What Are You Carrying Today?
Have you ever wondered why God asks us to do things that don't make sense?
Gideon sure did. Here's a guy who was hiding in a winepress, threshing wheat in secret, terrified of the Midianites who had been oppressing Israel for seven years. When the angel of the Lord appeared and called him a "mighty warrior," Gideon probably looked around to see who the angel was really talking to. He came from the weakest clan in Israel and felt completely inadequate for the task ahead.
But God had a plan. After Gideon finally agreed to lead Israel against their enemies, he gathered 32,000 men. A decent army, right? Wrong. God said that was too many. He whittled the army down to just 300 soldiers. And then came the really strange part. Instead of arming these men with swords and shields, God told Gideon to give each man a trumpet, an empty pitcher, and a torch to hide inside the pitcher.
When God Says “No” to Plan B
Have you ever reached for your backup plan before seeking God's direction? I certainly have. It's a struggle as old as faith itself, and we see it vividly illustrated in the lives of the patriarchs.
When famine struck Canaan, Abraham, the father of faith, immediately packed for Egypt. No prayer. No seeking God's counsel. Just a practical solution to a pressing problem: "And there was a famine in the land: and Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there; for the famine was grievous in the land" (Genesis 12:10).
Egypt, with its Nile-watered fields and abundant storehouses, represented a visible solution. But Abraham's self-directed detour led to compromise. Fearing for his life, he instructed Sarah: "Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister: that it may be well with me for thy sake; and my soul shall live because of thee" (Genesis 12:13).
It Is Well: Finding Certainty Before the Miracle Happens
I settled into my favorite armchair, Bible open on my lap, and reread the story of the Shunammite woman in II Kings 4. Her journey from despair to faith has always intrigued me, but this time, something new stood out. It wasn't just her words that shifted. Her entire perspective transformed as she drew nearer to God's presence.
At home, with her lifeless son lying on the bed, she declared, "It shall be well." What a statement of faith! She didn't see any evidence of life or hope, yet she spoke with certainty. She trusted in God's power, even when circumstances screamed otherwise. That's where faith begins, for her and for us. It starts with a declaration, a bold statement of belief in God's ability to intervene, even when the situation seems impossible.
But she didn't stop there. She didn't just sit by her son's body and hope for the best. No, she took action.
Tiny Treasures
I thought we had won. After weeks of setting traps and securing every nook and cranny of our Welsh cottage, the unwelcome mouse that had taken up residence seemed to have moved on. The victory was ours! Or so I thought until the other morning when I opened the pantry door.
There he sat, bold as brass, perched atop the shelf with my favorite chocolates. The little thief had gnawed through the wrappers and was helping himself to my precious stash! We locked eyes for a moment—me in horror, him in what I'm pretty sure was smug satisfaction—before we both fled in opposite directions. He scurried into his hidden passage while I slammed the door and retreated to the safety of my office, mourning the loss of my chocolate comfort.
Behind the Scenes
The comment stung like a paper cut—small but surprisingly painful. "Now, we just have to get Dana out there doing something," my coworker had quipped, presumably in jest. Though meant to be humorous, the words settled heavily in my spirit, and I found myself mentally cataloging my daily responsibilities.
From my home office, I design promotional materials, organize events, prepare music and Bible studies, create floral arrangements, and handle correspondence for our ministry. Yet because most of this work happens behind the scenes rather than in the public eye, it's easy for others to overlook these contributions.
As I nursed my wounded pride, the Lord gently reminded me that I often treat Him the same way.