in quiet prayer, building faith in the unseen—trusting God before the storm comes.
Groanings Too Deep for Words
Deep spiritual groanings are not signs of weakness; they are evidence of the Spirit’s strength working through us. In these moments, the believer touches the heart of God, interceding not with eloquence, but with the raw, Spirit-born language of heaven.
“He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.” (Romans 8:27, NASB)
Yield to these groanings. Trust that God hears them. They are powerful, effective, and they move heaven and earth.
Prayer
Holy Spirit, thank You for helping us when we are weak. Teach us to trust You when words fail and to surrender to the deep groanings You birth within us. Let our prayers align with God’s perfect will. Move through us to bring revival, healing, and salvation to the earth. In Yeshua’s name we pray, amen.
[Verse 1] When words fall silent, and my heart can’t speak, Your Spirit prays for me, when I am weak. Groanings rise like rivers unseen, You carry my soul where I’ve never been.
[Pre-Chorus] In the stillness, You are near, Breaking through every doubt and fear.
[Chorus] Groanings too deep for words, Spirit, You move in the unseen surge. Heaven and earth align, In the soundless cry that touches the divine.
[Verse 2] You intercede with holy fire, Breathing life to my silent desire. When my strength is gone and hope feels blurred, You speak for me in groanings unheard.
[Pre-Chorus] In the stillness, You are near, Breaking through every doubt and fear.
[Chorus] Groanings too deep for words, Spirit, You move in the unseen surge. Heaven and earth align, In the soundless cry that touches the divine.
[Bridge] Birth in me what eyes can’t see, Move in power, set captives free. Groanings rise, the battle turns, As heaven bends to Spirit yearns.
[Chorus] Groanings too deep for words, Spirit, You move in the unseen surge. Heaven and earth align, In the soundless cry that touches the divine.
[Outro] Groanings too deep… too deep for words, Spirit, speak what can’t be heard.
Oh, for that flame of living fire! The ancient hymn sighs with longing, its words almost lost to a generation numb to holy passion. Where is that Spirit, Lord, which once set the hearts of saints ablaze, which filled prophets with boldness and caused apostles to endure shipwreck, hunger, and sword with unwavering joy?
We must ask ourselves, Where is the fire? And we must answer honestly. The fire of the Spirit has not vanished; it has simply been replaced — replaced by comfort, self-interest, and a cross-less Christianity. The Apostle Paul gave the key when he declared: “But far be it from me to boast, except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.” (Galatians 6:14, NASB)
If we desire to live by the Spirit as those saints did, we must return to the cross. There is no shortcut. There is no modern substitute.
Living by the Spirit Begins at the Cross
To live by the Spirit is to first die at the cross. Jesus said plainly, “If anyone wants to come after Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23, NASB) To live under the Spirit’s rule moment by moment, we must let the cross do its work, severing our attachment to the world and emptying us of self.
Many today want the fire without the altar. But Scripture is clear: “Present your bodies as a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship.”(Romans 12:1, NASB) Without sacrifice, there is no fire.
Living by the Spirit today looks like surrender — absolute, unrelenting, joyful surrender. It is not a Sunday activity but a daily death. It is the laying down of plans, the renouncing of pride, the crucifying of comfort.
What Living by the Spirit Looks Like Today
To live by the Spirit in today’s world is to walk in conscious, continual submission to God’s voice. It is a life that bears the fruit of the Spirit: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.” (Galatians 5:22-23, NASB)
It looks like believers who are bold in their witness, unashamed of the gospel, as Paul was when he wrote, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes.” (Romans 1:16, NASB)
It looks like saints who are not driven by fear or anxiety, but who trust wholly in God’s providence: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and pleading with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” (Philippians 4:6, NASB)
It looks like households where prayer is not an afterthought, but the breath of the home. It looks like workplaces where integrity shines, conversations where grace abounds, and lives so surrendered that the fragrance of Christ follows everywhere they go.
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.
Why Has the Fire Diminished?
Why must we ask, “Where is that Spirit, Lord?” It is because we have settled for a form of godliness without its power (2 Timothy 3:5). We have exchanged the Spirit’s fire for the world’s approval. We have chosen safety over surrender.
The saints of old walked in the power of the Spirit because they first walked the narrow way of the cross. They were crucified to the world, dead to its charms, and alive only to God.
If we would regain the fire, we must return to that narrow path. Jesus warned, “Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who enter through it.” (Matthew 7:13, NASB)
A Call to Rekindle the Flame
Where is the fire? It waits for those willing to lay all on the altar. It waits for those who will take up the cross daily, die to self, and live by the Spirit.
Today, the call is urgent. Lay down your life anew. Present yourself as a living sacrifice. Crucify the flesh with its passions and desires (Galatians 5:24). Boast only in the cross of Christ, and watch as the fire returns — not as a flickering candle, but as a consuming blaze.
We need not sigh with nostalgia for a bygone era. The Spirit has not changed. “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8, NASB) His fire still falls — but only where there is fuel. Only where there is surrender.
Let us forsake the comforts of this world and seek the face of El Shaddai. Let us live by the Spirit, moment by moment, breath by breath, until our lives burn as living sacrifices, holy and acceptable to God.
Then, and only then, will the world look at the Church and see not a hollow religion, but a living fire.
Closing Prayer
Lord Yeshua, we kneel at the foot of Your cross. Crucify our pride, our comfort, our idols. Set our hearts ablaze with the fire of Your Spirit. Let us live by the Spirit, walking in the steps You have marked out for us. May our lives be living flames, drawing all men to You. Amen.
“Choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve… but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” — Joshua 24:15 (AMP)
Beloved, hear what the Spirit is saying: God is not calling you to climb halfway. He is not pleased with lukewarm devotion, for the Lord of glory did not pour out His blood for mediocrity. He gave everything that we might live in the fullness of faith and wholly unto Him.
Many walk halfway up the mountain and pitch their tents there. They are no longer in the valley of open rebellion, but neither have they ascended into the holy place where the presence of God fills every breath. Like Israel standing at Sinai, they see the smoke and hear the thunder but dare not draw near. Yet the voice of Yeshua still calls: “Come up here!” (Revelation 4:1, NASB).
The blood of the Lamb was not spilled for a half-hearted Church. It was shed that we might be redeemed, sanctified, and filled with power from on high. “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession…” (1 Peter 2:9, NASB). This is not the language of mediocrity. It is the high calling of saints set apart in fullness of faith.
Let us not forget: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.” (Galatians 2:20, NASB). If the risen King indwells you by His Spirit, how then can you be content with a life of shallow devotion and powerless ritual? The Holy Spirit is not a concept. He is a consuming fire. He leads us into all truth, convicts of sin, strengthens in weakness, and overflows with rivers of living water (John 16:13; Romans 8:26; John 7:38).
Tozer wrote rightly: “They are morally above the hardened sinner but spiritually beneath the shining saint.” But let the Word of God rebuke this halfway living. “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot; I wish that you were cold or hot. So because you are lukewarm… I will vomit you out of My mouth.” (Revelation 3:15–16, NASB).
You must choose. Choose today. As Joshua declared before the assembly, so now the Spirit presses upon the Church again: Choose whom you will serve. The cross demands your everything. The Spirit demands your yielding in fullness of faith. And God will not share His glory with lesser loves.
There is more in God than most dare to ask for. More love. More power. More holiness. “Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” (James 4:8, NASB). But the halfway Christian will not draw near. He remains in the shadow, comforted by good reputation and empty religious habits. Do not be deceived: God is not mocked. What you sow, you will reap (Galatians 6:7).
El Shaddai has not changed. He still speaks in fire. He still shakes the heavens and the earth. He still fills the house where the saints gather with wind and glory (Acts 2:2–4). The difference is not in God—the difference is in us. Will we go beyond the threshold? Will we press in to know Him? “Let us press on to know the Lord. His going out is as certain as the dawn.” (Hosea 6:3, NASB) as we journey in the fullness of faith.
No more mediocrity. No more compromise. Let us throw off every weight and sin that so easily entangles, and run with endurance the race set before us (Hebrews 12:1). Let us be done with the praise of man, the fear of missing out, the paralysis of indecision. Let us burn for God.
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Your altar blazes with holy flame, And still I choose to climb. Though feet may falter on the way, Your Spirit speaks in time. No peak too high, no cost too steep, To gain the One divine.
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Prayer:
Abba Father, we reject mediocrity in Your name. You are worthy of full devotion—not a portion, not a part. Cleanse us from half-heartedness. Burn away the dullness of routine. Ignite in us a hunger for Your presence that nothing else can satisfy. Fill us with Your Spirit, El Elyon, that we may serve You fully, walk in power, and reflect the image of Yeshua to a world in darkness in fullness of faith. We seek Your face—not just Your gifts—and we say with trembling hearts, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Amen.
Beloved, you who hunger for truth and long for something more—listen. The Father sent the Son, not to judge you, but to save you (John 3:17). Yeshua, the Lamb of God, was not an afterthought nor a distant Savior. He came in the fullness of time, sent by the Father, bearing heaven’s authority and the weight of divine love.
The prophets foresaw Him. “I have called You in righteousness… and will appoint You as a covenant to the people, as a light to the nations” (Isaiah 42:6). “Come near to Me, listen to this: From the beginning I have not spoken in secret, from the time it took place, I was there. And now the Lord God has sent Me, and His Spirit” (Isaiah 48:16). And again: “Many nations will join themselves to the Lord in that day… and will become My people” (Zechariah 2:11). His coming was foreseen, even as one sent by His Father.
This is that day. Yeshua is the Sent One, and He is calling you now.
A weathered wooden cross stands silhouetted against a glowing sunset, marking the place where pride ends and surrender begins.
God’s Faithfulness and My Journey
My life bears witness to this truth. Years ago in Nashua, NH, I encountered Yeshua through my girlfriend. I accepted Him into my heart, and everything changed. My first pastor, Kyn, baptized me in his backyard pool, and El Shaddai began a transforming work in me, just as it is written: “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6, NASB). This transformation, orchestrated by the One sent by the Father, marked the beginning of a new journey.
Later, I moved to Syracuse, NY, to help plant a church. I took on many roles and became an ordained pastor. But under the weight of ministry, I faltered. I burned out. Divorced and disillusioned, I walked away—not only from my calling but slowly from God. I spent nearly twenty years in a wilderness of silence.
But God wasn’t finished with me.
In October 2023, while looking for retirement income, I began writing again. What began as a practical step turned into a divine encounter. The Lord led me to combine my photography with devotional writing—and that’s when breath entered dry bones. “This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life” (Ezekiel 37:5). The Holy Spirit stirred, and my soul awakened. Where I once avoided people, I now pursue them to share His love. His Spirit now guides every step.
He has spared me from death, carried me through sickness, and brought peace into my chaos. “The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7, NASB). He supplied what I lacked (Philippians 4:19), strengthened me when I had nothing left (2 Corinthians 12:9, AMP), and healed wounds I didn’t even understand (Jeremiah 30:17, AMP). Through His infinite grace, the Father sent His peace into my chaos.
I testify today: God’s promises are unshakable. He has never failed me.
Jesus rests with friends in Bethany, finding peace and fellowship before the cross, while Mary and Martha quietly serve in love.
The One Who Was Sent
Yeshua did not come on His own. He was sent. Indeed, sent by the Father for a purpose.
“I have not come of Myself, but He sent Me” (John 8:42).
“This is the work of God, that you believe in Him whom He has sent” (John 6:29).
“He who receives Me receives Him who sent Me” (John 13:20).
To believe in the Son is to believe in the Father. To reject the Son is to reject the One who sent Him. Yeshua spoke only what the Father gave Him (John 12:49), and performed works that bore witness to His divine sending (John 5:36).
He was the final word, the beloved Son whom the Father said, “They will respect My Son” (Matthew 21:37). Will you respect Him? Will you receive Him?
The face of an apostle, marked by reflection and resolve, beholding the risen Christ—no guilt in life, no fear in death.
The Call
Let my story speak to your heart. If El Shaddai could awaken a weary servant, bring peace to years of silence, and breathe life into dry bones—He can do the same for you. The One sent by the Father continues to call and restore.
“Just as the Father has sent Me, I also send you” (John 20:21). He sends us still—to love, to serve, to speak truth, and to walk in the power of the Spirit. And this is eternal life: “that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent” (John 17:3).
El Shaddai, You who sent Your Son in love and truth—open the hearts of those reading now. Let them feel the weight of Your glory and the tenderness of Your mercy. Draw the wandering home. Revive the weary. Let the breath of heaven fall again. I thank You for my journey—for every valley and every restoration. May it point back to You. Use me now to serve Your people and speak Your truth. In the mighty name of Yeshua, the Sent One—Amen.
Look again. That ache in your spirit crying, “Come, Lord”—it may not reveal His absence, but your distance. God hasn’t gone anywhere. He stands right beside you, unchanged and ever near. And yet we look around, frantic and pleading, while He watches with a mix of sorrow and gentle amusement. Sorrow, because we’ve wandered. Amusement, because we’re searching for what was never lost. Is it sin that blinds us? Idols that distract? Pride that numbs? When we cry, “Come,” He answers, “Return.” Not in anger, but in mercy—calling us back to the place where He’s been all along.
Beloved, how often do our prayers begin with, “Come, Lord Jesus”—as if He had gone somewhere far off? How often do we lift our hands, ache in our voices, longing for God to descend, forgetting that He has already drawn near? The Spirit broods over the waters of our lives, and the Son stands at the door and knocks. Yet we plead, “Come!” as though He were absent. And in the stillness, the voice of the Father answers, “Return to Me.”
“Return to Me, and I will return to you,” says the Lord of hosts (Malachi 3:7, NASB). This is not contradiction. It is correction. The cry of “Come, Lord!” often masks the fact that it is our hearts that have wandered, not His. We pray for revival, for God to show up, for His presence to be known. But He has not moved. He is the Ancient of Days, seated and steadfast. It is we who have run after idols, grown cold, hidden behind our busyness or pain.
Yeshua said, “I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20, NASB), and again, “Where two or three are gathered in My name, I am there” (Matthew 18:20, NASB). He has already come. The presence of the Holy One surrounds us like the wind—felt but unseen. And yet, how blind we are when sin fogs our eyes or pride numbs our hearts.
“Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you” (James 4:8, NASB). This is the sacred tension. Our lips cry “Come,” but God says, “Return.” And if we would humble ourselves, tear down the altars we’ve built to self and success, and once again seek His face—not just His hand—we would discover what was always true: He never left.
He is the God who stands in the fire, the whisper in the cave, the One who walks beside us on the road and is only recognized when our hearts burn within us. When we say “Come,” let it not be an accusation of absence, but a confession of our own distance. And let His voice thunder back—not in anger, but in mercy—“Return.”
I cried out, “Come!” with desperate plea, But You, O Lord, were still with me. The space I felt was not Your part— It came from my divided heart.
Prayer
Holy Father, forgive us for calling You absent when it was we who left. Forgive us for asking You to “come” while we clung to idols, routine, and noise. Today, we respond to Your cry—“Return to Me.” We cast off our distractions. We rend our hearts. We choose the secret place. Let us find You again where You have always been—waiting with mercy, watching like the Father for the prodigal. In the name of Yeshua, who made the way back home, 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.
