Steve Porter

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THE LION IN YOUR PIT

Steve Porter — Sun, 30 Aug 2026 09:01:48 GMT

“Benaiah the son of Jehoiada, the son of a valiant man from Kabzeel, who had done many deeds. He had killed two lion-like heroes of Moab. He also had gone down and killed a lion in the midst of a pit on a snowy day.”

— 2 Samuel 23:20 NKJV

There is one little phrase in the Bible that has always captured my imagination:

“A pit on a snowy day.”

I can almost see it.

The cold air.

The snow beneath his feet.

The bleakness of winter.

And somewhere in that frozen landscape stood a man named Benaiah.

We aren’t given all the details. Scripture simply tells us that Benaiah went down into a pit on a snowy day and killed a lion.

Think about that for a moment.

Most of us would have been thankful the lion was in the pit.

We would have backed away slowly, gone home, shut the door, and told everyone to stay far away.

But Benaiah went down.

Into the pit.

Toward the lion.

And when he climbed back out, the lion didn’t climb out with him.

Oh, dear friend, sometimes life puts us in places we never would have chosen.

Sometimes we find ourselves in a pit.

A diagnosis.

A betrayal.

A shattered relationship.

The death of someone we love.

A financial crisis.

A season of rejection.

A disappointment that knocked the wind out of us.

Suddenly we are looking at something that feels much bigger and stronger than we are.

And perhaps you have wondered:

“Lord, how did I ever get here?”

YOUR PIT IS NOT YOUR GRAVE

There are pits we climb into through our own poor decisions, and there are pits that seem to find us.

Benaiah’s pit became a place of battle.

But it did not become his grave.

Please hear that today.

The pit is not necessarily where your story ends.

You may be in a difficult place right now, but God has not abandoned you there.

David knew something about pits too.

He wrote:

“He also brought me up out of a horrible pit,

Out of the miry clay,

And set my feet upon a rock,

And established my steps.”

— Psalm 40:2 NKJV

God still brings people out of pits.

He still reaches into dark places.

He still restores broken hearts.

He still strengthens weary souls.

And sometimes, when He brings us out, we discover that something has changed within us.

We entered trembling.

We came out knowing God differently.

YOU MAY ONLY SEE THE LION

I wonder what Benaiah thought when he faced that lion.

He couldn’t see his future.

He couldn’t see King David.

He couldn’t see the palace.

He couldn’t see Solomon.

He couldn’t see himself eventually becoming commander of Israel’s army.

All he could see was the battle immediately before him.

Benaiah saw a lion. God saw a commander.

That thought touches my heart.

Because perhaps right now you can only see your lion.

You see the thing frightening you.

You see the bills.

You see the doctor’s report.

You see the empty chair.

You see what somebody did to you.

You see the dream that hasn’t happened.

You see the prayers that still appear unanswered.

But God sees farther than you do.

He sees beyond this chapter.

He sees beyond this winter.

He sees beyond this pit.

And He knows what He is forming within you even here.

GOD DOESN’T WASTE YOUR WINTERS

Notice when this happened.

It was a snowy day.

Winter.

There are winters of the soul too.

Seasons when everything seems barren.

Nothing appears to be growing.

The landscape that was once beautiful seems lifeless.

And perhaps you have been walking through one of those winters.

You still love Jesus.

You still pray.

You still believe.

But something inside you feels tired.

Listen closely:

Winter does not mean God has stopped working.

Much of what happens during winter happens where nobody can see it.

Roots deepen beneath frozen ground.

Life remains hidden.

Preparation is taking place beneath the surface.

And some of the deepest things God ever develops in us are formed during seasons when we cannot see anything happening at all.

Your winter is not wasted.

Your tears are not wasted.

Your waiting is not wasted.

Even this battle can become sacred ground in the hands of God.

THE LION DOESN’T GET THE LAST WORD

Benaiah’s story continued.

Scripture tells us that he defeated mighty warriors of Moab.

Later, he faced an imposing Egyptian who carried a spear. Benaiah went against him with a staff, took the spear from the Egyptian’s hand, and defeated him with his own weapon.

Eventually David entrusted Benaiah with great responsibility.

And when political ambition and divided loyalties surrounded Israel’s throne, Benaiah remained faithful.

In time, Solomon appointed him commander of Israel’s army.

What a journey.

From a snowy pit…

to the king’s service…

to commanding an army.

But I don’t want us to miss something beautiful.

Benaiah did not know any of that while he was in the pit.

And neither do you know everything God has ahead for you.

Sometimes we want God to show us the entire story before we trust Him with the chapter we’re living.

But He rarely does.

He simply says,

“Trust Me here.”

Here in the winter.

Here in the uncertainty.

Here with the lion.

Here when you cannot see what comes next.

YOU ARE MORE THAN WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU

Maybe this is where someone needs healing today.

You have allowed the hardest chapter of your life to become your identity.

You call yourself by the name of your wound.

Divorced.

Rejected.

Abandoned.

Betrayed.

Broken.

Failure.

Widow.

Victim.

Unwanted.

But those things describe something you experienced.

They do not tell the whole story of who you are.

Benaiah could have spent the rest of his life introducing himself as the man who once got trapped with a lion.

But there was more to his story.

And there is more to yours.

Dear wounded heart, Jesus does not look at you and merely see what happened to you.

He sees His beloved.

He sees what grace is restoring.

He sees what suffering could not destroy.

He sees the tenderness that survived the heartbreak.

He sees the faith that somehow kept breathing when you thought it was dead.

He sees tomorrow.

CLIMB OUT OF THE PIT

Perhaps you have already fought the lion.

Perhaps the terrible thing has already happened.

You survived the divorce.

You buried the person you loved.

You endured the betrayal.

You walked through the sickness.

You survived the season you thought would destroy you.

But part of your heart is still sitting in the pit.

Dear friend, perhaps Jesus is reaching His hand toward you today and saying:

“It’s time to come out.”

You don’t have to live forever in the place where you were wounded.

You don’t have to keep replaying the roar.

You don’t have to keep staring at the scars.

There is still life beyond this pit.

There are still people to love.

There are still prayers to pray.

There are still mornings to awaken to.

There are still assignments from heaven.

There are still beautiful things you haven’t seen yet.

And there are parts of Jesus you haven’t discovered yet.

The lion didn’t get Benaiah.

And by the grace of God, what you have been through doesn’t get to have the final word over you either.

One day you may look backward and realize that the place you thought would destroy you became the place where you discovered just how faithfully God could hold you.

You saw a pit.

You saw winter.

You saw a lion.

But God saw beyond all three.

And He sees beyond what you are facing today.

So take His hand, dear friend.

The story isn’t over.

There is life on the other side of this pit.

PRAYER

Father, some of Your precious children are walking through pits they never expected and winters they never would have chosen. Some are frightened by what stands before them, while others are exhausted from battles they have already fought.

Come close to them today.

Heal the places that still hurt.

Quiet the roar of yesterday.

Break the power of fear over tomorrow.

Remind them that what happened to them is not the sum total of who they are.

Where they see only a pit, give them a glimpse of Your presence.

Where they see winter, remind them that life is still growing beneath the surface.

Where they see a lion, remind them that You are greater still.

And when the battle is finished, give them grace to climb out of the pit and keep walking with You.

Use even the chapters they never would have chosen. Redeem every tear, every wound, every lonely night, and every season of waiting.

And whisper again to their hearts:

My child, your story is not over.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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DON’T PRY THE DOOR OPEN

Steve Porter — Sat, 29 Aug 2026 09:01:24 GMT

“He opens and no one shuts, and shuts and no one opens.”

— Revelation 3:7 NKJV

Oh, how we love an open door.

There are moments in life when God suddenly opens something before us that we could never have opened ourselves.

A prayer is answered.

An opportunity appears.

Someone recognizes what God has placed inside of us.

A relationship begins.

A dream we have carried quietly for years suddenly starts taking shape.

And sometimes we walk through those doors with tears streaming down our faces, overwhelmed by the goodness of God.

We know He did it.

We couldn’t have arranged it.

We couldn’t have forced it.

God simply opened the door.

And when He does, we celebrate.

We testify.

We tell everyone, “Look what the Lord has done!”

But, dear friend, what about the doors He closes?

We don’t usually celebrate those.

We stand in front of them confused.

We knock again.

We jiggle the handle.

We push a little harder.

And sometimes, if we are not careful, we begin trying to pry open a door that God Himself has shut.

But the same God who opens doors also closes them.

And sometimes the closed door is His mercy.

You can see the door.

But He can see what is behind it.

You can see the opportunity.

He can see where it leads.

You can see what you want right now.

He can see five years down the road.

There are things on the other side of certain doors that could wound you, distract you, drain you, or pull you away from the very thing God has prepared for your life.

What looks like an opportunity may actually be a detour.

And some detours are expensive.

They don’t merely cost us a few days.

They can cost months.

Years.

Sometimes even decades.

That is why we must learn to trust God’s hand not only when He opens the door, but also when we hear the unmistakable sound of one closing.

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD.”

— Psalm 37:23 NKJV

Notice that Scripture speaks about our steps being ordered.

Sometimes the order of God says, “Walk through.”

Sometimes it says, “Wait.”

And sometimes it says, “Do not go this way.”

All three can be the leading of God.

I wonder how many times we have prayed, “Father, protect me,” and then became frustrated when He answered that prayer by closing a door.

Perhaps you prayed for His will.

Perhaps you asked Him to order your steps.

Perhaps you told Him that you wanted His best.

Then something you desperately wanted didn’t happen.

The relationship ended.

The invitation never came.

The opportunity disappeared.

The plans fell apart.

Someone said no.

And you stood before that closed door wondering where God was.

Oh, dear friend, perhaps He was standing right there.

Perhaps His hand was on the other side of that door.

Not rejecting you.

Protecting you.

There is a tremendous difference.

A closed door does not always mean you have failed.

It does not always mean the enemy has won.

It does not always mean you didn’t pray hard enough or have enough faith.

Sometimes it simply means:

Father knows what is on the other side.

And if Father has closed it, you don’t need to pry it open.

I have learned that anything I must manipulate to obtain will eventually become something I must struggle to maintain.

There is a beautiful rest that comes when we stop trying to manufacture what only God can give.

If He opens it, walk through with thanksgiving.

If He closes it, trust Him with thanksgiving.

Because your Father sees farther down the road than you do.

“The LORD will perfect that which concerns me.”

— Psalm 138:8 NKJV

Maybe you are standing in front of a closed door today.

You’ve knocked.

You’ve prayed.

You’ve waited.

And nothing seems to be moving.

Don’t bruise your shoulder trying to break down a door Father may have lovingly closed.

Take your hands off the handle.

Step back.

And whisper:

“Father, I trust You.”

There are other doors.

There are other paths.

There are things God has prepared for you that you haven’t even seen yet.

And one day, you may look back at that stubbornly closed door and realize that one of the greatest answers to prayer you ever received was the door God refused to let you walk through.

So don’t pry it open.

If God shut it, trust His hand.

Because sometimes His greatest protection doesn’t look like a miracle.

Sometimes it simply looks like a closed door.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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THE GOLDFISH THAT OUTGREW THE BOWL

Steve Porter — Fri, 28 Aug 2026 09:01:14 GMT

“He also brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me because He delighted in me.”

—Psalm 18:19, NKJV

There is something wonderfully simple about a goldfish.

For many of us, it was probably our first pet—a little orange fish swimming around a plastic bowl on the dresser or kitchen counter. A few colorful stones covered the bottom, perhaps a plastic plant stood in the corner, and every morning someone sprinkled a pinch of food across the water.

And around and around that little goldfish would swim.

The same circle.

The same view.

The same boundaries.

Goldfish kept in small containers often remain relatively small. It isn’t that the glass itself determines their size. Limited space, water quality, oxygen, nutrition, and other environmental conditions can restrict healthy development.

But give a goldfish the healthy environment of a spacious pond, and you may be amazed at what happens.

I saw this firsthand.

Years ago, my in-laws built a house on a piece of land and dug a pond on the property. When my brother-in-law Jacob was a boy, he placed a few little goldfish into that pond.

They were nothing impressive—just ordinary little goldfish.

But the years passed.

Those fish grew.

And multiplied.

Eventually the pond was filled with large goldfish. I remember being amazed that the same kind of little fish we normally picture swimming around a child’s bowl could become so large.

And I’ve wondered how many of us have done something similar spiritually.

Perhaps we have been swimming in circles for so long that we have mistaken our bowl for our calling.

We adjust to our surroundings.

We learn the boundaries.

Someone tells us what we cannot do. Failure teaches us not to try again. Disappointment causes us to lower our expectations. Fear creates invisible walls.

Eventually, we stop bumping against them.

And before long, we can mistake confinement for contentment.

But David said,

“He also brought me out into a broad place.”

I love those words.

A broad place.

God sometimes brings His children into broad places—not to make us impressive or important, but because there are things He has planted within us that need room to develop.

Sometimes He changes our circumstances.

Sometimes He brings people into our lives who see something in us that we stopped seeing years ago.

Sometimes He removes us from an unhealthy environment.

And sometimes the broad place happens entirely inside us.

Fear loses its grip.

An old wound begins to heal.

We stop living for everyone’s approval.

We begin believing what God has been saying about us all along.

And suddenly there is room to grow.

But here is what I love most about those goldfish:

The pond didn’t put something into them that wasn’t already there. It simply provided an environment where what had been placed within them could develop.

Could there be things God has placed within you that haven’t fully developed yet?

Could you have mistaken your present circumstances for your permanent boundaries?

Jesus said,

“He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit.”
—John 15:5, NKJV

There is our greatest environment.

His presence.

We don’t grow spiritually by desperately trying to make ourselves bigger. We grow by abiding in Jesus.

Stay near Him.

Drink deeply from His Word.

Allow the Holy Spirit to challenge old ways of thinking.

Obey when He calls you beyond what is familiar.

And something begins to happen.

Your faith stretches.

Your capacity to love grows.

Your compassion deepens.

Your prayer life enlarges.

And eventually, growth becomes fruitfulness.

Remember, Jacob placed only a few goldfish into that pond. Years later, there were many.

What God develops within us is rarely intended to stop with us.

The healing He gives you can become compassion for another wounded person. The wisdom gained through your valley can become direction for another traveler. The comfort you received can become comfort you freely give.

Perhaps today you feel as though you’ve been swimming around the same little circle for years.

Don’t despise where you are. But neither should you confuse today’s walls with the boundaries of God’s purpose for your life.

If God opens the broad place, don’t be afraid to enter it.

Those little goldfish didn’t become something different when they entered the pond.

They simply had room to become more fully what they had always been created to be.

And perhaps God is doing something similar in you.

Keep abiding.

Keep surrendering.

Keep following.

And don’t measure your future by the little circle you’ve been swimming in.

There may be more inside you than the bowl ever gave you room to discover.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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IT’S A LONG TIME COMING

Steve Porter — Thu, 27 Aug 2026 09:01:18 GMT

“And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”

— Galatians 6:9, NKJV

Some things are a long time coming.

There are promises you thought would have happened by now. Dreams God breathed into your heart years ago that still seem far away. Prayers you have prayed so many times that you almost know the words before they leave your lips.

And somewhere along the journey, hope deferred made the heart sick.

You believed. You waited. You prayed.

And then came the obstacles.

Closed doors.

Unexpected detours.

Disappointments you never saw coming.

People who promised to walk with you but disappeared along the way.

Financial setbacks. Delays. Misunderstandings. Seasons when nothing seemed to move. Battles that drained your strength. Wildernesses where God seemed silent. Nights when you cried yourself to sleep wondering if what He showed you would ever come to pass.

Perhaps you have even wondered,

“Lord, did I hear You wrong?”

But there is something you must remember:

Delay does not always mean denial.

Sometimes there is a long road between the promise and its fulfillment.

Joseph had a dream—but then came the pit.

Then slavery.

Then false accusation.

Then prison.

Yet none of those things could cancel what God had spoken over his life.

Destiny had a date.

At the appointed time, the prison door opened, Joseph stood before Pharaoh, and what had been a long time coming suddenly arrived.

Beloved, perhaps you are closer than you realize.

You have been through the storm.

You have endured the cold nights.

You have walked through the wilderness and crossed stretches of desert where there seemed to be no water anywhere.

You have sown.

And sown.

And sown some more.

Sometimes you sowed with tears running down your face.

But Scripture says:

“Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.”

— Psalm 126:5, NKJV

God has not forgotten one seed.

He has not forgotten one prayer.

He has not forgotten one act of obedience performed when nobody was watching.

He has not forgotten the nights you kept believing when everything around you told you to quit.

Do not faint now.

Keep doing what is right.

Keep walking in holiness.

Keep loving Jesus.

Keep praying.

Keep sowing.

Keep believing.

Keep your lamp burning.

The enemy would love to convince you that because it has taken so long, it will never happen. But God does not measure time as we do. He knows precisely when the soil is ready, when the season has changed, and when the harvest must appear.

There is something called due season.

And due season means there is an appointed time when what has been hidden beneath the soil finally breaks through.

The bride of Christ has been through a long night. She has fought battles. She has known weariness, disappointment, pruning, wilderness, and tears.

But the night does not last forever.

“For His anger is but for a moment,

His favor is for life;

Weeping may endure for a night,

But joy comes in the morning.”

— Psalm 30:5, NKJV

Morning is coming.

God is breathing hope again into weary hearts.

Some dreams may need to be surrendered. Some plans may need to change. But those things that truly originated in the heart of God—His purposes, His calling, His work within you—can be trusted completely to His hands.

“For the vision is yet for an appointed time…

Though it tarries, wait for it;

Because it will surely come.”

— Habakkuk 2:3, NKJV

So lift your head, weary one.

Wipe the tears from your eyes.

Take another step.

Pray another prayer.

Plant another seed.

Do not give up in the field where God told you to sow.

It may have been years.

It may have taken longer than you ever imagined.

You may carry scars from the journey.

But hear the encouragement of the Lord today:

It’s a long time coming—but due season is coming.

And when God says it is time, no wilderness, no closed door, no opposition, no delay, and no power of darkness can prevent what He has appointed.

Destiny has a date.

Hold on.

Your story isn’t finished yet.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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PLEASE PRAY FOR NEPAL 🇳🇵🙏

Dear friends, please join us in prayer for the people of Nepal, where a devastating flash flood has swept through communities in the northern part of the country near the Tibet/China border. The flooding struck along the Bhote Koshi River in Rasuwa District, severely impacting communities including Timure and Syabrubesi before surging downstream into neighboring areas. Lives have been lost, many people remain missing or out of contact, families have been displaced, and homes, roads, bridges, and other infrastructure have been destroyed.

Please pray for those who have lost loved ones, for the missing to be found, for the injured, and for families who suddenly find themselves without homes or possessions. Pray also for the rescue workers who are searching through extremely difficult conditions and for protection over communities still threatened by the floodwaters.

Lord Jesus, have mercy upon Nepal. Comfort the grieving, protect those still in danger, strengthen the rescuers, and make a way for help to quickly reach every person in need. May Your presence be very near to the brokenhearted in this hour.

Refuge Ministries supports the ministry of my sister and brother-in-law, Operation Impact - Global Impact Connect who have trusted missionary connections on the ground in Nepal right now, serving among the people and able to respond directly to needs as they arise. If the Lord places it upon your heart to help the flood victims and affected families, you may go directly to them with links below. Every dollar designated for Nepal relief will be passed along through their ministry to those missionaries so they can provide practical assistance directly to people in need. Your gift, regardless of size, can become a tangible expression of the love and compassion of Jesus to families walking through tremendous loss.

Church, let us stand together and pray for Nepal. 🇳🇵🙏

Nepal Giving

Nepal Ministry updates

THE PRAYER MEETING THAT LASTED 100 YEARS

Steve Porter — Wed, 26 Aug 2026 09:00:41 GMT

“Pray without ceasing.”

— 1 Thessalonians 5:17 NKJV

In 1722, a small group of persecuted Christians found refuge on the estate of a young German nobleman named Count Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf.

They were given land in Saxony, Germany, where they established a little settlement called Herrnhut—a name associated with being under the Lord’s watch and watching for the Lord.

It sounds like the beginning of a beautiful story.

But something happened.

The people began to argue.

These were sincere believers who loved Jesus, but they came from different backgrounds and carried different theological convictions. Before long, disagreements arose. Opinions hardened. Relationships became strained. The little Christian community that had been established as a place of refuge became troubled by division.

Isn’t it interesting how quickly that can happen?

We can love Jesus deeply and still allow our differences to separate us from one another.

Zinzendorf became increasingly burdened over the condition of the community. He visited homes. He prayed. He encouraged the people to forgive one another and return to the simplicity of loving Jesus and loving each other.

Then something extraordinary happened.

On August 13, 1727, the believers gathered for Communion at a nearby church in Berthelsdorf.

God met them.

There was a profound sense of the presence of the Holy Spirit. Hearts that had been divided were softened. People who had struggled with one another were reconciled. Their attention shifted away from their disagreements and back to Jesus.

The community changed.

But what happened next would eventually touch the world.

These believers became deeply burdened to pray. Not occasionally. Not merely when there was a crisis. They wanted prayer rising before God continually.

So they organized a prayer watch. Men and women committed themselves to assigned hours of intercession so that someone would always be praying.

Morning. Afternoon. Evening. In the middle of the night.

When one person finished praying, another continued.

And they kept going.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Months became years. Years became decades.

The prayer watch continued within the Moravian movement for roughly one hundred years.

Think about that for a moment.

Children were born while the prayer watch continued. Those children grew into adults. Some became parents themselves. People who had begun the prayer watch eventually grew old and went home to be with the Lord.

But somebody else stepped into their place.

They refused to let the fire go out.

And then something else happened.

Prayer began producing feet.

Only five years after that spiritual awakening, Moravian missionaries began going into the nations. They crossed oceans, entered unfamiliar cultures, endured hardship, and carried the message of Jesus far beyond their little community in Germany.

Herrnhut was tiny.

But its prayers were enormous.

What began among a handful of believers eventually reached across the world.

Dear friend, I wonder if sometimes we underestimate what happens when we pray.

We pray for our children and grandchildren. We pray for our churches and communities. We pray for nations. Sometimes we pray for years and see very little evidence that anything is changing.

And perhaps we quietly wonder, Is this really accomplishing anything?

Oh, beloved.

Heaven hears every prayer.

You may never fully see what your prayers set into motion.

Perhaps you have been praying for a son or daughter who seems far from God. Keep praying.

Perhaps you have carried a nation in your heart and wondered why the burden will not leave you. Keep praying.

Perhaps you have been interceding for revival and sometimes feel foolish because nothing around you appears to be changing.

Keep praying.

The believers at Herrnhut could never have imagined all that would eventually come from their little community. They simply kept the fire burning.

And perhaps that is what the Lord is asking of some of us today.

Not to build something impressive. Not to become known. Not to gather a crowd.

Simply to tend the flame He has placed in our hands.

There is another part of the Herrnhut story that we dare not miss.

The prayer watch was born after reconciliation.

Before they became known for prayer, God dealt with their hearts toward one another.

That speaks deeply to me.

Sometimes we ask God to send revival while holding tightly to offenses. We ask Him to pour out His Spirit while refusing to forgive. We want the fire of God without allowing Him to first burn away the things in us that grieve His heart.

But at Herrnhut, healing came before sending.

Hearts came together.

Then prayer arose.

Then missionaries went.

Reconciliation. Prayer. Mission.

Perhaps there is a divine order hidden there for us.

What might happen if we laid down our offenses and sought Jesus together again? What might happen if churches became houses of prayer instead of houses of disagreement? What might happen if one generation determined to keep praying until the next generation was ready to take its place?

For me, the story of Herrnhut has also become deeply personal.

In recent months, the Lord has placed an increasing burden for Germany upon my heart. Morning Glory Devotions are now being translated into German under the title Frühstück mit Jesus—Breakfast with Jesus—and as I learned more about Herrnhut, another part of its story deeply stirred me.

From this little community came the daily Watchword—a simple portion of Scripture shared day by day to strengthen and encourage believers. Eventually these daily words traveled far beyond Herrnhut.

I would never presume to compare what we are doing today with that remarkable movement. But its story has inspired a prayer in my heart:

“Lord, You sent Your Word across Germany once through a little community that simply wanted to be faithful to You. Would You do it again?”

If He chooses to use these simple daily devotions—even in some small way—to place fresh bread from His presence into hungry hearts throughout Germany and the German-speaking world, what a sacred privilege that would be.

Perhaps that is one of the great lessons of Herrnhut.

We do not have to be great.

We simply have to be faithful with what He places into our hands and trust Him with how far it travels.

You may never know how far one surrendered prayer will travel.

A prayer whispered beside your bed tonight may become part of an answer that unfolds years from now. Something God places in your heart today may nourish someone you will never meet.

You may not see all of it.

You don’t have to.

Your assignment is simply to remain faithful with the flame God has entrusted to you.

Because Herrnhut teaches us something beautiful:

Some prayers outlive the people who prayed them.

So keep praying, dear friend.

Keep watching.

Keep believing.

And whatever you do— don’t let the fire go out.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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Coming soon!

I CAN’T EVEN WALK WITHOUT YOU HOLDING MY HAND

Steve Porter — Tue, 25 Aug 2026 09:02:13 GMT

“For I, the LORD your God, will hold your right hand, saying to you, ‘Fear not, I will help you.’”

— Isaiah 41:13 NKJV

There are moments in life when we feel strong enough to walk on our own. And then there are valleys where we discover just how desperately we need the hand of God.

Perhaps you are there today.

You have tried to be strong. You have prayed, believed, and reminded yourself of every promise you know. Yet the facts standing in front of you still seem insurmountable. The mountain hasn’t moved, the answer hasn’t come, and the night has lasted much longer than you ever imagined.

Somewhere deep inside, you whisper, “Lord, I don’t know if I can keep going.”

And then comes His tender answer:

“Give Me your hand.”

Oh, precious friend, there is something incredibly comforting about holding the hand of someone you trust.

Think of a little child walking through a frightening place with his father. The surroundings may still be intimidating. The darkness may still be dark. The child may have no idea where the road is leading.

But Daddy does.

As long as that little hand is wrapped securely inside his father’s hand, everything somehow feels different. The child doesn’t need a map or an explanation of everything ahead. He simply needs to stay close.

Perhaps this is what Father is asking of you today. You don’t have to understand everything. You don’t have to figure everything out. You don’t even have to know what tomorrow holds.

Just hold His hand.

Isaiah gives us this astonishing picture of God: “For I, the LORD your God, will hold your right hand…”

Notice something beautiful. It doesn’t merely say that you are holding His hand.

He is holding yours.

There have been times when my grip on God felt terribly weak. Perhaps you know what I mean. Weariness settles into the soul. Disappointment drains your strength. You have been fighting so long that you don’t know whether you have enough faith left for another battle.

But our security has never depended upon how tightly we can hold Him.

It depends upon how faithfully He holds us.

Jesus said, “Without Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). We sometimes read those words as a correction, but I believe they can also be one of the sweetest invitations Jesus ever gave us.

Come closer. Walk with Me. Stop trying to carry this alone.

There is no shame in saying, “Jesus, I cannot do this without You.” In fact, that may be one of the safest places a human heart can ever reach.

Sometimes I picture myself walking with Jesus through a quiet garden. My hand is in His. There is no hurry there, no striving, no frantic attempt to solve tomorrow. There is simply the sweetness of being near Jesus.

Perhaps the pathway eventually descends into a valley. The sunlight disappears behind the mountains, and the night becomes darker than I expected.

But His hand has not changed.

The same hand that held me in the garden holds me in the valley.

And suddenly I realize that peace does not come because I know where the pathway leads. Peace comes because I know Who is walking beside me.

He is the Prince of Peace.

When I hold His hand, I receive something this world cannot give me. His shalom begins to settle over my troubled heart. The circumstances may not have changed yet. The valley may still be deep. The night may still be long. Yet somehow, because He is there, I know I am going to be all right.

You may be walking through what some have called the dark night of the soul. You may feel alone, abandoned, rejected, forgotten, or simply overwhelmed by the affairs of life. Your emotions may tell you that nobody sees and nobody understands.

But there is a hand reaching for yours.

The nail-scarred hand of Jesus.

Think about those hands for a moment. They touched lepers no one else wanted to touch. They lifted Peter when he was sinking beneath the waves. They broke bread for hungry people. They blessed little children. And eventually those beautiful hands were stretched upon a cross for you and me.

Those hands have never stopped reaching.

So when you cannot see your way forward, hold His hand. When your heart is breaking, hold His hand. When the report frightens you, when someone you love walks away, when finances tighten, when prayer seems unanswered, and when heaven feels strangely silent—hold His hand.

And when you become so weary that you aren’t even sure you can keep holding on, rest in the beautiful knowledge that He is still holding you.

Perhaps someday, when this earthly journey is finished, we will look back and discover there were stretches of road we never could have survived by ourselves. We thought we were walking, but there were moments when Jesus was carrying us.

Oh, dear friend, I simply want His hand.

If I have His hand, I can walk through the garden and through the wilderness. I can walk through the valley and through the darkest night. I don’t have to know where the road is leading. I only need to know Who is holding my hand.

And perhaps, dear friend, that is the prayer rising from your heart today too:

“Lord, I can’t even walk without You holding my hand.”

So here it is, Jesus.

Take my hand.

Walk with me.

And when my grip grows weak, remind me that Yours never will.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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DON’T LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN

Steve Porter — Mon, 24 Aug 2026 09:01:51 GMT

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”

—1 Peter 5:8 NKJV

The Lord gives me devotions in many different ways, and often when I least expect them. Sometimes I will simply be thinking about Him when the Holy Spirit drops a thought into my heart, and as I sit with it, that thought begins to mature. Other times someone will say one sentence in conversation that stays with me until I realize the Lord is speaking through it. And then there are times when He speaks to me through a dream.

Recently, I had such a dream, and I believe it was a loving warning for the Body of Christ.

In the dream, I was a silent witness watching everything unfold. I saw a house with its front door standing wide open. Only about ten feet from the entrance was a dark swamp, and near the bank was an enormous crocodile. There was something terribly evil about it. Its eyes were red, and it was staring toward the open door.

A man was standing near the edge of the swamp, dangerously close to the crocodile. I knew immediately that he was not safe there. He had placed himself far too close to something capable of destroying him.

Then I noticed another man standing inside the doorway of the house. Strangely, he began throwing rocks at the crocodile, almost as though he were trying to provoke it. But every rock fell short. One landed between the house and the swamp, then another, and another.

Suddenly I realized what was happening.

Without knowing it, the man was creating a trail leading straight from the crocodile to his open door.

The crocodile watched and waited, and then suddenly it charged. It came racing out of the swamp toward the house. The man near the water was in danger, the man inside was in danger, and everything within that house was now exposed because the door had been left open.

Just as the crocodile was about to enter, I woke up.

I lay there thinking about what I had seen, and I felt the seriousness of the warning. Friend, please receive this with the pastoral love with which I am sharing it. I believe the crocodile represented the destructive powers of darkness—the strongholds, temptations, ungodly attachments, deceptions, and bondages through which the enemy seeks entrance into our lives.

Peter described Satan as a roaring lion “seeking whom he may devour” (1 Peter 5:8). In my dream he appeared as a crocodile, but the message was much the same. The enemy is watching for an opening.

Paul gives us this remarkably simple warning: “Nor give place to the devil” (Ephesians 4:27 NKJV).

Give him no place.

There are some who are like the man standing beside the swamp. They are simply too close to danger. They may know something is wrong, yet they continue lingering around it. They are asking, How close can I get without falling? when perhaps the question should be, How close can I stay to Jesus?

Joseph understood this when Potiphar’s wife tempted him. He did not remain in the room reasoning with temptation. Scripture says that he “fled and ran outside” (Genesis 39:12 NKJV). Sometimes the wisest spiritual response is simply to flee temptation. Don’t flirt with it. Close the door, walk away, and stay far from anything that would draw your heart away from Jesus.

But I was especially struck by the man throwing the rocks. He was inside the house, yet he was gaining the attention of something outside that wanted to devour him. Every rock he threw became part of a trail leading the crocodile closer.

Isn’t that how compromise often works?

It rarely begins with something enormous. It may begin with one conversation we know we shouldn’t be having, one secret habit, one inappropriate relationship, one place we keep visiting, one offense we refuse to release, or one little compromise we continually excuse. One rock doesn’t look like much, but eventually the rocks form a trail.

We can actually make provision for the very thing we are asking God to deliver us from. That is why Scripture tells us, “Make no provision for the flesh, to fulfill its lusts” (Romans 13:14 NKJV).

What especially concerned me in the dream was that when the crocodile charged, more than one person was endangered. Our open doors can affect others. What we allow into our hearts can eventually touch our marriages, families, children, ministries, and those God has entrusted to our care.

Perhaps that is why the Lord is lovingly warning some of us today: Close the door.

If the Holy Spirit is putting His finger upon something in your life as you read this, don’t hear condemnation. Hear the voice of a Father who lavishly loves you enough to warn you before something reaches the doorway.

We do not need to be afraid of the enemy. Scripture tells us exactly what to do: “Therefore submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Draw near to God and He will draw near to you” (James 4:7–8 NKJV).

Notice the beautiful difference. In my dream the crocodile was charging toward the house, but when we submit ourselves to God and resist the devil, the enemy is the one who flees.

This is not the hour to flirt with sin or entertain what Jesus died to free us from. The enemy is looking for weak places, open doors, and trails that lead toward our hearts and homes. Let us bring everything into the light, remove what does not belong, and draw nearer than ever to Jesus.

Beloved, please don’t stand beside the swamp.

Don’t throw rocks at crocodiles.

And don’t leave the door open.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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WHAT IF YOUR WORST INTERRUPTION BECAME YOUR GREATEST CALLING?

Steve Porter — Sun, 23 Aug 2026 09:01:53 GMT

“Then they compelled a certain man, Simon a Cyrenian, the father of Alexander and Rufus, as he was coming out of the country and passing by, to bear His cross.”

Mark 15:21 NKJV

The streets of Jerusalem were crowded that morning.

Voices pressed together. Soldiers shouted. Feet stirred the dust. Somewhere in the confusion, women were weeping.

And through the middle of it all walked a bleeding Man beneath a cross.

Jesus had been beaten almost beyond recognition. His back was torn. His face was bruised and bloodied beneath a crown of thorns. Again and again He struggled beneath the weight of the timber.

And somewhere in that crowd stood a man far from home.

His name was Simon.

Mark tells us that he was from Cyrene, an ancient city in the region of modern-day Libya on the coast of North Africa. Perhaps Simon had come to Jerusalem for Passover. Perhaps he had imagined what he would see in the holy city.

But surely he never imagined this.

A Roman soldier looked into the crowd.

Then came the command.

You.

Simon was pulled from among the spectators.

Suddenly the cross that had been resting upon Jesus was placed upon his shoulders.

Can you feel that moment?

The rough wood.

The blood already upon it.

The confusion.

The humiliation of being forced into a condemned Man’s procession.

Simon had not volunteered.

Scripture says they compelled him.

And so this man from Cyrene began walking behind Jesus.

Luke describes it beautifully:

“And on him they laid the cross that he might bear it after Jesus.”

Luke 23:26 NKJV

After Jesus.

Simon may not have understood it, but he was living a picture of discipleship before the Church had even been born.

Jesus had said:

“If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.”

Luke 9:23 NKJV

And now, on the road to Calvary, a man from Cyrene was literally doing it.

He carried a cross after Jesus.

I wonder what Simon saw as he walked.

Did he see Jesus stumble?

Did their eyes ever meet?

Could he hear His breathing?

Did Simon realize that the blood staining that cross belonged to the Lamb of God?

We aren’t told.

But Scripture makes sure we know his name.

Simon of Cyrene.

And then Cyrene appears again.

Years have passed.

Jesus has risen.

The disciples are gathered in Jerusalem, waiting just as He commanded them.

Then suddenly heaven breaks open.

There comes a sound “as of a rushing mighty wind.”

Fire appears.

The Holy Spirit fills the room.

Men and women spill into the streets declaring the wonderful works of God in languages they had never learned.

People gather from across the known world, bewildered by what they are hearing.

Luke begins naming the nations represented in the crowd.

Parthians.

Medes.

Elamites.

People from Mesopotamia, Judea, Cappadocia, Egypt…

And then:

“the parts of Libya adjoining Cyrene.”

Acts 2:10 NKJV

There it is again.

Cyrene.

First, a man from Cyrene stood near Jesus beneath the shadow of the Cross.

Now people from the region of Cyrene stand beneath the outpouring of the Holy Spirit.

The Cross.

Then the Fire.

But God wasn’t finished.

Persecution came against the young Church.

Believers were driven from their homes.

Families scattered.

What must have looked like disaster became one of God’s great instruments for spreading the Gospel.

The scattered believers carried Jesus wherever they went.

Some eventually reached the great city of Antioch.

And Luke tells us something easy to read past:

“But some of them were men from Cyprus and Cyrene, who, when they had come to Antioch, spoke to the Hellenists, preaching the Lord Jesus.”

Acts 11:20 NKJV

Men from Cyrene.

Again.

But notice what has changed.

On the road to Calvary, a man from Cyrene had been compelled to carry the Cross.

Now men from Cyrene are willingly carrying the message of the Cross.

And heaven responds:

“And the hand of the Lord was with them, and a great number believed and turned to the Lord.”

Acts 11:21 NKJV

I love that.

The hand of the Lord was with them.

We don’t even know their names.

They weren’t apostles whose names filled the pages of Scripture.

They were simply described as men from Cyrene.

But they opened their mouths and told people about Jesus.

And a city began to change.

Perhaps that is how the kingdom often moves.

Not through famous people.

Not through impressive platforms.

But through ordinary men and women who have encountered Jesus and cannot keep Him to themselves.

And still, Cyrene appears one more time.

The church at Antioch is worshiping and fasting.

The atmosphere is filled with the presence of God.

Prophets and teachers are gathered there, waiting before the Lord.

Acts gives us their names.

(Acts 13:1)

Barnabas.

Simeon.

Manaen.

Saul.

And another man:

Lucius of Cyrene.

As they minister to the Lord, the Holy Spirit speaks:

“Now separate to Me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.”

Acts 13:2 NKJV

They fast.

They pray.

They lay hands upon Barnabas and Saul.

And they send them away.

Soon the Gospel will travel farther and farther into the nations.

Churches will be planted.

Lives will be transformed.

And eventually the message of Jesus will reach toward the ends of the earth.

And standing in that little gathering where the Spirit spoke was…

a man from Cyrene.

Do you see the thread?

At Calvary:

Cyrene carried the Cross.

At Pentecost:

Cyrene witnessed the Fire.

At Antioch:

Cyrene carried the Gospel.

And when missionaries were sent toward the nations:

Cyrene was in the prayer room.

There is something here for us.

Sometimes what God places upon your shoulders is connected to something much larger than you can see.

Simon could not have understood what was happening when that Roman soldier pulled him from the crowd.

It probably felt like an interruption.

An inconvenience.

Perhaps even an injustice.

He didn’t choose that cross.

But that cross brought him close to Jesus.

And perhaps there are things you have carried that you never chose either.

A disappointment.

A loss.

A season of suffering.

A responsibility you never expected.

A road you would never have selected for yourself.

You asked, “Lord, why am I carrying this?”

Maybe you still don’t completely know.

But don’t assume that because you didn’t choose the road, God cannot make it holy.

Simon began that journey compelled by a Roman soldier.

But somewhere along the way, the story became about Jesus.

And this is the thought that grips my heart:

The Cross that was once placed upon the shoulders of a Cyrenian eventually became a message carried from the hearts of Cyrenians.

God can do the same with us.

The suffering you once carried can become compassion for someone who is suffering.

The wound you survived can become tenderness toward another wounded heart.

The wilderness you endured can become wisdom for someone who has lost their way.

The tears you cried can become the testimony that gives another person courage.

What was once merely upon your shoulders can become something God places within your heart.

Dear friend, never despise the roads upon which you find yourself walking close to Jesus.

You may not understand them today.

Simon probably didn’t either.

Just keep walking behind Him.

Stay close enough to hear His voice.

Stay close enough to recognize His presence.

Stay close enough that what you are carrying doesn’t merely make you weary—it makes you more like Him.

Because sometimes a road begins with a cross…

and ends with a fire.

Sometimes it begins with suffering…

and ends with a testimony.

Sometimes it begins with one ordinary person carrying something he never asked for…and generations later, Jesus is still telling the story.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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MR. BUTTONS

Steve Porter — Sat, 22 Aug 2026 09:01:52 GMT

“As each one has received a gift, minister it to one another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.”

— 1 Peter 4:10, NKJV

Everybody in town knew Mr. Buttons.

That wasn’t actually his name, of course, but somewhere along the way his real name had almost been forgotten. Children called him Mr. Buttons, their parents called him Mr. Buttons, and eventually even the mailman occasionally called him that.

The name came from his rather unusual collection.

Mr. Buttons collected buttons.

Thousands of them.

They filled glass jars along the shelves of a little room in his house. Big buttons. Little buttons. Wooden buttons. Pearl buttons. Brass buttons. Black ones, red ones, blue ones, green ones, and buttons of colors that Mr. Buttons himself couldn’t quite name.

Some had two holes.

Some had four.

Some had little metal loops on the back.

Some were polished and beautiful, while others were chipped, scratched, and worn smooth by years of use.

Mr. Buttons never passed up a button.

If he found one lying beside the sidewalk, he picked it up.

When someone cleaned out an attic and discovered an old tin filled with buttons, they knew exactly where to take it.

Church rummage sales were especially dangerous places for Mr. Buttons.

He might come home carrying a little bag of buttons that had cost him fifty cents, grinning as though he had discovered buried treasure.

People would laugh.

“Mr. Buttons, don’t you think you have enough?”

He would look at them rather seriously.

“Enough for what?”

“Enough buttons!”

He’d think about that for a moment.

“Well, maybe. But I don’t know which one somebody’s gonna need tomorrow.”

That was Mr. Buttons.

He had a way of saying ordinary things that stayed with you long after the conversation was over.

He wasn’t an educated man by the world’s standards. He didn’t use impressive words. He didn’t try to sound profound.

He simply noticed things.

Especially people.

One afternoon a little girl arrived at his door with her mother. A button had fallen from the girl’s Sunday dress, and her mother couldn’t find anything that matched.

Mr. Buttons disappeared into his button room.

“Nope,” he muttered, holding one against the dress. “Too big.”

Another.

“Too yellow.”

Then another.

“Well, that’s close, but close isn’t the same as right.”

Finally his face brightened.

“There you are.”

A tiny pearl-colored button.

It matched almost perfectly.

The little girl watched as he carefully sewed it into place.

Then she noticed a large brown button sitting on the table.

“That’s an ugly button,” she announced.

Her mother looked embarrassed.

But Mr. Buttons laughed.

He picked it up and studied it.

“Yep. Suppose it is.”

Then he turned it between his fingers.

“But pretty isn’t always what keeps your coat closed when it’s cold.”

The little girl didn’t understand what he meant.

Her mother did.

Over the years, people began showing up at Mr. Buttons’ house for more buttons.

A farmer needed a heavy button for his work coat.

A young mother needed several tiny white ones for a baby’s sweater.

A boy needed one replaced on his school trousers.

An elderly gentleman needed a button for the coat he wore to church.

Mr. Buttons always searched.

And somehow, among all those jars, there usually seemed to be something that would work.

Once someone asked him why he kept buttons that didn’t match any clothing he owned.

Mr. Buttons looked puzzled by the question.

“Well, they don’t have to fit me. They just have to fit somebody.”

And perhaps that is where Mr. Buttons begins preaching to us.

Because there are things God has placed in your life that were never intended only for you.

A Scripture you learned thirty years ago.

A lesson you learned through failure.

Compassion that grew from suffering.

Wisdom that came through waiting.

A testimony born in a difficult season.

A word God whispered to you in the secret place.

You may have wondered why you went through certain things.

Why did I have to learn that?

Why did God allow this?

Why did that season last so long?

Perhaps because someday someone would knock on the door of your life carrying a need.

And suddenly you would realize:

I have something for this.

God sometimes prepares the provision long before He introduces us to the person who will need it.

Mr. Buttons understood something else.

People rarely notice buttons.

We notice the coat.

We admire the dress.

We compliment the beautiful fabric.

Hardly anyone says, “What magnificent buttons!”

But lose one and suddenly everybody notices.

Mr. Buttons once said it this way:

“People don’t think much about a button until one comes off.”

There are people like that.

The grandmother who keeps praying.

The mother who keeps loving.

The father who faithfully provides.

The intercessor nobody sees.

The friend who keeps calling.

The church member who arrives early and leaves late.

The person who quietly gives.

The one who stays when everyone else leaves.

They may never stand beneath bright lights.

Their names may never appear on a program.

But somehow they help hold everything together.

Never underestimate the ministry of faithfulness.

Not everything important is noticeable.

And not everything noticeable is important.

Mr. Buttons knew that buttons came in different shapes and sizes.

He never complained that the tiny white button wasn’t as impressive as the large brass one.

That would have been silly.

They had different assignments.

A heavy button belonged on a winter coat.

A delicate button belonged on a baby’s sweater.

The question wasn’t:

Which button is greatest?

The question was:

Which button belongs here?

Perhaps we would find much more peace in the Body of Christ if we stopped trying to become somebody else’s button.

God never intended us all to look alike.

Scripture says:

“For as the body is one and has many members…”

— 1 Corinthians 12:12, NKJV

Your assignment may not look like mine.

Your gift may not resemble someone else’s.

Your place may appear small.

But if God placed you there, your faithfulness matters.

There was something else about buttons that fascinated Mr. Buttons.

Thread.

A button doesn’t remain attached by determination.

Something has to keep passing through it.

Over.

Under.

Through again.

Over.

Under.

Again and again.

Until it is securely fastened.

The deepest Christian lives are often held together by things that appear just as repetitive.

Prayer.

The Word.

Worship.

Obedience.

Surrender.

Waiting before God.

Day after day.

Morning after morning.

Over and under.

Through again.

We sometimes long for the spectacular while God is strengthening us through the ordinary.

And those simple disciplines keep fastening our hearts to Jesus.

Years passed.

Mr. Buttons grew older.

His steps became slower, and eventually the day came when his familiar chair sat empty.

After he was gone, some people from town helped clean his little house.

Eventually they entered the button room.

Someone stopped in the doorway.

“I thought there were more.”

They all remembered shelves overflowing with jars.

But many of them were nearly empty.

Then someone began remembering.

The button on Mrs. Wilson’s old winter coat.

The pearl button on that little girl’s Sunday dress.

Buttons on work shirts.

Children’s sweaters.

Farmers’ jackets.

Wedding clothes.

Church coats. Buttons on all the clothes at the shelter.

For decades, Mr. Buttons had been giving his collection away one button at a time.

And suddenly they understood.

The treasure had never been in the jars.

The treasure was scattered all over town.

Little pieces of Mr. Buttons were everywhere, quietly holding things together.

Perhaps that is not a bad picture of a life well lived.

We spend so much of our lives accumulating.

Knowledge.

Experiences.

Possessions.

Lessons.

Resources.

But eventually we discover that the greatest purpose of receiving is having something worth giving.

God has placed something inside you that somebody else needs.

Maybe it doesn’t seem impressive.

Maybe it’s just a little encouragement.

A prayer.

A meal.

A phone call.

A Scripture.

A listening ear.

A testimony.

A faithful presence.

Don’t underestimate it.

The kingdom of God is filled with seemingly little things that accomplish eternal purposes.

A cup of cold water.

A widow’s two mites.

Five loaves and two fish.

A mustard seed.

And perhaps even a button.

So stay close to Jesus.

Let the thread of His presence continually pass through your life until you are securely fastened to Him.

Don’t worry about being the biggest button in the jar.

Don’t envy somebody else’s place.

Simply be faithful where God has placed you.

And keep something in your heart for the person who may come along tomorrow.

Because Mr. Buttons was right:

You never know when somebody might need what you’ve been carrying.

And perhaps, when our journey is finally finished, the greatest testimony will not be how much we managed to collect along the way.

Perhaps it will be that our jars are empty—because we spent our lives giving away everything God placed inside us.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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THE NONEXISTENCE OF TIME

Steve Porter — Fri, 21 Aug 2026 09:01:16 GMT

A friend recently shared some thoughts with me about the nonexistence of time, and they struck my heart so deeply that I knew I had to write about them.

God exists outside of time.

That is almost impossible for our finite minds to comprehend because everything we know is measured by time.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Years.

We are born. We grow older. We watch clocks. We mark calendars. We remember anniversaries. And eventually, our earthly lives come to an end.

But God simply is.

“From everlasting to everlasting, You are God.”
— Psalm 90:2

There was never a moment when He was not, and there will never be a moment when He ceases to be.

And perhaps if we truly grasped the nonexistence of time, we would live very differently.

JESUS STEPPED INTO TIME

Think about this:

The eternal Son of God stepped into time to save us for eternity.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us…”
— John 1:14

The One who existed before clocks, calendars, sunrises, and sunsets entered our temporary world. He became flesh, walked among us, carried our sins to the cross, and rose again.

Why?

Because our short life here determines something unimaginably greater.

Eternity.

Sin suddenly becomes very serious when viewed through eternity.

Jesus spoke plainly of both eternal life and eternal punishment. There is a heaven, a hell, there is judgment, and every soul will spend eternity somewhere.

If we could see beyond this temporary world for just five minutes, I wonder how differently we would live.

Would that secret sin still be worth it?

Would we hold that grudge?

Would we continue postponing surrender?

Would we still say, “Someday I will get serious about God”?

Someday, there will be no more somedays.

ONE GRAIN OF SAND

Imagine eternity this way.

Suppose a dove came down and picked up one tiny grain of sand.

It flew all the way to the sun, dropped that grain there, then returned to earth for another.

One grain at a time.

Imagine it removing every grain from every beach, desert, lake bed, riverbank and ocean floor on earth until every grain had been carried to the sun.

How many unimaginable ages would have passed?

Yet when the final grain was deposited, picture eternity whispering:

“I have only begun.”

Even that illustration fails because eternity cannot actually be measured.

That is the nonexistence of time.

And for those who belong to Jesus, what a glorious thought.

WHEN I SEE THEM AGAIN

I think about eternity differently now than I once did.

Both of my parents have gone on to be with the Lord.

My mother passed away on February 18, 2022. My dad followed on September 19, 2025.

Their pictures sit in my study, and I look at them every day.

Sometimes I catch myself staring at those pictures.

Mom.

Dad.

Faces I knew my entire life.

I can almost hear their voices.

And then comes that ache that anyone who has lost someone deeply loved understands.

I just want to see them again.

There are moments when I would give almost anything for one more conversation. One more embrace. One more ordinary afternoon together.

Death leaves such a strange emptiness behind. The world keeps moving, clocks keep ticking, people keep going about their lives—but someone who was woven into the fabric of your world is suddenly no longer sitting at the table.

I remember pouring out that pain to the Lord, telling Him how much I missed them.

And something came alive in my spirit:

Steve, you are going to see them again.

Suddenly I could picture it.

I saw Mom and Dad standing with me on the other side.

And Jesus was there.

He was smiling.

There was such joy in His eyes, almost as though He had watched every tear I cried on earth and knew how badly I had missed them.

But He also knew something I couldn’t yet see.

This moment was coming.

We were together again.

And this time there was no clock ticking in the background.

No aging.

No sickness.

No funeral waiting somewhere in the future.

No final hug.

No last conversation.

No more goodbyes.

I think that is what moved me most.

On earth, every reunion eventually ends.

In eternity, it never has to.

Perhaps you have lost someone you love who knew Jesus. Maybe you still reach for the phone before remembering they aren’t there. Perhaps you still cry when you see their picture or hear a song that brings everything rushing back.

Dear friend, your goodbye was not forever.

Scripture says:

“And thus we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words.”
— 1 Thessalonians 4:17–18

One day you will embrace them again.

And you will never have to let go because time has run out.

BUT THERE IS ANOTHER SIDE

That beautiful thought also carries a sobering warning.

What about those who enter eternity without Christ?

The same nonexistence of time that makes heaven so breathtaking makes separation from God so terrifying.

Eternity has no exit door.

That is why the Gospel is urgent.

Jesus did not step into time and endure the cross so we could casually decide whether we might follow Him someday.

“Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.”
— 2 Corinthians 6:2

Now.

If you have wandered, come home.

If you are playing with sin, lay it down.

If you have never surrendered your life to Jesus, don’t gamble eternity on another tomorrow.

And Bride of Christ, lift your eyes.

Our suffering here is temporary.

The rejection is temporary.

The loneliness is temporary.

The tears are temporary.

The battle is temporary.

But Jesus is forever.

One day the clock will stop.

And for those who belong to Him, after what we might call a million years of gazing upon His face, worshiping Him, exploring His goodness, and rejoicing with those we love, eternity will still not be growing old.

It will have no ending.

The Bride will finally be with her Bridegroom.

Moments will no longer be slipping through our fingers.

And perhaps somewhere in the wonder of it all, we will finally understand what our minds could never comprehend here:

the beautiful nonexistence of time.

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.”
— Revelation 21:4

No more death.

No more tears.

No more clocks.

No more goodbyes.

Only Jesus.

And eternity with Him.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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LET IT HAPPEN IN ME FIRST

Steve Porter — Thu, 20 Aug 2026 09:02:16 GMT

“But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory.” — 2 Corinthians 3:18 NKJV

There is a great difference between knowing something and becoming something.

We can know the language of prayer without becoming people of prayer.

We can speak about the presence of God without learning to live in His presence.

We can teach about forgiveness while secretly carrying wounds and offenses.

We can sing about surrender while still tightly gripping the very things Jesus has asked us to lay down.

We can speak about revival without ever allowing God to revive our own hearts.

And this is where the Lord brings us to a very searching truth:

What has not happened in us cannot be imparted through us.

This is not merely a word for preachers.

It is for mothers and fathers.

For husbands and wives.

For grandparents.

For teachers.

For worshipers.

For friends.

For every follower of Jesus who desires their life to leave the fragrance of Christ wherever they go.

You see, beloved, Christianity was never intended merely to give us information about Jesus.

It was intended to make us like Jesus.

YOU CANNOT LEAD SOMEONE WHERE YOU HAVE NEVER GONE

We cannot lead others into a reality we have never entered ourselves.

We can point toward the secret place, but there is something different about the person who has actually been there.

They carry its fragrance.

They speak differently about prayer because they have wept at His feet.

They speak differently about faith because they have trusted Him when everything around them was shaking.

They speak differently about comfort because they have discovered His arms in the midnight hour.

They speak differently about surrender because they know what it feels like to place something precious upon the altar.

There are some truths you learn from a book.

There are other truths you learn in the fire.

And the truths learned in the fire carry a weight that information alone can never produce.

WHEN TRUTH BECOMES LIFE

What has not become real in us cannot become life through us.

God does not merely want truth stored in our minds.

He wants truth written upon our hearts.

David could say, “The LORD is my shepherd” because God had become his Shepherd.

Paul could write about grace because grace had met him on the Damascus road.

Peter could preach restoration because he knew what it was to fail miserably and then look into the eyes of Jesus and discover that failure did not have to be the final chapter.

Their message carried life because the message had first lived inside of them.

Oh, beloved, this is what our generation desperately needs.

Not more Christian vocabulary.

Not more polished religious language.

We need men and women in whom the Word has become flesh again—believers whose lives say, “I have tasted and seen that the LORD is good.”

FORMED WITHIN US

We can only impart what has first been formed within us.

This is why God spends so much time working secretly in His children.

We sometimes become frustrated with hidden seasons.

“Lord, why am I here?”

“Why is this taking so long?”

“Why haven’t You opened that door?”

But perhaps God is doing something much deeper than opening a door.

Perhaps He is forming Christ in you.

Before Joseph could carry authority, something had to be formed in the prison.

Before Moses could lead a nation, something had to be formed in the wilderness.

Before David could sit upon a throne, something had to be formed while he was tending sheep where almost nobody was watching.

Never despise what God is forming in secret.

The patience He develops today may become someone else’s shelter tomorrow.

The compassion born from your tears may someday become healing for a wounded heart.

The faith developed in your storm may someday steady someone else’s trembling hands.

God wastes nothing surrendered to Him.

LET THE WORD WORK ON ME FIRST

Before truth can flow through us, it must first do its work within us.

This is where we must resist one of the great temptations of the Christian life—the temptation to immediately apply every truth to somebody else.

We hear a message and think, “I wish so-and-so could hear this.”

We read a Scripture and immediately think of someone who needs it.

But what if our first prayer became:

“Holy Spirit, what are You saying to me?”

Before I preach it, let it search me.

Before I post it, let it change me.

Before I correct someone else with it, let it correct me.

Before I tell someone else to forgive, search my heart for unforgiveness.

Before I tell someone to trust, show me where fear still controls me.

Before I speak about surrender, reveal what I am still withholding.

Lord, let Your Word do surgery on me first.

WORK IT INTO ME

What God has not yet worked into us cannot fully flow out of us.

There are things God gives instantly, but there are other things He patiently works into us.

Character is worked into us.

Humility is worked into us.

Endurance is worked into us.

Compassion is worked into us.

The ability to remain tender after disappointment is worked into us.

The ability to bless when misunderstood is worked into us.

The ability to trust God when we cannot see His hand is worked into us.

These things are not produced cheaply.

They are formed through thousands of little yeses to God.

And eventually something beautiful happens.

What once required tremendous effort begins to flow naturally because Christ has been formed within.

A LIVING REALITY

And perhaps this says it most completely:

What has not become a living reality within us cannot be imparted to others through us.

I don’t merely want to talk about Jesus.

I want to know Him.

I don’t merely want to explain His presence.

I want to carry His presence.

I don’t merely want to tell others that He is faithful.

I want my life to bear the scars and testimonies of someone who has found Him faithful again and again.

I don’t merely want truth upon my lips.

I want truth living in my bones.

Because sooner or later, what lives deeply within us begins to spill out.

When Jesus has comforted you, you begin comforting others.

When Jesus has forgiven you, mercy begins flowing more freely.

When Jesus has broken your pride, gentleness begins appearing.

When Jesus has carried you through the storm, frightened people somehow feel safer standing beside you.

You may never stand behind a pulpit.

You may never preach a sermon.

You may never write a book.

But your life is speaking every day.

Your children are listening.

Your grandchildren are watching.

Your friends are observing.

The wounded people God places along your path are encountering something through you.

So our prayer must become:

Jesus, don’t merely give me something to say. Give me something to become.

Take Your Word beyond my mind and plant it deeply within my heart.

Let Your truth search me.

Let Your fire purify me.

Let Your love soften me.

Let Your presence transform me.

Let everything I encourage others to pursue become a living reality within my own soul.

Do it in me first, Lord.

And then, when You have worked it deeply into me, let what You have placed within quietly, naturally, and powerfully flow through me to a world desperately needing to encounter You.

Lord, make my life living proof that Jesus still transforms hearts.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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WHEN THE WILD HORSE CARRIES THE KING

Steve Porter — Wed, 19 Aug 2026 09:45:25 GMT

“I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh’s chariots.”

— Song of Solomon 1:9, KJV

There was once a magnificent horse that ran wild across the open country.

He was beautiful to behold.

His coat glistened beneath the afternoon sun, his mane danced in the wind, and when he ran across the prairie, the earth seemed to tremble beneath his hooves.

But no one could get near him.

Several men had tried.

Some approached him with ropes. Others tried to corner him. A few believed that enough force could eventually break his stubborn will.

But the horse always escaped.

The moment he sensed someone approaching, his muscles tightened, his head lifted, and he ran.

Perhaps somewhere along the way he had learned that hands could hurt.

So he trusted no one.

Then one day, a man came who was different.

He didn’t bring a rope.

He didn’t chase him.

He didn’t try to prove that he was stronger.

He simply came into the field carrying a little grain.

The wild horse watched him carefully from a distance.

The man poured some grain onto the ground and walked away.

The next day, he returned.

Again, he left grain.

Again, he walked away.

Day after day, the man came.

Sometimes the horse remained far across the field. Sometimes he came a little closer.

The man never rushed him.

Never cornered him.

Never demanded anything from him.

He simply kept coming.

Until one morning, something changed.

The man stood quietly with a handful of grain stretched before him.

The horse stared at him.

His ears moved forward.

He took one cautious step.

Then another.

The man didn’t move.

Closer.

Until at last the great wild horse lowered his head and ate from the man’s hand.

The man could feel the warmth of his breath against his palm.

And for the first time, he gently touched the horse’s face.

The horse trembled.

But he didn’t run.

Trust had begun.

In the days that followed, the horse started waiting for him.

Soon he recognized the sound of his footsteps.

The hand he once feared became the hand he looked for.

Eventually came the halter.

Then the reins.

Then the saddle.

There were difficult days. Sometimes old fears returned and the horse pulled away. Sometimes he resisted the reins because for his entire life he had gone wherever he pleased.

But the patient man never stopped loving him.

He wasn’t trying to destroy the horse’s strength.

He was teaching that strength to respond to his hand.

And slowly, something remarkable happened.

The wild horse became trained.

Not broken in spirit.

Broken of independence.

His strength remained.

His beauty remained.

His fire remained.

But now all that strength could be directed.

Years passed.

Then came a day the horse could never have understood while running alone across the prairie.

He was brought into the royal stable.

His coat was brushed until it shone. Beautiful harnesses were placed upon him. He stood alongside other magnificent horses that had undergone their own years of preparation.

Then he was harnessed to a chariot.

Not just any chariot.

The king’s chariot.

Trumpets sounded.

The gates opened.

Crowds gathered along the road.

And the horse that once would allow no man near him stepped forward carrying the king.

How far he had come.

Once he ran wherever he wanted.

Now he moved at the slightest touch of the reins.

Once he feared the hand approaching him.

Now he trusted that hand completely.

Once his strength served only himself.

Now his strength carried royalty.

Perhaps this helps us understand the unusual words of the Bridegroom in Song of Solomon:

“I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh’s chariots.”

To our modern ears, comparing a beautiful woman to horses may sound strange.

But there is something precious hidden within the picture.

A horse chosen for a royal chariot was not an ordinary horse.

It was selected because someone recognized its potential.

Strength was there.

Beauty was there.

Ability was there.

But potential alone was not enough.

The horse had to be prepared.

It had to learn the reins.

It had to become responsive to another’s direction.

And perhaps that is what the Lord sees when He looks at us.

He doesn’t merely see where we are today.

He sees what we can become in His hands.

He saw Peter beyond his impulsiveness.

He saw David beyond the shepherd’s field.

He saw Moses beyond the backside of the desert.

And He sees something in you that you may not yet see in yourself.

But between calling and usefulness there is often a season of preparation.

The Lord patiently teaches us His ways.

At first, we may resist His hand.

We want to choose the road.

We want to determine the timing.

We want to run when He says stand and stand when He says move.

Yet He keeps coming.

Grace after grace.

Morning after morning.

He feeds us from His hand.

He allows us to discover that His presence is safe.

And somewhere along the journey, something beautiful happens.

We begin to trust the hand holding the reins.

This is spiritual maturity.

Not losing our strength, personality, passion, or uniqueness.

It is bringing all of it under the loving government of Jesus.

God doesn’t want to destroy the fire He placed within you.

He wants to harness it for His glory.

There comes a place where we no longer need to understand every turn.

A gentle tug from the Master is enough.

“Go this way.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Wait here.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Give this up.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Follow Me.”

“Yes, Lord.”

And eventually the very areas where we once resisted Him become places of beautiful surrender.

Then comes the part I love most.

The horse wasn’t trained merely so people could admire the horse.

He was trained to carry the king.

That is our calling too.

Not that people would marvel at our gifts.

Not that they would remember our names.

Not that they would applaud our ministries.

But that when our lives pass before them, they would see the King.

Every hidden season of surrender has been preparing us for this.

Every correction.

Every wilderness.

Every dark night of the soul.

Every delayed answer.

Every time He asked us to remain still when we wanted to run.

The Master has been preparing a people capable of carrying His presence.

Dear friend, perhaps you feel as though God has been dealing deeply with you.

Don’t despise His reins.

The One holding them is the same One who patiently fed you from His hand.

He isn’t trying to harm you.

He sees royal potential in you.

He sees where He is taking you.

One day you may look back across the prairie of your life and realize that the hand you once resisted became the hand you learned to trust most.

And you will understand:

He never wanted to take away your strength.

He wanted your strength surrendered enough to carry the King.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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THE FLOWER THEY CALLED A WEED

Steve Porter — Tue, 18 Aug 2026 09:02:01 GMT

“For the LORD does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”

— 1 Samuel 16:7, NKJV

Nobody invited the dandelion into the meadow.

It simply appeared.

At first there was only one little yellow flower pushing its head through the grass. Then another appeared. And another. Before long, splashes of brilliant yellow were scattered everywhere.

But instead of admiring them, people gave them a name.

Weeds.

They dug them up. Pulled them out. Sprayed them. Tossed them aside.

The little flower had committed an unforgivable offense in the carefully manicured world of lawns and gardens:

It grew too easily.

Yet imagine for a moment that the dandelion could speak.

Perhaps it would say:

“You have judged me by where I appeared, but you have never stopped to discover what I carry.”

For while people were trying to remove it from their lawns, the dandelion was quietly painting entire meadows gold.

There is something breathtaking about seeing hundreds of dandelions blooming together. What is dismissed individually as a nuisance can collectively turn an ordinary field into a sea of yellow.

And there is more hidden inside this humble little plant than its flower.

For generations, people have eaten dandelion greens and used different parts of the plant in traditional herbal preparations. Even the root hidden beneath the soil has been valued and used.

Think about that.

There was something valuable beneath the surface all along.

The people walking past could see the flower.

But they couldn’t see the root.

And perhaps that is where this little flower begins preaching to us.

Some of the most important things God develops in your life will never be visible to other people.

They see your ministry.

God sees your roots.

They see your gifts.

God sees your prayer life.

They see what happens publicly.

God sees those hidden mornings when you seek Him while everyone else is sleeping.

They may admire the blossom, but heaven is deeply interested in the root.

Because when storms come, flowers alone cannot hold you.

You need roots.

The deeper life has never been primarily about becoming impressive before people. It is about becoming deeply established in God.

There are places where the Lord takes us beneath the surface—into prayer, surrender, waiting, brokenness, obedience, and secret communion with Him.

Nobody applauds those places.

Sometimes nobody even knows they exist.

But roots grow in darkness.

And what God develops secretly eventually sustains what He displays publicly.

Then something else happens to the dandelion.

Its beautiful yellow petals disappear.

What looked like its glory is gone.

In their place comes that familiar white globe filled with tiny seeds.

To someone who doesn’t understand, it might look as though the flower’s finest days are behind it.

But the dandelion knows differently.

It has entered its season of multiplication.

Then comes the wind.

One breath across the meadow, and the seeds begin to fly.

They travel beyond the place where the flower grew. They settle into soil the original plant could never have reached.

What a picture of the Holy Spirit.

There are seasons when God makes our lives beautiful.

There are seasons when He drives our roots deeper.

And there are seasons when He breathes upon everything He has deposited within us and carries it farther than we ever imagined.

A word you spoke.

A prayer you prayed.

A life you touched.

A book you wrote.

A young believer you discipled.

An act of kindness nobody noticed.

You may never know where those seeds eventually land.

So don’t despise the dandelion seasons.

Don’t measure your worth by the labels people have placed upon you.

And don’t become discouraged because much of what God is doing in you remains underground.

The Lord sees the root.

He sees the treasure.

He sees the seeds.

And He knows exactly when to send the wind.

Perhaps heaven looks at some lives that the world has dismissed and sees something entirely different.

Where others see weeds, God sees a meadow waiting to become gold.

Where others see something common, God sees hidden nourishment.

Where others see the ending of a flower, God sees thousands of seeds waiting for the wind.

So put your roots deeply into Jesus.

Drink from His presence.

Let Him develop something substantial within you where nobody else can see.

And when His wind begins to blow, open your hands and let Him carry the fragrance, testimony, and seed of your life wherever He desires.

You may discover that what others once dismissed was carrying the purposes of God all along.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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WHO SHALL SEPARATE US?

Steve Porter — Mon, 17 Aug 2026 09:01:24 GMT

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution…?”

— Romans 8:35, NKJV

The tide was coming in.

On May 11, 1685, near Wigtown in southwest Scotland, eighteen-year-old Margaret Wilson stood in the tidal waters of the River Bladnoch. She had been condemned to die because she would not violate her conscience and renounce the Covenanter convictions for which she had already suffered.

Beside her was an older widow, Margaret McLachlan.

The two women had been fastened to stakes within reach of the incoming tide. The older Margaret was placed farther out, where the water would reach her first.

The young Margaret would have to watch.

It was one of the darkest periods in Scottish church history, remembered as part of the “Killing Time.” Covenanters who rejected the Crown’s interference in the government of Christ’s church faced fines, imprisonment, displacement, and sometimes death. Field gatherings for worship had been outlawed and severely punished.

Margaret had grown up in the rolling countryside of Galloway. Her father, Gilbert Wilson, was a farmer who outwardly conformed to the established church, but several of his children did not. Margaret and her younger siblings became associated with the persecuted Covenanters.

Eventually Margaret was arrested with her younger sister Agnes. The older Margaret McLachlan was also imprisoned.

On April 13, 1685, the women were tried at Wigtown. Among the issues before them was their refusal to take the government’s Abjuration Oath, which repudiated declarations associated with the more radical Covenanters.

Margaret would not swear it.

Neither would the older woman.

A sentence of drowning was pronounced against the two Margarets.

There is an important historical detail sometimes left out of the story: a reprieve was recorded by the Scottish Privy Council on April 30. Historians have debated exactly what happened afterward and why it failed to prevent their deaths. But the longstanding historical testimony records that on May 11, the sentence was nevertheless carried out.

And so the two Margarets were taken to the water.

I try to imagine being eighteen years old and standing there.

The cold water around your feet.

Soldiers nearby.

People watching from shore.

Your whole life still seemingly ahead of you.

And farther out in the water, another believer is dying before your eyes.

The older Margaret was overtaken by the rising tide first.

According to the early accounts of the martyrdom, someone asked young Margaret what she thought as she watched the woman struggling in the water.

Her answer has echoed through Christian history:

“What do I see but Christ wrestling there in one of His members?”

What an answer.

She did not merely see a drowning woman.

She saw Christ present with His suffering child.

Then the water began rising around Margaret herself.

And she worshiped.

Accounts record that she sang from Psalm 25 and recited from Romans 8.

Imagine Romans 8 coming from the lips of an eighteen-year-old girl while the water steadily climbed around her:

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?”

Tribulation?

No.

Distress?

No.

Persecution?

No.

The sword?

No.

And now Margaret was about to discover something else.

Not even the sea.

The account says that before she finally drowned, Margaret was pulled from the water and given another opportunity to comply.

She could breathe again.

Life was within reach.

She was urged to pray for the king and take the required oath. Margaret replied that she desired the salvation of all people. But when pressed to take the oath that violated her conscience, she refused.

Her words have been preserved:

“I will not. I am one of Christ’s children. Let me go.”

Let me go.

What words.

She was not asking them to let her go free.

She was ready for them to let her go Home.

There was no bargaining now. No clinging to another tomorrow. She belonged to Christ, and if faithfulness to Him meant passing through those cold waters, then she was ready.

“Let me go.”

And they returned her to the water.

But the moment Margaret took her final breath beneath those cold Scottish waters, she was no longer looking at soldiers, stakes, or a gray and merciless sea. By faith we know that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. The eyes that closed beneath the tide opened in the presence of the One she had refused to deny. Jesus…the One altogether lovely…was there. The Christ she had loved without seeing, trusted through persecution, and treasured above her own life was no longer hidden from her sight.

And what awaited this eighteen-year-old martyr was not defeat, but victory. Scripture speaks of the crown of life promised to those who remain faithful unto death. The earthly authorities could condemn Margaret, but heaven received her. They could take her life, but they could never take her crown. I can only imagine that first moment in His presence—the fear gone, the suffering finished, and Margaret finally beholding the face of the King for whom she had surrendered everything.

Her last breath on earth became her first breath in eternity.

The tide eventually covered the young woman who had been singing of a love from which neither death nor life could separate her.

Margaret Wilson was eighteen years old.

Her body was later buried in Wigtown, where her grave remains a memorial to this chapter of Scotland’s history.

But as I ponder Margaret’s story, I don’t believe the most important question is whether you or I could have stood where she stood.

There is a much closer question.

What would it take to separate my heart from Jesus?

Perhaps no soldier will ever demand that we deny Him.

Perhaps no rising tide will ever threaten our lives.

But there are other tides.

The tide of compromise.

The tide of popularity.

The tide of disappointment.

The tide of unanswered prayer.

The tide of suffering.

The tide of offense.

The tide of weariness.

Sometimes separation doesn’t come through one dramatic denial. Sometimes the tide rises almost unnoticed until something else has slowly occupied the place in our hearts that once belonged wholly to Him.

That is why Margaret’s story moves me so deeply.

She had settled something before she ever entered the water.

Jesus was worth everything.

Her confidence wasn’t ultimately in her own courage. It was in the unbreakable love of Christ.

Paul did not say that believers would never experience tribulation. He said tribulation could not separate them from Christ.

He did not promise there would be no persecution.

He promised persecution could not separate us.

He did not say death would never come.

He declared that even death itself was powerless to sever the believer from the love of God.

Beloved, the deepest Christian life is not merely saying,

“Lord, keep the tide from rising.”

Sometimes it is being able to say,

“Lord, even if it rises, I am still Yours.”

There is a love stronger than suffering.

A love stronger than disappointment.

A love stronger than persecution.

A love stronger than the grave.

Margaret entered those cold Scottish waters clinging to Christ.

And Christ did not leave her there.

The water could take her breath.

It could take her body.

It could take every earthly tomorrow she might have known.

But it could not take Jesus.

And perhaps that is the message Margaret Wilson still whispers to the Bride of Christ more than three centuries later:

Settle it in your heart before the tide rises.

For when Jesus becomes our treasure, there is nothing this world can give us that compares with Him—and nothing this world can take from us that can separate us from Him.

“For I am persuaded that neither death nor life… nor things present nor things to come… nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

— Romans 8:38–39, NKJV

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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FLIP THE TABLES OF MY HEART

Steve Porter — Sun, 16 Aug 2026 09:00:52 GMT

“My house shall be called a house of prayer.” — Matthew 21:13 NKJV

Something holy is happening in the Church.

Can you feel it?

The hour is late, and the Lord is preparing His Bride.

She is dear to His heart. She is precious to Him. He paid a holy price for her—not with silver, not with gold, but with His own precious blood.

She was fought for at Calvary.

Purchased by blood.

Washed by blood.

Made His own by blood.

And when Jesus ascended to the Father, He did not leave us alone. He sent the Comforter. The precious Holy Spirit came and took up His abode within us.

We became His temple.

And now I hear a prayer rising from the heart of the Bride:

“Lord, cleanse Your temple.”

I WILL CLEANSE MY TEMPLE

I remember something that happened to me many years ago.

I was only twenty-one years old, fresh out of Bible school, when I moved back home and became an assistant pastor under my parents. My father had beautifully remodeled a private room for me downstairs. There was a desk built into the wall, my own bathroom, and a quiet place where I could shut the door and seek God.

Oh, how I met the Lord in that little room.

One day, the Holy Spirit began speaking to me so strongly that what He gave me became a Sunday morning message. Of all the sermons I preached in those early years, this one never left me.

I called it “Cleansing His Temple.”

As I waited before the Lord, I saw something in my spirit.

I saw a church.

Suddenly, a mighty wind began blowing through it.

Then I saw a broom.

It began at the back of the church and swept forward—row by row, aisle by aisle—until it reached the pulpit.

And I heard these words in my spirit:

“I will cleanse My temple.

I will purify My temple.”

That was in 1993.

More than three decades have passed, but I believe that word has only intensified.

There is a wind blowing again.

And the broom is still moving.

But notice where it swept.

All the way to the pulpit.

God’s cleansing does not stop at the pew.

It reaches our platforms.

Our ministries.

Our motives.

Our ambitions.

Our hidden places.

Our need to be noticed.

Our desire to receive credit.

Our secret compromises.

Even the things we have learned how to hide beneath religious language.

The Lord loves His Bride too much to leave her as He found her.

This is not the rage of a God who despises His people.

This is the jealous love of a Bridegroom preparing the one He loves.

He cleanses what He intends to inhabit with greater glory.

A HOUSE OF PRAYER

I hear another phrase burning in my spirit:

“My house shall be called a house of prayer.”

Jesus did not say His house would primarily be known as a house of programs, personalities, platforms, conferences, brands, followers, or impressive buildings.

He said:

A house of prayer.

But a house of prayer is more than a place where we bring God our list.

Prayer is communion.

Prayer is surrender.

Prayer is the Bride leaning her head against the chest of her Bridegroom and learning the rhythm of His heart.

It is the fire of intercession bursting forth.

It is intimate communion.

It is men and women saying, “We will not surrender our families to darkness. We will not surrender our cities. We will not surrender our churches. We will stand in the gap. We will weep between the porch and the altar.”

But there is another kind of prayer too.

It is simply making a place where Jesus can rest.

Lord, make us a Bethany.

Give Jesus somewhere to come.

Give Him a people who want more than His gifts.

More than His miracles.

More than what He can do for us.

Give Him friends.

Give Him lovers.

Give Him worshipers.

Give Him a house where His manifest presence is welcomed rather than hurried.

A place where He can dwell among us.

A place where He is not merely preached about but where He draws near.

NOT A DEN OF ROBBERS

But Jesus said something else that pierces me deeply:

“My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves.”

— Matthew 21:13 NKJV

Lord, have mercy.

What does a robber do?

He takes something that belongs to someone else.

And suddenly those words become frighteningly personal.

Have we ever taken glory that belonged to Jesus?

Have we taken credit for something the Holy Spirit did?

Have we secretly wanted people to remember our name more than His?

Have we desired the spotlight?

Have we built something around ourselves and then written the name of Jesus across the front of it?

It is possible to speak about His glory while secretly wanting some of it for ourselves.

But the Bride the Lord is preparing will be different.

She will hide behind the cross.

She will point away from herself.

She will say with John:

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

— John 3:30 (NKJV)

She doesn’t need to become famous.

She wants Jesus to become famous.

Oh Lord, make us a house of prayer.

Never a den of robbers.

May we never steal what belongs to You.

The glory is Yours.

The honor is Yours.

The platform is Yours.

The Church is Yours.

We are Yours.

FLIP THE TABLES OF MY HEART

And now we come to the prayer I cannot seem to escape.

It has been going through my spirit again and again:

“Lord, flip the tables of my heart.”

Not my neighbor’s heart.

Not another ministry’s heart.

Not another denomination’s heart.

Mine.

Lord, walk through the temple of my heart.

Look into every room.

Open every closet.

Walk into those private places where no one else is permitted.

And if You find a table there that should not be there—flip it.

If there is an idol I have protected, remove it.

If there is an ambition that competes with Your will, overturn it.

If there is pride hidden beneath spirituality, expose it.

If I have made an agreement with compromise, break it.

If there is anything sitting on the throne that belongs to You alone—

Lord, turn it over.

Not because You hate me.

Because You love me.

These are not the tables of strangers in Jerusalem anymore.

These are the tables of my own heart.

And I willingly give You permission.

Jesus, You do not have to force Your way into this temple.

The door is open.

Come in.

You have the rights.

You have Lordship.

You purchased me.

I belong to You.

Flip the tables of my heart.

Until there is no rival throne.

No hidden idol.

No secret room marked, “Do not enter.”

No glory being stolen.

No affection greater than my affection for You.

Cleanse Your temple until the fragrance of Jesus fills every room.

Sweep until nothing remains that grieves Your heart.

Blow through us again, Holy Spirit.

From the back row to the pulpit.

From the platform to the prayer closet.

From our public ministry to our private thoughts.

And then, Lord—come and dwell among us.

May the manifest presence of God return to His house in such a way that we do not merely talk about Him—we encounter Him.

May sinners tremble.

May prodigals come home.

May the wounded weep in His presence.

May hardened hearts become tender again.

May our gatherings become Bethany.

May Jesus find somewhere to rest.

The hour is late.

The Bridegroom is drawing near.

And perhaps one of the greatest prayers the Bride can pray in this sacred hour is also one of the simplest:

“Lord, cleanse Your temple.

Make me a house of prayer.

Let me never steal Your glory.

And Jesus…flip the tables of my heart.

Whatever You must move, move it.

Whatever You must remove, remove it.

Whatever You must cleanse, cleanse it.

Until there is nothing left in me but a dwelling place for You.”

Come, Lord Jesus.

Your house is waiting.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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A TENDER HEART DOESN’T DELIGHT IN ANOTHER’S PAIN

Steve Porter — Sat, 15 Aug 2026 09:01:25 GMT

“Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and do not let your heart be glad when he stumbles.”

— Proverbs 24:17, NKJV

Imagine two neighbors who had been at odds for years.

No one could quite remember how it all started. Perhaps it was something small—a property line, an unkind word, a misunderstanding that was never resolved. But little offenses piled upon little offenses until two men who once waved across the yard eventually stopped speaking altogether.

If one was outside, the other went inside.

If they passed each other along the road, they looked the other way.

Years passed, and the bitterness quietly built a fence between them much higher than anything made of wood.

Then one cold winter morning, one of the men looked through his window and noticed smoke rising from his neighbor’s garage.

For just a moment, he stood there.

This was the man who had irritated him, spoken against him, and caused him years of grief.

He could have thought, Well, that’s his problem.

But something deeper than the offense rose up inside him.

He grabbed his coat, ran across the yard, and began pounding on his neighbor’s door.

“Wake up! Your garage is on fire!”

Within moments, the two men were working side by side, pulling things away from the flames and doing everything they could until help arrived.

And somewhere in the middle of all that smoke, something else began to burn away.

Years of resentment.

Years of pride.

Years of foolishness.

When everything finally settled down, the two exhausted men stood looking at one another. Neither quite knew what to say.

Then one reached out his hand.

The other grabbed it.

And before long, two grown men who had spent years refusing even to speak to each other were standing in that cold yard weeping together.

They realized how foolish they had been.

All those wasted years.

All that unnecessary bitterness.

All those opportunities for friendship sacrificed because neither wanted to take the first step.

But grace had finally crossed the yard.

And years later, if you happened to pass their homes on a quiet morning, you might see something very different.

Two old friends sitting together on the porch, sipping coffee and talking about life.

The fire had threatened a garage.

But grace had saved something far more valuable.

A relationship.

Beloved, there comes a point in our walk with God when the Lord begins dealing not only with what we do, but with what we secretly feel.

It is one thing not to retaliate against someone who has hurt us. It is another thing entirely to hear that they are struggling and discover that somewhere deep inside, we are glad.

Maybe now they’ll know how it feels.

They had it coming.

After what they did to me, why should I care?

Those reactions reveal places in our hearts that Jesus still wants to touch.

If we truly desire to have a deeper walk with Christ, we must allow the Holy Spirit access to those hidden places.

A heart led by the Holy Spirit does not rejoice in another person’s pain—even when that person has wounded us.

It chooses prayer over revenge.

Compassion over cruelty.

Grace over gossip.

Jesus showed us this from the cross.

While nails pierced His hands and His enemies mocked Him, Jesus prayed:

“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.”

— Luke 23:34, NKJV

That is the deeper life.

The deeper life isn’t merely knowing more Scripture, spending longer hours in prayer, or having powerful spiritual experiences. Those things are precious, but spiritual depth is also revealed by how much of Jesus comes out of us when we have been hurt.

Can we pray for the person who wounded us?

Can we remain silent when everyone else is discussing their failure?

Can we refuse to spread the story?

Can we feel compassion when the one who caused us pain begins experiencing pain themselves?

That is where depth becomes real.

Perhaps someone has treated you unfairly. They may have misunderstood you, rejected you, betrayed your confidence, or spoken things about you that were simply not true.

And perhaps today they are walking through a difficult season.

You have a choice.

You can stand at the window and watch the smoke rise…

or you can run toward them with prayer.

This doesn’t mean every relationship must be restored. Sometimes wisdom requires healthy boundaries. But even when there must be distance between two people, there doesn’t have to be bitterness in your heart.

You can still whisper their name in prayer:

“Lord, have mercy on them. Help them. Draw them close to You. Meet them in their pain. And Father, keep my own heart clean.”

Oh, beloved, that is freedom.

When another person’s downfall no longer brings you satisfaction, something beautiful has happened inside you.

Jesus is winning your heart.

If we truly want to go deeper with God, we must allow Him to make us tender where this world teaches us to become hard.

Mature people don’t celebrate when others fall.

They pray.

They forgive.

They show mercy.

And sometimes, grace does something we never imagined possible.

The person who once stood on the other side of the fence may someday be sitting beside us on the porch.

And perhaps, over a cup of coffee, we’ll look back and wonder why we ever allowed that fence to stand between us for so long.

Prayer:

Father, take me deeper. Search my heart and remove every trace of bitterness, revenge, and secret satisfaction in another person’s pain. Give me the heart of Jesus. Teach me to pray when my flesh wants revenge, to show compassion when others choose cruelty, and to extend grace when gossip would be easier. Keep my heart tender, clean, and completely yielded to Your Holy Spirit. I want my reactions—even toward those who have wounded me—to reveal You. In Jesus’ name, amen.

With Love,

Steve Porter

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WHAT ARE YOU CARRYING?

Steve Porter — Fri, 14 Aug 2026 09:01:32 GMT

“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us.”

— 2 Corinthians 4:7, NKJV

I’ve always loved the nostalgia of old glass bottles.

As a boy, I remember exploring the old house in Lubec, Maine, where my dad was raised. Down in the basement, outside around the property, and sometimes even along the seashore, I would discover old bottles.

I can still picture myself picking one up, wiping away the dirt, and holding it toward the light.

Where did this come from?

How long has it been here?

What did it once hold?

Who held it before me?

If only that old glass could talk, imagine the stories it could tell.

Glass bottles were once everywhere. Milk came in heavy glass bottles delivered to the doorstep. Medicine bottles lined pharmacy shelves. There were ink bottles on desks, perfume bottles on dressers, oil and extract bottles in kitchens, and soda bottles packed into cardboard carriers.

I remember Coca-Cola in those wonderful little glass bottles. I also remember visiting a friend whose family kept glass bottles of Dr Pepper in their garage. After Sunday-night church, they would sometimes open one and pour me a small glass.

It wasn’t anything extravagant.

Just a little Dr Pepper after church.

But all these years later, I still remember it.

Funny what stays with you.

Yet lately, when I think about those old bottles, I realize something I never understood as that little boy wandering through my father’s childhood home:

Every bottle was created to carry something.

A milk bottle carried nourishment.

A medicine bottle carried healing.

A soda bottle carried refreshment.

An ink bottle carried words.

A perfume bottle carried fragrance.

An oil bottle carried oil.

The bottles came in different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were beautiful; others were plain. Some were displayed while others were hidden away.

But the bottle was never the greatest treasure.

What mattered was what it carried.

And suddenly the question becomes personal:

What am I carrying?

Paul said, “We have this treasure in earthen vessels.”

You and I are the vessels.

Jesus is the Treasure.

We live in a world consumed with polishing the outside of the bottle.

How do I look?

How successful am I?

How many people know my name?

How impressive is my ministry?

What do people think of me?

But we can spend our entire lives polishing the bottle and forget why the bottle exists.

We were made to carry Him.

What good is a beautiful perfume bottle if there is no fragrance inside?

What good is a medicine bottle if it carries nothing that can help the hurting?

And what good is a beautifully polished Christian life if people encounter the vessel but never encounter Jesus?

Oh, beloved, I don’t merely want people to notice my bottle.

I want them to encounter what I’m carrying.

When hurting people come near me, I want them to encounter the compassion of Jesus.

When discouraged people sit across the table from me, I want them to taste His hope.

When thirsty people cross my path, I want the Living Water within me to spill over into their lives.

And when I leave a room, I want something of the fragrance of Jesus to remain behind.

“For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.”

— 2 Corinthians 2:15, NKJV

I think again about that little boy holding an old bottle toward the Maine sunlight.

You could see right through it.

Perhaps there is a prayer hidden in that memory:

“Lord, make me transparent enough that people can see You through me.”

Not Steve.

Not a ministry.

Not accomplishments.

Not titles.

Not the bottle.

Jesus.

There are all kinds of vessels in God’s Kingdom. Some preach from pulpits; others pray in hidden rooms. Some travel the nations; others faithfully love the people God has placed around their kitchen table.

Don’t compare your bottle with someone else’s.

The question is not whether your vessel looks like theirs.

The question is:

What are you carrying?

Maybe that is why an old glass bottle still makes me smile.

That bottle was made to be filled.

And so was I.

And so were you.

The greatest privilege of our lives is not that people would admire our vessels, but that ordinary, fragile people like us could become dwelling places for an extraordinary God.

So today my prayer is simple:

“Lord, don’t let me become a beautifully polished bottle sitting empty on a shelf. Fill me with Yourself. Fill me until Your love, compassion, holiness, joy, and presence spill over onto everyone around me. When people encounter this fragile vessel, may they discover the Treasure inside.”

Because in the end, beloved, the glory was never meant to belong to the bottle.

The glory belongs to the One it carries.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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THE GREATEST STEWARDSHIP OF ALL

Steve Porter — Thu, 13 Aug 2026 09:02:14 GMT

“Well done, good and faithful servant… You were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.” — Matthew 25:21 (NKJV)

Over the last number of days, I have found myself returning again and again to two familiar parables that Jesus told—the Parable of the Talents and the Parable of the Pounds. I have read them many times over the years, but lately I have sensed the Holy Spirit inviting me to linger there a little longer.

There are moments when the Lord takes a passage we have known for years and quietly opens another door within it.

I believe this is one of those moments.

At first glance these parables speak clearly about stewardship. They remind us that every gift, every ability, every opportunity, and every resource entrusted to us ultimately belongs to God. One servant was given five talents, another two, another one. In the parable of the pounds, each servant received the same amount, yet each handled it differently. The Master expected faithfulness. He expected increase. He expected that what had been entrusted would not be buried in the ground but invested for His Kingdom.

That truth alone is enough to search our hearts.

But as I have quietly meditated on these passages, another thought has continued to stir within me.

Perhaps the greatest stewardship of all is not merely our gifts.

It is our life.

Every one of us has been entrusted with something infinitely precious.

Time.

The Lord determined the day we entered this world, and He already knows the day He will call us home.

Between those two dates lies the greatest gift we have ever been given.

A lifetime.

The writer of Hebrews reminds us, “It is appointed for men to die once, but after this the judgment” (Hebrews 9:27).

That appointment is already written in heaven.

None of us knows when it will arrive.

The question is not how long we will live.

The question is how faithfully we will live.

Will we be found faithful stewards of the years entrusted to us?

I cannot help but think that when we stand before Christ, we will not simply give an account for what we possessed.

We will give an account for what we did with the life He lovingly placed into our hands.

Every sunrise.

Every conversation.

Every hidden act of obedience.

Every opportunity to forgive.

Every invitation to pray.

Every prompting of the Holy Spirit.

Every moment when we chose eternity over comfort.

How did we steward those moments?

The servants in Jesus’ parable all began with an opportunity.

Some multiplied what they had received.

One buried it.

How heartbreaking that the greatest tragedy was not that he lost the talent.

It was that he never used it.

I sometimes wonder how many lives are quietly buried beneath endless distractions.

Hours disappear in front of glowing screens.

Days vanish chasing entertainment.

Years slip away pursuing hobbies, sports, careers, or pleasures that, while not sinful in themselves, slowly consume the very time that belongs to God.

None of these things are necessarily wrong.

Rest is a gift.

Family is a gift.

Recreation has its place.

But anything that slowly pushes Christ from the center of our hearts has become far more dangerous than we often realize.

Even good things become idols when they replace the best thing.

The enemy rarely needs to destroy a believer.

If he can simply distract them for a lifetime, he has accomplished much.

How precious time really is.

Once an hour passes, it never returns.

Once a year is gone, no earthly wealth can buy it back.

The clock never runs backward.

The older I become, the more deeply I feel this.

Life moves astonishingly fast.

Children become adults.

Parents grow old.

Friends leave this world.

Before we know it, we too will stand before the King whose eyes burn with perfect love and perfect truth.

On that day, I do not believe we will regret the hours spent in prayer.

We will never regret the mornings we rose early to seek His face.

We will never regret every act of kindness.

We will never regret every sacrifice made out of love for Christ.

We will never regret choosing obedience over convenience.

No one has ever entered eternity wishing they had watched more television.

No one has ever stood before Jesus wishing they had spent less time knowing Him.

Paul understood this.

Near the end of his earthly journey he could say with peaceful confidence,

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

What beautiful words.

He did not merely begin well.

He finished well.

That is the longing of my heart.

Not simply to have moments of faithfulness.

Not merely seasons of passion.

But an entire lifetime that quietly whispers,

“Lord, I was faithful with what You entrusted to me.”

Perhaps no one illustrates this hunger better than Moses.

When we first meet him, he is a prince in Egypt.

Then he becomes a shepherd in the wilderness.

Forty hidden years pass where heaven seems strangely silent.

Many would have considered those years wasted.

God never did.

The wilderness was preparing a steward.

Then came the burning bush.

Then came the call.

Then came the greatest assignment of his life.

Yet what has always captured my heart is not simply what Moses did.

It is what Moses desired.

After seeing miracles…

After witnessing the Red Sea open…

After hearing the very voice of God…

His cry was still,

“Please, show me Your glory.”

Again and again, Moses longed for one thing above all else.

He wanted to know God.

Not merely know about Him.

Know Him.

His presence became more precious than the Promised Land itself.

He understood something many never discover.

The greatest stewardship is not merely accomplishing something for God.

It is cultivating a heart that truly knows Him.

Paul echoed the very same longing centuries later.

“That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection…”

Not know more information.

Not gain greater recognition.

Not build a larger ministry.

Simply…

“That I may know Him.”

That is spiritual maturity.

That is the highest calling.

Everything else flows from there.

Perhaps today the Holy Spirit is gently asking each of us a very personal question.

What are you doing with the life I have entrusted to you?

Not with someone else’s life.

Not with someone else’s calling.

Your life.

Your years.

Your opportunities.

Your stewardship.

One day the Master will return.

Just as He did in the parables.

There will be an accounting.

Not to condemn His children, but to reveal how we stewarded what was lovingly placed into our hands.

May we not arrive empty-handed because we buried our lives beneath distractions.

May we not settle for simply existing when Christ has invited us into abundant life.

May we redeem the time because the days are evil.

May we pursue Christ with all our hearts while He may be found.

And when our final breath comes…

May we hear the only words that will matter for all eternity:

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Today is another gift.

Another talent.

Another pound.

Another sunrise entrusted to your care.

Do not bury it.

Invest it in eternity.

Seek Him while He may be found.

Love Him with your whole heart.

Know Him deeply.

Finish your race well.

For there is no greater stewardship than the life God has graciously placed into your hands.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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NO LONGER LIVING FOR OURSELVES

Steve Porter — Wed, 12 Aug 2026 09:01:29 GMT

“He died for everyone so that those who receive his new life will no longer live for themselves. Instead, they will live for Christ, who died and was raised for them.” — 2 Corinthians 5:15 (NLT)

There is something wonderfully freeing about no longer living for yourself.

The world tells us that life is about pursuing our dreams, protecting our comfort, building our reputation, and satisfying our desires. Everywhere we turn, we hear the same message: Follow your heart. Do what makes you happy. Live your truth.

But then we come to the cross.

Standing before Calvary, all of those voices grow strangely quiet. We gaze upon the Son of God with His hands stretched wide, bearing our sin, our shame, and our judgment. We realize that the greatest act of love in history was not a man living for Himself—it was a Savior pouring Himself out completely for others.

Paul understood this.

He wrote, “He died for everyone so that those who receive his new life will no longer live for themselves.”

What a beautiful exchange!

Jesus did not simply die to forgive our sins. He died to completely redirect the course of our lives. Salvation is not merely receiving a ticket to heaven someday. It is receiving His very life today.

The old life was centered around me.

The new life is centered around Him.

Everything changes.

Our ambitions begin to change.

Our conversations begin to change.

Our priorities begin to change.

Even the quiet decisions no one else ever sees begin to change.

The Holy Spirit gently asks us each day, “Is this for yourself… or is this for Christ?”

That question keeps our hearts vigilant.

It rescues us from drifting into self-absorption. It reminds us that every day is a gift entrusted to us by the One who purchased us with His own blood.

The Christian life was never intended to revolve around self-preservation.

It is a poured-out life.

A life that serves.

A life that forgives.

A life that encourages.

A life that quietly obeys when no one is watching.

A life that asks, “Lord, how can I bring You joy today?”

Ironically, this is where true freedom is found.

The world believes freedom is living however you please.

Jesus teaches that true freedom is finally becoming what you were created to be.

Have you ever noticed that the happiest believers are often the least occupied with themselves?

They are too busy loving Christ.

Too busy serving others.

Too busy building His Kingdom.

Too busy listening for His voice.

There is a deep joy that settles upon a heart that has surrendered completely to Jesus. It is what Scripture calls resurrection life.

It is not merely a better version of the old life.

It is an entirely different life.

His peace replaces our anxiety.

His purpose replaces our wandering.

His strength replaces our weakness.

His love replaces our selfishness.

His hope replaces our despair.

His life becomes our life.

This is why Paul could say elsewhere, “For to me, to live is Christ.” Christ was no longer simply part of Paul’s life—Christ had become his life.

May that become our testimony as well.

The older I grow, the more I realize that this earthly life passes quickly. One day every ambition, every possession, every earthly accomplishment will be left behind. Only what was done for Christ will endure.

So let us live awake.

Let us live watchfully.

Let us hold loosely the things of this world and tightly to the One who gave everything for us.

He did not merely save us from something.

He saved us for Someone.

And there is no greater privilege than spending our days living for the One who willingly gave His life for us.

Pray with me:

Lord Jesus, thank You for giving everything for me. Forgive me for the times I become consumed with myself, my plans, and my comfort. Fill me afresh with Your resurrection life. Teach me to live each day with my eyes fixed upon You. May my words, my decisions, my service, and my love all bring glory to Your name. Help me to pour out my life for the One who first poured out His life for me. Amen.

With Love,

Steve Porter

www.morningglorydevo.com

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