SCRIPTURE

“For thus says the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel: In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength. But you said, No! We will flee upon horses!—therefore you shall flee away.” —Isaiah 30:15–16

There is a peculiar tragedy in the way humanity responds to God’s gentleness. He offers rest, yet we crave movement. He calls us home, but we prefer the illusion of freedom on the open road. The words of Isaiah pierce the human condition: “You said, No.”

We choose to live in self-imposed exile and call it abandonment.

We often believe it is God that declines us, but clearly that is not the case. It is we who say “no” to Him.

In that defiant syllable—No—echoes the same voice that once left the Father’s house in search of independence. It is the cry of the prodigal son’s heart before his body ever departs: the inner rebellion that believes peace must be earned through performance, motion, and conquest. It is the belief that the salvation—healing, freedom, peace and wholeness—we seek is found somewhere far away from God.

God’s answer is profoundly simple, almost offensively so: “In returning (שׁוּב, shuv) and rest you shall be saved.” Salvation begins not in striving, but in turning back—shuv, the same root used for repentance. It means to come home, to reorient, to reverse direction. It is not a moral achievement but a movement of the heart back into alignment with God. Yet Israel, like so many of us, rejects this inner turning. Instead of yielding to quiet trust, they insist, “We will flee upon horses.”

The horse becomes the symbol of our compulsions—speed, control, and self-reliance. We think if we ride fast enough, far enough, we can escape the emptiness within. But the divine irony remains: “Therefore you shall flee.”

The more we run, the more we become fugitives.

DEVOTIONAL PRAYER

Father of stillness and mercy,
I confess that I have often said no to Your peace. I have chased the wind, ridden my horses of control and fear, and called it progress. Yet my soul is weary. Bring me home, Lord. Teach me to shuv—to turn, to return, to rest. Quiet the noise within me as I present myself to You, that I may synchronise again with the rhythm of Your grace. Let my strength be found in trust, my salvation in stillness, and my home in You.
Amen.

QUESTION

What does spiritual practice mean to you? How do you show up in your relationship with the Lord?

Answer below in the comments and let us know.