Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, August 4

"I smote you with blasting and with mildew and with hail in all the labours of your hands." Haggai 2:17

How destructive is the hail to the standing crops, beating out the precious grain upon the ground! How grateful ought we to be when the corn is spared so terrible a ruin! Let us offer unto the Lord thanksgiving. Even more to be dreaded are those mysterious destroyers- smut, bunt, rust, and mildew. These turn the ear into a mass of soot, or render it putrid, or dry up the grain, and all in a manner so beyond all human control that the farmer is compelled to cry, "This is the finger of God." Innumerable minute fungi cause the mischief, and were it not for the goodness of God, the rider on the black horse would soon scatter famine over the land. Infinite mercy spares the food of men, but in view of the active agents which are ready to destroy the harvest, right wisely are we taught to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread." The curse is abroad; we have constant need of the blessing. When blight and mildew come they are chastisements from heaven, and men must learn to hear the rod, and Him that hath appointed it.

Spiritually, mildew is no uncommon evil. When our work is most promising this blight appears. We hoped for many conversions, and lo! a general apathy, an abounding worldliness, or a cruel hardness of heart! There may be no open sin in those for whom we are labouring, but there is a deficiency of sincerity and decision sadly disappointing our desires. We learn from this our dependence upon the Lord, and the need of prayer that no blight may fall upon our work. Spiritual pride or sloth will soon bring upon us the dreadful evil, and only the Lord of the harvest can remove it. Mildew may even attack our own hearts, and shrivel our prayers and religious exercises. May it please the great Husbandman to avert so serious a calamity. Shine, blessed Sun of Righteousness, and drive the blights away.

Whispers Beneath the Moon

In a meadow where the wildflowers glowed blue beneath the light of the full moon, two sisters stood side by side, their dark hair flowing like rivers of night. They were wrapped in sacred robes woven by their grandmother, stitched with strands of spirit and sky.

Their names were Taya and Suni, daughters of the Moonwatcher Clan, known for their wisdom in reading the stars and listening to the whispers of the land. Tonight was no ordinary night. It was the Night of Remembering, when the veil between the past and present grew thin and the voices of the ancestors could be heard in the rustle of pine and the shimmer of stardust.

As they gazed at the glowing moon, Taya whispered, “Can you hear them, Suni?”

The younger sister nodded slowly. “They are singing.”

The sky above swirled in purples and blues, the stars glittering like ancient eyes watching over them. A faint melody filled the air—not with instruments, but with memory. It was the song their mother used to sing at bedtime, the one passed down for generations. A lullaby of healing, of journeys across forests, of waiting under the moon for signs from the Great Spirit.

Taya closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart. “They are guiding us,” she said softly. “We are not alone.”

Behind them, the forest stood like guardians, tall and silent. The sisters knew that tomorrow would bring challenges. The world outside their homeland was changing, forgetting, moving too fast. But here—beneath the moon—they remembered who they were.

Daughters of the Earth. Carriers of old songs. Watchers of the sky.

And in that sacred moment, the night sky pulsed with color, the stars danced a little brighter, and the spirits smiled—knowing that the story would live on through these two young souls.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, August 3

"But as He went." Luke 8:42

Jesus is passing through the throng to the house of Jairus, to raise the ruler's dead daughter; but He is so profuse in goodness that He works another miracle while upon the road. While yet this rod of Aaron bears the blossom of an unaccomplished wonder, it yields the ripe almonds of a perfect work of mercy. It is enough for us, if we have some one purpose, straightway to go and accomplish it; it were imprudent to expend our energies by the way. Hastening to the rescue of a drowning friend, we cannot afford to exhaust our strength upon another in like danger. It is enough for a tree to yield one sort of fruit, and for a man to fulfil his own peculiar calling. But our Master knows no limit of power or boundary of mission. He is so prolific of grace, that like the sun which shines as it rolls onward in its orbit, His path is radiant with lovingkindness. He is a swift arrow of love, which not only reaches its ordained target, but perfumes the air through which it flies. Virtue is evermore going out of Jesus, as sweet odours exhale from flowers; and it always will be emanating from Him, as water from a sparkling fountain. What delightful encouragement this truth affords us! If our Lord is so ready to heal the sick and bless the needy, then, my soul, be not thou slow to put thyself in His way, that He may smile on thee. Be not slack in asking, if He be so abundant in bestowing. Give earnest heed to His word now, and at all times, that Jesus may speak through it to thy heart. Where He is to be found there make thy resort, that thou mayst obtain His blessing. When He is present to heal, may He not heal thee? But surely He is present even now, for He always comes to hearts which need Him. And dost not thou need Him? Ah, He knows how much! Thou Son of David, turn Thine eye and look upon the distress which is now before Thee, and make Thy suppliant whole.

Job
Chapter 9

1 Then Job answered and said,

2 I know it is so of a truth: but how should man be just with God?

3 If he will contend with him, he cannot answer him one of a thousand.

4 He is wise in heart, and mighty in strength: who hath hardened himself against him, and hath prospered?

5 Which removeth the mountains, and they know not: which overturneth them in his anger.

6 Which shaketh the earth out of her place, and the pillars thereof tremble.

7 Which commandeth the sun, and it riseth not; and sealeth up the stars.

8 Which alone spreadeth out the heavens, and treadeth upon the waves of the sea.

9 Which maketh Arcturus, Orion, and Pleiades, and the chambers of the south.

10 Which doeth great things past finding out; yea, and wonders without number.

11 Lo, he goeth by me, and I see him not: he passeth on also, but I perceive him not.

12 Behold, he taketh away, who can hinder him? who will say unto him, What doest thou?

13 If God will not withdraw his anger, the proud helpers do stoop under him.

14 How much less shall I answer him, and choose out my words to reason with him?

15 Whom, though I were righteous, yet would I not answer, but I would make supplication to my judge.

16 If I had called, and he had answered me; yet would I not believe that he had hearkened unto my voice.

17 For he breaketh me with a tempest, and multiplieth my wounds without cause.

18 He will not suffer me to take my breath, but filleth me with bitterness.

19 If I speak of strength, lo, he is strong: and if of judgment, who shall set me a time to plead?

20 If I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me: if I say, I am perfect, it shall also prove me perverse.

21 Though I were perfect, yet would I not know my soul: I would despise my life.

22 This is one thing, therefore I said it, He destroyeth the perfect and the wicked.

23 If the scourge slay suddenly, he will laugh at the trial of the innocent.

24 The earth is given into the hand of the wicked: he covereth the faces of the judges thereof; if not, where, and who is he?

25 Now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no good.

26 They are passed away as the swift ships: as the eagle that hasteth to the prey.

27 If I say, I will forget my complaint, I will leave off my heaviness, and comfort myself:

28 I am afraid of all my sorrows, I know that thou wilt not hold me innocent.

29 If I be wicked, why then labour I in vain?

30 If I wash myself with snow water, and make my hands never so clean;

31 Yet shalt thou plunge me in the ditch, and mine own clothes shall abhor me.

32 For he is not a man, as I am, that I should answer him, and we should come together in judgment.

33 Neither is there any daysman betwixt us, that might lay his hand upon us both.

34 Let him take his rod away from me, and let not his fear terrify me:

35 Then would I speak, and not fear him; but it is not so with me.

Job
Chapter 8

1 Then answered Bildad the Shuhite, and said,

2 How long wilt thou speak these things? and how long shall the words of thy mouth be like a strong wind?

3 Doth God pervert judgment? or doth the Almighty pervert justice?

4 If thy children have sinned against him, and he have cast them away for their transgression;

5 If thou wouldest seek unto God betimes, and make thy supplication to the Almighty;

6 If thou wert pure and upright; surely now he would awake for thee, and make the habitation of thy righteousness prosperous.

7 Though thy beginning was small, yet thy latter end should greatly increase.

8 For enquire, I pray thee, of the former age, and prepare thyself to the search of their fathers:

9 (For we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because our days upon earth are a shadow:)

10 Shall not they teach thee, and tell thee, and utter words out of their heart?

11 Can the rush grow up without mire? can the flag grow without water?

12 Whilst it is yet in his greenness, and not cut down, it withereth before any other herb.

13 So are the paths of all that forget God; and the hypocrite's hope shall perish:

14 Whose hope shall be cut off, and whose trust shall be a spider's web.

15 He shall lean upon his house, but it shall not stand: he shall hold it fast, but it shall not endure.

16 He is green before the sun, and his branch shooteth forth in his garden.

17 His roots are wrapped about the heap, and seeth the place of stones.

18 If he destroy him from his place, then it shall deny him, saying, I have not seen thee.

19 Behold, this is the joy of his way, and out of the earth shall others grow.

20 Behold, God will not cast away a perfect man, neither will he help the evil doers:

21 Till he fill thy mouth with laughing, and thy lips with rejoicing.

22 They that hate thee shall be clothed with shame; and the dwelling place of the wicked shall come to nought.

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Morning, August 3

"The Lamb is the light thereof." Revelation 21:23

Quietly contemplate the Lamb as the light of heaven. Light in Scripture is the emblem of joy. The joy of the saints in heaven is comprised in this: Jesus chose us, loved us, bought us, cleansed us, robed us, kept us, glorified us: we are here entirely through the Lord Jesus. Each one of these thoughts shall be to them like a cluster of the grapes of Eshcol. Light is also the cause of beauty. Nought of beauty is left when light is gone. Without light no radiance flashes from the sapphire, no peaceful ray proceedeth from the pearl; and thus all the beauty of the saints above comes from Jesus. As planets, they reflect the light of the Sun of Righteousness; they live as beams proceeding from the central orb. If He withdrew, they must die; if His glory were veiled, their glory must expire. Light is also the emblem of knowledge. In heaven our knowledge will be perfect, but the Lord Jesus Himself will be the fountain of it. Dark providences, never understood before, will then be clearly seen, and all that puzzles us now will become plain to us in the light of the Lamb. Oh! what unfoldings there will be and what glorifying of the God of love! Light also means manifestation. Light manifests. In this world it doth not yet appear what we shall be. God's people are a hidden people, but when Christ receives His people into heaven, He will touch them with the wand of His own love, and change them into the image of His manifested glory. They were poor and wretched, but what a transformation! They were stained with sin, but one touch of His finger, and they are bright as the sun, and clear as crystal. Oh! what a manifestation! All this proceeds from the exalted Lamb. Whatever there may be of effulgent splendour, Jesus shall be the centre and soul of it all. Oh! to be present and to see Him in His own light, the King of kings, and Lord of lords!

Very interesting article from, RevealedEye. Linked sources.

Skin Cancer, Seed Oils & the Truth About The Sun
https://revealedeye.substack.com/p/skin-cancer-seed-oils-and-the-truth-about-the-sun?publication_id=941403&post_id=169239578&isFreemail=true&r=1maoyr&triedRedirect=true&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, August 1

"Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness." Psalm 65:11

All the year round, every hour of every day, God is richly blessing us; both when we sleep and when we wake His mercy waits upon us. The sun may leave us a legacy of darkness, but our God never ceases to shine upon His children with beams of love. Like a river, His lovingkindness is always flowing, with a fulness inexhaustible as His own nature. Like the atmosphere which constantly surrounds the earth, and is always ready to support the life of man, the benevolence of God surrounds all His creatures; in it, as in their element, they live, and move, and have their being. Yet as the sun on summer days gladdens us with beams more warm and bright than at other times, and as rivers are at certain seasons swollen by the rain, and as the atmosphere itself is sometimes fraught with more fresh, more bracing, or more balmy influences than heretofore, so is it with the mercy of God; it hath its golden hours; its days of overflow, when the Lord magnifieth His grace before the sons of men. Amongst the blessings of the nether springs, the joyous days of harvest are a special season of excessive favour. It is the glory of autumn that the ripe gifts of providence are then abundantly bestowed; it is the mellow season of realization, whereas all before was but hope and expectation. Great is the joy of harvest. Happy are the reapers who fill their arms with the liberality of heaven. The Psalmist tells us that the harvest is the crowning of the year. Surely these crowning mercies call for crowning thanksgiving! Let us render it by the inward emotions of gratitude. Let our hearts be warmed; let our spirits remember, meditate, and think upon this goodness of the Lord. Then let us praise Him with our lips, and laud and magnify His name from whose bounty all this goodness flows. Let us glorify God by yielding our gifts to His cause. A practical proof of our gratitude is a special thank-offering to the Lord of the harvest.

Hummingbird – The Spirit of Resilience and Light

You are not small.
You are the spark between heartbeats —
The swift flash of spirit that defies the weight of the world.
Born from the breath of the Sun and the whisper of flowers,
You fly not by force, but by faith.

You carry the memory of joy,
The reminder that sweetness can still be found,
Even in places where sorrow grows thick.
Your wings hum like ancient drums,
Beating the rhythm of life,
Of persistence,
Of returning — again and again — to what feeds the soul.

You are the guardian of fleeting moments,
The priestess of the now.
While others chase horizons,
You kiss the light that blooms in a single drop of morning dew.

You are not directionless —
You know exactly where to go.
Across vast distances and violent winds,
You return with purpose,
Bearing the invisible threads of home.

When grief has dulled the world’s colors,
It is you who comes —
A glimmer, a shimmer, a reminder
That beauty still exists
And hope can wear wings.

You do not battle —
You endure.
You do not conquer —
You bless.

To the People,
You were more than a bird.
You were a spirit —
A messenger of love,
A weaver of joy,
A sign that life endures, even in the smallest of forms.

You have never been merely “a hummingbird” —
You are the sacred flicker of resilience,
The bearer of light in darkened skies,
The breath of color in a gray world.

You remind us that gentleness is a kind of power,
And those who move lightly,
Move far.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Spurgeon's Morning and Evening Devotions

Evening, July 31

"And these are the singers... they were employed in that work day and night." 1 Chronicles 9:33

Well was it so ordered in the temple that the sacred chant never ceased: for evermore did the singers praise the Lord, whose mercy endureth for ever. As mercy did not cease to rule either by day or by night, so neither did music hush its holy ministry. My heart, there is a lesson sweetly taught to thee in the ceaseless song of Zion's temple, thou too art a constant debtor, and see thou to it that thy gratitude, like charity, never faileth. God's praise is constant in heaven, which is to be thy final dwelling-place, learn thou to practise the eternal hallelujah. Around the earth as the sun scatters his light, his beams awaken grateful believers to tune their morning hymn, so that by the priesthood of the saints perpetual praise is kept up at all hours, they swathe our globe in a mantle of thanksgiving, and girdle it with a golden belt of song.

The Lord always deserves to be praised for what He is in Himself, for His works of creation and providence, for His goodness towards His creatures, and especially for the transcendent act of redemption, and all the marvellous blessing flowing therefrom. It is always beneficial to praise the Lord; it cheers the day and brightens the night; it lightens toil and softens sorrow; and over earthly gladness it sheds a sanctifying radiance which makes it less liable to blind us with its glare. Have we not something to sing about at this moment? Can we not weave a song out of our present joys, or our past deliverances, or our future hopes? Earth yields her summer fruits: the hay is housed, the golden grain invites the sickle, and the sun tarrying long to shine upon a fruitful earth, shortens the interval of shade that we may lengthen the hours of devout worship. By the love of Jesus, let us be stirred up to close the day with a psalm of sanctified gladness.

The Celestial Stallion

In the ancient lands where the sky meets the earth, there was a legendary horse named Awen. His coat was as dark as the midnight sky, and his body was adorned with glowing symbols, marks of a spiritual connection to the stars above. It was said that Awen was the descendant of the first horses, the ones who were born from the stars to guide the spirits of the earth.

On the night of the Great Alignment, when the stars aligned perfectly with the mountain peaks, Awen would stand alone on the highest cliff, his body glowing with the colors of the cosmos. The glowing symbols on his body were said to be ancient constellations, and each one represented a different element of life — the sun, the moon, the earth, the spirit. It was through these symbols that Awen connected with the universe, acting as a bridge between the celestial and earthly realms.

This night, the air was thick with magic, and the sky shimmered with the light of countless stars. Awen stood proudly, his mane flowing like the river of time, while a stream of glowing energy moved across the land. As the moon rose high above, he let out a soft whinny, and the ground beneath his hooves began to glow in response. It was the sacred path of his ancestors, a path that led toward the unknown, a path of discovery.

As Awen trotted forward, the trail of stardust behind him formed a glowing river, flowing through the valley like a beam of light. The people, the animals, and the spirits watched in awe, for they knew this was a journey that could only be taken by one chosen by the stars.

Awen's journey was not just a physical one, but a spiritual journey. He carried the hopes, dreams, and wisdom of all who had come before him. The night was his canvas, and the stars, his guide. As the glowing symbols danced on his body, they painted a story of life, of connection, of light and shadow — a reminder that we are all part of the same cosmic dance, guided by the spirit of the earth and the stars.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Mother and Child — A River That Never Runs Dry

A mother is the first sun we ever know,
the warm light that pours into our hearts
long before we have words to name it.
On the crimson land where winds whisper old stories through stone,
She walks with her child.
No need for words.
Only stillness,
and the rhythm of hearts beating in harmony.
The blanket she wraps around her daughter
is woven with the voices of ancestors—
a lullaby passed down through hands
that once danced beneath full moons.
The child leans into her—like stream to mountain,
like flame to the hand that guards it.
No explanations.
No conditions.
Only belonging.
She doesn’t teach strength through commands.
She lives it—
showing that strength can hold tears,
and gentleness is a kind of warrior's grace.
And when the child grows,
walking forward on her own path,
the mother stays behind—never holding,
only protecting with prayers whispered into the wind.
A prayer strong enough
to carry her child for a lifetime.

#nativeamericanwisdom

Rider of the Dusk

When the sun dips low and the sky turns red,
A silent rider lifts their head.
On a blue horse born of cloud and flame,
They ride the trail without a name.

The wind remembers where they roam,
Carving paths between stars and home.
Birds above cry songs once sung
By our ancestors when the world was young.

Each step echoes in the sacred land,
Where spirit walks with open hand.
The flowers bow, the grasses lean—
They know this one, the in-between.

Neither lost nor truly gone,
This rider waits till night is dawn.
For those who see with open eyes
Will ride with them beneath the skies.

Serin Alar

#nativeamericanwisdom