When God Calls You Out of the Past and Into a New Story

 

There are moments in life when God gently — and sometimes painfully — calls us to step away from what we’ve always known.

Not because it’s easy…
but because He has something better.

Ruth’s story is one of those moments.

And for many of us, it feels very close to home.

Ruth was not raised knowing the God of Israel.
She grew up in Moab — a land shaped by idol worship and practices far from the truth of the one true God.

That was her normal.
That was her upbringing.
That was everything she had ever known.

But her story reminds us of something we all need to hear:

Our past does not decide our future — our response to God does.

Some of us were raised in strong faith.
Others were not.
Some of us have walked through seasons that pulled us away from God.

But none of those things disqualify us from being used by Him.

Because it is God who draws our hearts.

Jesus said:
“No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him.”
— John 6:44 ESV

Ruth didn’t find God by accident.
God was already drawing her — through Naomi, through loss, through love.

After losing her husband, Ruth stood at a crossroads.

Naomi, her mother-in-law, urged her to return home — back to her people, her culture, her old way of life. It would have been the easier path. The expected path.

But Ruth chose differently.

She said:

Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.
— Ruth 1:16 ESV

In that moment, Ruth made a life-changing decision.

She left behind:

• her homeland
• her family
• her identity
• her old beliefs

She chose God.

And sometimes following God looks just like that —
quiet, costly decisions that don’t make sense to others, but feel deeply right in your spirit.

Ruth walked into Bethlehem as a foreigner.

She didn’t know what her future would look like.
She didn’t know how she would be provided for.
She didn’t know how her story would unfold.

She simply trusted.

So the two of them went on until they came to Bethlehem.
— Ruth 1:19 ESV

There is something so powerful about that simple step forward.

Because many of us are living that right now.

Trying to stay faithful.
Trying to care for those we love.
Trying to trust God with a future we cannot see.

Ruth went out to gather leftover grain in the fields — something called gleaning. It was a way God had provided for the poor, allowing them to gather what was left behind after harvest (Leviticus 19:9–10).

And Scripture says:

She happened to come to the part of the field belonging to Boaz.
— Ruth 2:3 ESV

What looked like chance…
was actually God’s provision.

Boaz noticed Ruth, protected her, and showed her kindness far beyond what she expected.

And this is where we see a term that may feel unfamiliar to us today — something called a kinsman-redeemer.

In Ruth’s time, kinsman-redeemer was a close relative who had the responsibility to help restore a family in crisis.

If a woman lost her husband and had no one to care for her, a relative could step in to:

• protect her
• provide for her
• marry her (in some cases)
• preserve the family line

It was God’s way of ensuring that no one was left without hope.

When Naomi realized who Boaz was, she said:

The man is a close relative of ours, one of our redeemers.
— Ruth 2:20 ESV

Naomi began to see something again she hadn’t felt in a long time…

Hope.

Ruth could not have known what God was doing.

Her simple acts of:

• staying
• loving Naomi
• working faithfully
• trusting God

…were leading her into something far greater than she imagined.

Boaz eventually became her husband:

“So Boaz took Ruth, and she became his wife.”
— Ruth 4:13 ESV

And they had a son.

What touches my heart deeply is what Scripture says next:

A son has been born to Naomi.
— Ruth 4:17 ESV

God didn’t just restore Ruth —
He restored Naomi too.

And that child, Obed, would become the grandfather of King David…
and part of the lineage of Jesus.

Ruth’s story is not just about the past.

It is about how God still moves in our lives today.

He weaves people into our stories.
He reconnects lives in ways we never expect.
He brings purpose out of places that once felt empty.

Just as Bruce and I had connection in high school, we would have never dreamed our stories would intertwine again 30 years later.

That is the heart of Ruth’s story.

God sees the full picture when we only see moments.

What feels like coincidence…
is often His careful, loving design.

If you are walking through a season of change…
If you are caring for someone you love…
If you are trying to follow God while letting go of the past…

Ruth’s life speaks gently to your heart:

You are not defined by where you came from.

You are shaped by the God you choose to follow.

Your faithfulness today is building something eternal.

God is working in ways you cannot yet see.

And just like Ruth…

You may not realize it now,
but your choices, your faith, your love —

they are touching generations to come.

Sarah and Hagar: When We Try to Fix What Only God Can Fulfill

2022 desert terrain of middle east

Waiting on God can test even the strongest faith. We know His promises are true, but when His timing stretches beyond our patience, we often feel tempted to take matters into our own hands. The story of Sarah, Abraham, and Hagar reveals how disappointment and self-reliance can lead to painful consequences — not just for us, but for generations to come.

When God called Abraham, He promised to make him into a great nation — a people through whom all the earth would be blessed.

And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.
— Genesis 12:2, ESV

But as the years passed, there was one great problem: Abraham and his wife Sarah had no child. God’s promise seemed impossible.

Now Sarai was barren; she had no child.
— Genesis 11:30, ESV

God reassured Abraham that his own offspring would be his heir (Genesis 15:4), yet a decade later, there was still no sign of fulfillment. It’s here that Sarah — weary of waiting — decided to help God out.

Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had borne him no children. She had a female Egyptian servant whose name was Hagar. And Sarai said to Abram, ‘Behold now, the Lord has prevented me from bearing children. Go in to my servant; it may be that I shall obtain children by her.’ And Abram listened to the voice of Sarai.
— Genesis 16:1–2, ESV

In the culture of the time, it was not unusual for a barren wife to give her maidservant to her husband to produce an heir. It was socially acceptable — but spiritually disastrous.

Hagar conceived quickly, and what began as a plan to “fix” God’s promise became a source of conflict.

And when she saw that she had conceived, she looked with contempt on her mistress.
— Genesis 16:4, ESV

Sarah’s heart grew bitter, Hagar’s pride rose, and Abraham’s household descended into tension. The plan that seemed sensible brought only sorrow.

But Abram said to Sarai, ‘Behold, your servant is in your power; do to her as you please.’ Then Sarai dealt harshly with her, and she fled from her.
— Genesis 16:6, ESV

Hagar, pregnant and mistreated, fled into the wilderness — alone and afraid. Yet even in her suffering, God met her with compassion.

The angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness… And he said, ‘Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?’
— Genesis 16:7–8, ESV

The Lord gave her a promise: she would bear a son named Ishmael, meaning “God hears.”

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, ‘You are a God of seeing,’ for she said, ‘Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.’
— Genesis 16:13, ESV

Even though Sarah’s impatience led to pain, God did not abandon Hagar. His mercy reached her in the wilderness, reminding us that even when we act out of fear and frustration, He still sees, still hears, and still redeems.

Years later, God reaffirmed His covenant with Abraham. Despite all that had happened, His promise remained.

I will bless her, and moreover, I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall become nations; kings of peoples shall come from her.
— Genesis 17:16, ESV

At ninety years old, Sarah laughed in disbelief — but God kept His word.

The Lord visited Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did to Sarah as he had promised. And Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age at the time of which God had spoken to him.
— Genesis 21:1–2, ESV

They named him Isaac, meaning “laughter.” What once seemed impossible became reality — in God’s perfect time.

But the consequences of Sarah’s earlier choice could not be undone. Ishmael and Isaac grew into rival nations, fulfilling the painful truth that impatience can shape history.

The story of Sarah and Hagar is a timeless warning. When we grow weary of waiting on God, we can make choices that lead to pain far beyond what we intend.

• Sarah’s disappointment led to doubt.
• Doubt led to disobedience.
• Disobedience led to division.

Yet even in that, God’s mercy never failed. He redeemed the mess, kept His covenant, and showed Himself faithful despite human frailty.

I see myself in Sarah.
When life doesn’t unfold the way I thought it would — when dreams fade, when responsibilities pile up, when help disappears and I feel the pressure to make things work — I’m tempted to “fix” the situation myself.

But like Sarah, my striving often leads to frustration, not fulfillment. I forget that God’s promises are not dependent on my performance — they rest entirely on His faithfulness.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; fret not yourself over the one who prospers in his way.
— Psalm 37:7, ESV

When we try to fulfill God’s promises in our own strength, we settle for Ishmael when God intended Isaac.

1. Disappointment can distort our faith. When we stop trusting God’s timing, we start trusting our own logic.
2. Human solutions cannot fix divine promises. What God begins in faith cannot be completed by flesh.
3. Our choices affect more than ourselves. The consequences of impatience can ripple through generations.
4. God’s mercy is bigger than our mistakes. He saw Hagar in the wilderness and fulfilled His promise to Sarah — He never abandoned either woman.

Even when our faith falters, God remains faithful.
Even when we rush ahead, He still restores.

If we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself.
— 2 Timothy 2:13, ESV

Sarah and Hagar’s story reminds us that our waiting is not wasted. God is always working — even when His silence feels long and His promise feels far.

 

 

When Sarah gave Hagar to Abraham, she likely never imagined her decision would echo beyond her lifetime. Yet Scripture reveals that the consequences of that moment extended far beyond one household.

After Isaac was born, conflict arose between the two sons:

And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, laughing. So she said to Abraham, ‘Cast out this slave woman with her son, for the son of this slave woman shall not be heir with my son Isaac.’”
— Genesis 21:9–10, ESV

God confirmed that His covenant promise would continue through Isaac:

Through Isaac shall your offspring be named.”
— Genesis 21:12, ESV

Yet God also gave a promise concerning Ishmael:

As for Ishmael, I have heard you; behold, I have blessed him and will make him fruitful and multiply him greatly.”
— Genesis 17:20, ESV

Both sons were blessed — but with different covenant purposes.

Biblically, Isaac became the father of the Jewish nation, through whom the Messiah would come. Ishmael became the father of twelve princes and a great people (Genesis 25:12–18).

Historically and traditionally:

• The Jewish people trace their lineage through Isaac.
• Many Arab peoples trace their lineage through Ishmael.
• Christianity flows from the Jewish Messiah, Jesus, a descendant of Isaac.
• Islam traces spiritual heritage to Abraham through Ishmael.

However, it’s important to say carefully: modern Middle Eastern conflicts are shaped by centuries of political, territorial, colonial, and cultural realities — not simply by Genesis 16. The Bible gives us a spiritual origin story, but history is complex.

Still, Scripture did foreshadow tension:

He shall be a wild donkey of a man, his hand against everyone and everyone’s hand against him, and he shall dwell over against all his kinsmen.
— Genesis 16:12, ESV

That prophetic word has often been viewed as a description of ongoing strife.

The story of Sarah and Hagar is not merely about ethnic conflict. It is about what happens when we try to accomplish God’s promise through human effort.

Paul later uses this very story allegorically:

Now this may be interpreted allegorically: these women are two covenants.”
— Galatians 4:24, ESV

He contrasts:

• Hagar → slavery → human effort
• Sarah → promise → freedom through faith

The deeper battle is not Arab versus Jew.
It is flesh versus promise.
Striving versus faith.
Human control versus divine grace.

When we look at today’s tensions between Jews and Muslims — and even misunderstandings involving Christians — we see how deeply generational wounds can run.

But here is the powerful truth:

God never rejected Ishmael.
God never abandoned Isaac.
And through Isaac’s line came Jesus Christ — who came not only for the Jewish people, but for the whole world.

For God so loved the world…”
— John 3:16, ESV

The gospel breaks the cycle of hostility.

Paul writes:

For He himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility.
— Ephesians 2:14,

 

 

Ishmael became the father of twelve princes (Genesis 25:12–16). Isaac became the child of covenant promise (Genesis 21:12). From Isaac came the nation of Israel. From Ishmael came peoples who would inhabit regions surrounding Israel.

The Bible does not hide the conflict. It shows us plainly that when human effort interfered with divine promises, division followed.

But we must also say what Scripture says:

God blessed Ishmael.

As for Ishmael, I have heard you; behold, I have blessed him and will make him fruitful and multiply him greatly.”
— Genesis 17:20, ESV

This is important. Ishmael was not cursed by God. He was not forgotten. He was seen, heard, and blessed — just not chosen as the covenant line through which the Messiah would come.

The Bible consistently teaches that our choices ripple beyond us.

Be not deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.”
— Galatians 6:7, ESV

Sarah’s impatience didn’t cancel God’s promise — but it complicated the family story. And when families fracture, nations often do too.

 

When You Feel Like a Mess — Courageous Faith and Obedience That Changes Generations

 

There are seasons when you know what is true about God — but you don’t feel strong. Your thoughts believe, but your emotions feel tangled. Your past feels loud. Your present feels small. You wonder whether your obedience could possibly matter when your life feels messy.

The story of Rahab speaks directly into that place.

Her story is not about polished faith — it is about courageous action taken in the middle of a complicated life. She shows us that when we believe what God has done in the past, we can trust our future into His hands — and act — even when we don’t feel strong, qualified, or ready.

This is not a children’s story. Historically and spiritually, it is one of the most dramatic acts of personal faith in the Old Testament.

Let’s walk it fully — historically, culturally, and spiritually — and see why her obedience was anything but small.

Rahab lived in Jericho, one of the oldest fortified cities in the ancient world. This was not a small village — it was a military stronghold guarding a key entry into the land of Canaan.

Archaeological excavations show Jericho had:

• Massive double defensive walls
• A stone retaining wall about 12–15 feet high
• A mudbrick wall above it approximately 6 feet thick
• An additional upper wall forming a layered defense system
• Houses built into or on top of wall sections
• Gate-centered commercial and military traffic zones

Scripture confirms Rahab’s home was part of this wall structure:

But she had brought them up to the roof… for her house was built into the city wall, so that she lived in the wall.” — Joshua 2:6,15 (ESV)

This location was not accidental — it connects directly to her profession and her visibility in the city.

Jericho was not simply politically opposed to Israel — it was spiritually corrupt in deeply entrenched ways.

Canaanite religious culture commonly included:

• Worship of multiple gods and fertility deities
• Ritual sexual practices connected to worship
• Temple prostitution systems
• Occult and divination rites
• Documented patterns of child and human sacrifice in surrounding Canaanite regions
• Ritual acts intended to secure wealth, fertility, and military success

God had warned for generations that such cultures would face judgment because of persistent, unrepentant corruption (Deuteronomy 9:4–5, ESV).

Jericho represented a spiritual stronghold — not merely a political one.

And inside that system — Rahab believed the truth about the Lord.

Scripture introduces her plainly:

…they went and came into the house of a prostitute whose name was Rahab… — Joshua 2:1 (ESV)

In ancient fortified cities, prostitution and lodging services were often located near the gate and wall district — where travelers, traders, and soldiers passed. This means Rahab was likely:

• Known to military personnel
• Known to civic authorities
• Known within political circles
• Socially visible — not hidden

Her decision to hide Israelite spies was not private bravery — it was public-risk bravery.

If discovered, she would likely have been executed for treason.

Her background was messy — but her faith became decisive.

Israel, under Joshua, sent two spies into Jericho. They came to Rahab’s house. When city officials came searching, Rahab hid them and misdirected the authorities.

This was a life-or-death choice.

She acted without:

• theological training
• covenant membership
• moral reputation
• emotional reassurance
• community support

She acted because she believed what she heard about God.

Rahab’s words are one of the clearest faith statements in the Old Testament:

“I know that the LORD has given you the land… for the LORD your God, he is God in the heavens above and on the earth beneath. — Joshua 2:9,11 (ESV)

She did not say:

• I feel ready
• I feel holy
• I feel strong

She said: I know.

Her faith was anchored in reported history:

For we have heard how the LORD dried up the water of the Red Sea…” — Joshua 2:10 (ESV)

She built her present decision on God’s past acts.

This is crucial for us when we feel spiritually weak:
Look backward at God’s faithfulness before judging your present usefulness.

Excavations at Jericho show a striking detail from one destruction layer:

• Mudbrick walls collapsed outward
• Bricks formed a ramp-like slope at the base
• Attackers could have gone straight up into the city
• Portions of wall structures appear to have remained standing

This aligns closely with the biblical record:

And the wall fell down flat, so that the people went up into the city, every man straight before him…— Joshua 6:20 (ESV)

If sections of wall-housing remained while surrounding walls collapsed, that would fit the preservation of Rahab’s household.

The spies instructed Rahab:

You shall tie this scarlet cord in the window… — Joshua 2:18 (ESV)

The Hebrew word for cord (tiqvah) also means hope.

Her hope was not abstract — it was visible and obedient. She marked her window before the battle, before the miracle, before the victory.

Not only that, the thread was red with clear purpose. Red represents sin and blood—the very means by which we are freed from the power and consequences of sin and evil. Throughout the Old Testament, every sign and symbol points ahead to what Jesus would accomplish. And in the New Testament, everything looks back to Jesus—who He is, what He did, and the salvation He secured--release from the effects of our sin and evil.

She obeyed before she saw proof.

Many acts of obedience feel like that:

• continuing to pray
• continuing to speak truth
• continuing to serve
• continuing to open your home
• continuing to witness

You hang the cord before the walls fall.

Rahab risked:

• Execution for treason
• Exposure by neighbors
• Government punishment
• Loss of income
• Loss of protection
• Social retaliation

Her profession meant she was recognized — not invisible. Her action would be noticed if discovered.

When you feel like your obedience is small — remember — heaven often measures differently than we do.

Rahab and her family were spared:

But Rahab the prostitute and her father’s household and all who belonged to her, Joshua saved alive. — Joshua 6:25 (ESV)

She was brought into Israel — not as an outsider forever — but as part of the people.

Her story did not end with survival — it began with redemption.

Rahab later married into Israelite life. Generations later, she became an ancestor of King David — and ultimately part of the lineage of Jesus Christ:

…Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab…— Matthew 1:5 (ESV)

She could not see that future when she hid the spies.

You cannot see the full reach of your obedience either.

Your present faithfulness may be shaping futures you will never personally witness.

Rahab is honored in the New Testament:

By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish… — Hebrews 11:31 (ESV)

…Rahab the prostitute justified by works when she received the messengers… — James 2:25 (ESV)

Scripture keeps her past label visible — not to shame her — but to magnify grace.

Faith is not clean — it is directional.

Rahab’s story tells you:

You can feel messy and still act faithfully.
You can feel weak and still make the right choice.
You can feel small and still change a family line.

Believe what God has done.
Trust what that reveals about His character.
Act on truth — not emotional strength.

Hang the cord.
Tell the truth.
Protect the message.
Welcome the messengers.

You do not know how far your obedience reaches — but God does.

Which Light Am I Looking For — the Refrigerator, Headlight, or God's Light? Reflection on Valentines Day and what it takes to stay married

 

Self-discipline is not an easy word to embrace. It pushes against comfort, quick relief, and the human desire to have everything now. But as I’ve grown in faith, I’ve come to see that discipline is not about restriction—it’s about direction. It’s a way of saying, “Lord, I trust You enough to follow Your wisdom instead of my impulses.”

Self-discipline is, at its heart, an act of yielding. It’s laying down our will so that God can shape our choices, our habits, and even our physical desires to align with His truth. It’s about preparing for tomorrow—financially, physically, and spiritually—so we can walk faithfully in what He has prepared for us.

The Greek word skandalon—translated as “stumbling block” or “offense”—literally means to entice into a snare or trap. It paints a vivid picture of how sin operates. Rarely does temptation present itself as something harmful. Instead, it lures us with comfort, convenience, or control—offering quick satisfaction at the cost of long-term peace.

That snare might come in the form of overspending when stress hits, overeating to soothe emotions, or turning to a substance that dulls the pain of a weary body or mind. It can be as subtle as overmedicating to avoid discomfort or as spiritual as excusing sin under the banner of “just surviving.”

Yet every shortcut comes with a price. Sin and self-indulgence promise ease but lead to bondage. Jesus warned of this when He said, “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off… It is better for you to enter life crippled than with two hands to go to hell.” (Mark 9:43, ESV) His words are not about physical harm—they are a call to radical separation from whatever entangles the soul.

Real self-discipline is not punishment—it’s protection. It guards our hearts from choices that may comfort us today but harm us tomorrow.

In recent years, Bruce and I have learned this lesson firsthand. Health challenges have changed how we live, move, and even think about time. There was a season when the pace of life slowed whether we wanted it to or not, and our plans had to bend to new realities.

We found ourselves learning to live within limits—not out of defeat, but out of wisdom. When your strength is not what it used to be, you realize that every ounce of energy, every decision, and every dollar must be used intentionally.

Some days, discipline looks like saying no to extra commitments and choosing rest instead of busyness. Other days, it’s saying yes to a walk, a simple meal, or a slower pace—choices that feel small but carry long-term strength.

God has used these limitations to teach us that discipline is not a burden—it’s a grace. It’s His way of training us to trust, to plan with His wisdom, and to live in ways that reflect His care.

As our bodies age or face illness, it’s natural to long for relief. Pain, fatigue, or anxiety can wear us down to the point where we crave an escape. In those moments, the world offers a thousand quick fixes: another pill, another drink, another indulgence, another distraction.

There’s nothing wrong with medical care when it’s used wisely—God gives knowledge to doctors and healing through medicine. But there is a quiet temptation to depend on medication or substances to numb what God may be using to refine.

When discomfort becomes our master, we stop yielding to God’s direction. We begin seeking peace through something other than His presence. It might bring temporary relief, but it rarely brings lasting restoration.

The danger lies not just in the substance, but in the substitution—replacing the comfort of the Holy Spirit with something man-made. Jesus said plainly, “Unless you believe that I am he you will die in your sins.” (John 8:24) When we rely on the wrong source, we drift from truth and lose the power of the Spirit who brings real healing.

Our choices—what we eat, spend, and depend on—are all acts of stewardship. God cares about every detail of our living because each one reflects our trust in Him.

Proverbs says, “The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to poverty.” (Proverbs 21:5) Hasty choices, whether financial or physical, often lead to hardship later. But disciplined choices—steady, patient, prayerful—build foundations that can endure trials.

Living on a fixed income or with changing health means planning ahead. It means learning the value of enough, letting go of waste, and trusting God to multiply what remains. It means using resources wisely, not from fear, but from gratitude for what He provides.

Self-discipline also calls us to care for our bodies. As Paul writes, “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you…? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20)
Eating well, resting, and moving in ways that preserve health are not self-centered acts—they’re forms of worship.

I’ve come to see that discipline in a weary or aging body looks different than it once did. It’s no longer about chasing perfection or productivity. It’s about persistence.

Paul writes, “I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.” (1 Corinthians 9:27) The older I get, the more I understand that verse. The discipline Paul spoke of was not just physical; it was spiritual resolve—a determination to stay faithful in the midst of weakness.

Some mornings, it’s an act of obedience simply to get out of bed, take medication as prescribed, and trust God with the day. Other days, discipline means denying the urge to self-medicate out of frustration or fatigue. It means turning to prayer instead of the pantry, to Scripture instead of self-pity.

Each choice, however small, becomes an offering—saying to the Lord, “I trust You more than I trust this temporary fix.”

Jesus said, “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” (Matthew 10:28)

That verse reminds us that our physical life, while precious, is temporary. Our true preparation must be for eternity. The way we treat our bodies, spend our money, and respond to temptation reflects our reverence for the One who holds our eternity.

Every disciplined choice echoes into forever. Every moment of yielding to God’s direction strengthens the soul for the day when faith becomes sight.

Paul said it best in 2 Corinthians 5:9–11:

“So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please Him. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil.”

Preparation for eternity demands the whole truth—and that includes how we live in these bodies today.

Discipline without grace leads to exhaustion. Grace without discipline leads to drift. We need both.

There are days when I give in to comfort rather than calling, when I let worry outweigh worship. Yet God is patient. “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” (1 John 1:8) His mercy meets me in the middle of my mess, gently reminding me that yielding is not about perfection—it’s about progression.

Through Christ, we are empowered to live differently. “Those whom He foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son.” (Romans 8:29)
Each act of self-discipline—each refusal of an unhealthy escape, each wise financial choice, each small step of obedience—shapes us more into His likeness.

The more we yield, the freer we become.  This is what it takes to keep a healthy focus on what is true and real.  When we are able to keep our focus on what is true and ourselves healthy, we are then able to remember to keep focus on what is most important in our lives.  Staying married is not easy and no picnic somedays.  But the rewards at the end of life are worth it.  The small moments of remembering why you got married in the first place keeps you focused on what was true yesterday and what will be true tomorrow.  The feelings of today will pass and the troubles of today are a passing event.  Nothing is forever except one thing.  That will keep our focus on what is true!

Anna: A Life of Faithful Waiting

 

2022 South wall of the temple, Israel

There are seasons when it feels like the promises of God are slow in coming. Days turn into years, prayers go unanswered, and hope begins to fade. Yet in the quiet corners of Scripture, there stands a woman whose steadfast faith reminds us that God never forgets His own.

Her name was Anna, a prophetess, a widow, and a woman who never stopped waiting for redemption.

And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four. She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day.
— Luke 2:36–37, ESV

Anna’s story begins with sorrow. She had known love and companionship for only seven years before her husband died. In the culture of her time, a woman’s security and place in society were often tied to her husband. Yet instead of growing bitter or retreating into despair, Anna devoted herself completely to God.

She became a fixture in the temple courts of Jerusalem, a place of constant worship, prayer, and waiting. Luke tells us she “did not depart from the temple,” suggesting that she made her home in the presence of God.

Her tribe — Asher, one of Israel’s lesser-known northern tribes — had once been associated with prosperity and blessing (Genesis 49:20). Yet by Anna’s time, those northern tribes were scattered. Still, she remained steadfast — a remnant of faithfulness amid a fading world.

And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem.
— Luke 2:38, ESV

For decades, Anna prayed for the coming of the Messiah — the promised Redeemer who would rescue Israel and bring light to all nations. She waited through silence, through Roman occupation, through personal loss. Yet she never stopped believing.

Then, one ordinary day, the extraordinary happened.

Mary and Joseph entered the temple with their infant son, Jesus, to fulfill the law of Moses and dedicate Him to the Lord. There, an elderly man named Simeon held the child in his arms and declared that his eyes had seen God’s salvation (Luke 2:25–32).

And at that same moment, Anna appeared.

Her long years of fasting and prayer suddenly culminated in the sight of the Savior she had longed for.

Imagine Anna’s heart in that instant — the years of loneliness melting into joy. She had spent her life in quiet obedience, and now she stood face to face with the promise fulfilled.

She didn’t keep the moment to herself. Luke tells us she immediately began to praise God and to speak of Jesus to all who were waiting for redemption.

Anna’s joy overflowed into witness. She became one of the first evangelists of the newborn Christ — a woman proclaiming salvation to those who still hoped for God’s deliverance.

In the first-century Jewish world, widows were among the most vulnerable. Many depended on family or the generosity of others for survival. Yet Anna lived boldly counter to her culture.

She chose worship over worry, devotion over despair, and presence in God’s house over comfort in her own.

Her life reminds us that faithfulness isn’t measured by what we achieve, but by whom we trust.

While others hurried through life, Anna remained in the stillness of the temple — fasting, praying, and trusting that the God who promised would be faithful to fulfill.

Anna’s story is just three verses long, yet her faith echoes through centuries. She teaches us that:

1. God sees the ones who wait. Even in the quiet and hidden seasons, God is working.

2. Loss does not end our purpose. Anna’s widowhood became a doorway to deeper worship, not despair.

3. Faith grows stronger in stillness. She wasn’t striving — she was abiding.

4. God’s timing is always perfect. After decades of waiting, Anna saw the very face of redemption.

We, too, live in a world that longs for redemption — a culture searching for peace, yet running in every direction except toward God.

Like Anna, we may find ourselves in seasons of waiting, disappointment, or change. Perhaps the dreams we once held are no longer possible. Maybe the help we once relied on is gone. In those moments, it’s easy to feel forgotten.

But Anna’s life whispers to us: Keep praying. Keep watching. Keep worshiping.

God is never late. His promises may unfold slowly, but they are sure.

The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.
— Lamentations 3:25, ESV

Sometimes I find myself like Anna — standing in a season that feels like waiting. I look back at dreams that have faded and forward at promises yet to come. It’s easy to grow restless, to want to fix things on my own, or to feel unseen.

But then I remember Anna — her quiet strength, her unshakable faith, her constant worship. She reminds me that the long years are never wasted when they are spent in the presence of God.

And one day, like Anna, every believer will see the promise fulfilled — not in a temple, but in the eternal presence of the Savior we have loved and waited for.

When The Oil is Almost......

There comes a quiet, terrifying moment when life shifts from someday to soon.

Not announced by trumpets or diagnoses alone, but by a deep, inward knowing. A slowing. A narrowing. The realization that the years ahead may now be counted not in decades, but in months… maybe a single turning of the calendar.

It is a strange thing to stand at the edge of time and look backward and forward at once.

Looking back, everything feels heavier. The good shines brighter than it ever did when it was happening—laughter around tables, ordinary mornings, the sound of voices that once filled the house. At the same time, the broken places ache louder. Regrets that once whispered now speak plainly. Words never said. Apologies delayed too long. Time wasted on things that never mattered as much as we pretended they did.

There is mourning in this reckoning.

We grieve not only what was lost, but what never came to be. The dreams that stayed dreams. The version of ourselves we meant to become. The relationships we assumed we would one day fix.

And then there is death—no longer a distant idea, but a presence. A face you must finally look at without flinching.

Surprisingly, it is not only fear that lives there.

There is also clarity.

When time grows short, false hopes lose their shine. The frantic bargaining quiets. The need to control outcomes loosens its grip. What remains is a fierce resolve: whatever time is left will not be wasted pretending tomorrow is guaranteed.

What remains is love.

It shows up in unexpected, ordinary flashes.

The sound of grandchildren laughing so hard they can’t catch their breath. Sticky fingers grabbing mine. Small arms wrapping around my neck as if I am the safest place in the world. The way their laughter feels like medicine and grief all at once—joy so full it almost hurts because I know how fast moments turn into memories.

It shows up in watching my children become adults.

I remember when I could fix everything with a kiss or a rule. Now I watch from a distance as they make choices—some wise, some painful—and learn lessons I cannot spare them from. I see their strength forming in the very places I once wanted to shield them. I see them stumble, stand back up, and become who they are meant to be without my constant guidance.

There is pride there. And heartbreak. And humility.

Loving them now means trusting what I planted, even when I don’t get to see the harvest. It means releasing control and believing that God is still writing their stories long after I am gone.

If life is narrowing, then let it narrow toward these moments. Sitting longer on the floor instead of rushing past it. Listening more than correcting. Letting laughter interrupt grief. Choosing presence over productivity.

Leaving behind not perfection, but love that was felt.

This is where faith becomes painfully real.

Scripture tells the story of a widow in Zarephath during a devastating famine. She had reached the end—just a handful of flour and a little oil. Enough for one final meal before death would come for her and her son. When the prophet Elijah asked her to give first from what little she had, it sounded unreasonable, even cruel.

But God met her at the edge.

The promise was not abundance stored away. There was no overflowing barn, no visible surplus. Instead, there was enough. Day after day. Meal after meal. The oil did not run out. The flour did not fail.

God gave her what she needed—but not more.

And maybe that is one of the hardest lessons at the end of life.

We want excess. Certainty. Extra time. Extra strength. Extra answers.

But God often offers daily provision instead of long-range guarantees. Grace sufficient for today. Strength measured for now. Hope that does not erase death, but carries us through it.

Standing here, with the oil running low, I am learning that this is not abandonment. It is intimacy.

God is still in control—even when control slips from our hands. He is still faithful—even when outcomes feel unresolved. He is still good—even when the miracle looks like endurance instead of escape.

If this is the last season, then let it be honest. Let it be gentle. Let it be generous.

Let it be marked by love poured out, not hoarded. By faith exercised, not explained away. By peace that does not come from having more time, but from trusting the One who holds time itself.

Like the widow, I may not see tomorrow’s supply today.

But I see the God who sustains it.

And for now—for this day—that is enough.

1 Kings 17:13-16 ESV

And Elijah said to her, “Do not fear; go and do as you have said. But first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterward make something for yourself and your son. For thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, ‘The jar of flour shall not be spent, and the jug of oil shall not be empty, until the day that the LORD sends rain upon the earth.’” And she went and did as Elijah said. And she and he and her household ate for many days. The jar of flour was not spent, neither did the jug of oil become empty, according to the word of the LORD that he spoke by Elijah.

One Year Later and Still Standing On the Rock

Tomorrow morning marks one year since Bruce stepped off a train and our world cracked open.

It was an ordinary morning—until it wasn’t. One step, one moment, and suddenly life divided itself into before and after. There was no warning, no time to brace ourselves. Just the shattering realization that everything we assumed was solid could change in an instant.

As this anniversary approaches, I find myself a kaleidoscope of emotions. Gratitude and grief collide. Fear lingers beside relief. There is thankfulness that Bruce is still here, and there is mourning for the parts of life that will never return to what they were. Both are true. Both exist at the same time.

Faith does not erase this tension. It doesn’t numb the ache or tidy it into something easily explained. Instead, faith gives me a place to stand inside it.

“The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.”

—Psalm 18:2

When everything else shifted, God did not. When the ground beneath our feet felt unstable, He remained solid. I didn’t always feel brave. I didn’t always feel hopeful. But I clung to the truth that my footing was never meant to be in outcomes, diagnoses, or plans—it was always meant to be in Him.

This past year has taught me that strength is often quieter than we imagine. It looks less like courage and more like endurance. Less like confidence and more like showing up again, even when you are exhausted. There were days when strength felt completely out of reach—when prayer sounded more like silence and faith felt thinner than I was comfortable admitting.

And yet, God never asked me to manufacture strength.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

—Isaiah 41:10

I didn’t hold everything together this year—God did. He upheld us in hospital rooms and waiting areas, in long nights and fragile mornings, in the slow and often unseen work of healing. His presence didn’t remove the fear, but it met us inside it. His strength didn’t always feel dramatic, but it was faithful.

One year later, I am still learning how to live in this altered landscape. I am learning that trusting God doesn’t mean I stop grieving. It means I grieve with my hands open instead of clenched. It means I return, again and again, to the Rock when the memories rush in and the “what ifs” grow loud.

Tomorrow will come, heavy with remembrance. And when it does, I will not pretend it is easy. I will simply remember where my refuge is.

Not in what was. Not in what might have been. But in the God who has not let go—then or now.

Dorcas in the Bible: A Portrait of Godly Womanhood in a Confused Culture

taken by Beth Herrington Kruprzak

 

As I watch the daily news and scroll through social media, I am struck by how quickly we decide which lives are worth honoring and which stories deserve to be celebrated. Headlines elevate certain individuals as heroes, while comment sections fill with praise, outrage, and carefully curated memories. In these moments of cultural upheaval, I find myself asking a necessary question: By what standard are we measuring a life well lived?

Our culture has no shortage of voices willing to define virtue, identity, and legacy. Social media investment often glorifies visibility over faithfulness, defiance over obedience, and self-expression over responsibility. A life is remembered not by the fruit it produced, but by the attention it commanded.

Yet as believers, we are called to a different standard.

Scripture reminds us that God does not measure as the world measures. He looks not at what is celebrated publicly, but at what is cultivated faithfully. The Bible offers us examples—not of perfect people—but of lives aligned with God’s design, lives that strengthened families, served communities, and quietly reflected His character.

One such life is that of Dorcas, also known as Tabitha.

When we ask where our standards come from, Scripture does not leave us without an answer. Rather than pointing us to public recognition or cultural approval, God directs our attention to lives marked by faithfulness, obedience, and service—often unseen by the world but deeply known by Him.

One such life is found in Acts 9:36–42, in the account of a woman named Dorcas, also called Tabitha. Her story does not begin with controversy or public acclaim, but with a simple description: “This woman was full of good works and charitable deeds which she did.” In a time and culture where women were rarely elevated, God ensured her life was recorded—not because she demanded to be seen, but because her faith was evident in how she lived.

Dorcas provides us with a biblical lens through which to examine both our own lives and the lives our culture so quickly chooses to celebrate.

Though her name does not appear in 1 Timothy 5, her life beautifully embodies the kind of woman the apostle Paul later describes: a woman known for good works, compassion, faithfulness, and devotion to others.

Dorcas lived during a time when women held limited social power, yet her influence was unmistakable. She was not remembered for her opinions, activism, or resistance to authority, but for the garments she made and the lives she touched. Her faith was lived out quietly, consistently, and sacrificially.

When she died, the widows gathered around Peter, not with arguments or demands, but with evidence—a testimony of love stitched into fabric. God responded by restoring her life, affirming the value of a woman who lived within His design and for His glory.

In 1 Timothy 5:9–10, Paul outlines the qualities of a godly woman worthy of honor:

Well reported of for good works; if she has brought up children, if she has lodged strangers, if she has washed the saints’ feet, if she has relieved the afflicted, if she has diligently followed every good work.

Dorcas exemplified these qualities. She understood her place within her community—not as someone seeking control or recognition, but as a servant whose life reflected obedience to God. Her identity was not self-defined but God-given. She embraced responsibility rather than resisting it, and her community was strengthened because of it.

In contrast, our modern culture increasingly encourages women to redefine themselves apart from God’s Word. Identity is often rooted in personal desire, sexual orientation, or self-expression rather than in submission to God’s design. When this happens, the natural roles God established—family, community, and lawful authority—are frequently viewed as obstacles rather than blessings.

Scripture teaches that God is a God of order, not confusion (1 Corinthians 14:33). When a woman misunderstands her place within community, she may trade service for strife, responsibility for rebellion, and obedience for self-rule. Instead of using appropriate, lawful avenues to express dissatisfaction, there can be a temptation to take matters into one’s own hands—leading to division, recklessness, and harm to both self and others.

Romans 13 reminds us that governing authorities are established by God for protection, not oppression. When authority is rejected outright, the result is rarely justice—it is disorder.

Perhaps the greatest cost of abandoning God’s design is borne by children. When a mother no longer models biblical standards, her children lose the opportunity to witness faith lived out in trust, humility, and obedience. Instead of seeing God at work through patience and perseverance, they are exposed to unrest and instability.

Dorcas left behind a legacy that caused her community to grieve and God to be glorified. A life lived outside of God’s design leaves confusion instead of clarity, brokenness instead of peace, and questions instead of faith for the next generation.

The life of Dorcas reminds us that God honors obedience, even when the world does not. A woman who embraces God’s design—who serves her family, strengthens her community, and submits her identity to Christ—becomes a living testimony of the gospel.

In a culture that celebrates rebellion and self-definition, Dorcas stands as a quiet but powerful example. Her life calls us back to the truth that identity is not something we create for ourselves, but something we receive from God.

As the world continues to argue over whose life should be honored and whose story should be amplified, believers must return to the unchanging standard of God’s Word. Scripture does not measure a life by visibility, defiance, or self-defined identity, but by faithfulness, obedience, and the fruit left behind in others.

Dorcas reminds us that a life surrendered to God may never trend on social media, yet it echoes into eternity. Her legacy was not built on protest or personal assertion, but on quiet obedience and love rightly ordered under God’s design. In a culture eager to redefine worth, may we resist the pull of popular opinion and instead ask the harder, holier question: Does this life reflect the character and design of God?

That is the standard worth returning to—and the one by which every life will ultimately be remembered.

Redeeming Hope For Daughters of Eve

Taken by Beth Herrington Kruprzak

Each winter break, I return to a familiar and beloved tradition: watching the Chronicles of Narnia films and rereading the books that have shaped my imagination since childhood. I’ll confess—I’ve likely read the series more than twenty times. And yet, with every new year and every new season of life, the stories speak again with fresh clarity.

One title in Narnia has always stood out to me: Daughter of Eve.

In Narnia, to be called a Daughter of Eve is to be named according to origin and inheritance. Eve represents both glory and fall—created good, capable of love and wisdom, yet vulnerable to deception when she steps outside of God’s truth. Woman, like man, was created for obedience to God before autonomy, for stewardship rather than domination.

As we step into a new year, full of plans, goals, and hopes, the Daughters of Eve in Narnia—and the first Daughter of Eve in Scripture—offer us a steady, hopeful vision for how to walk forward faithfully.

One of the quiet strengths of the Daughters of Eve is memory. They remember Aslan’s presence, the old stories, and the weight of the promises—even when others doubt or forget. Lucy, especially, becomes a living repository of truth. When others question what she knows to be real, she remembers anyway.  The Daughter of Eve who remembers rightly becomes a compass for others.

As women today, we are surrounded by noise—opinions, expectations, and ever-shifting definitions of success and identity. Entering a new year requires discernment. Like Lucy, we are called to remember what God has already spoken, even when it sets us apart.

Lucy’s desires are strong. She longs for Aslan, for Narnia restored, for goodness to prevail. But her desires are consistently submitted to obedience. When Aslan tells her to follow Him alone in Prince Caspian, she obeys—even when it isolates her.  Lucy models true discipleship—obedience that sharpens desire rather than suppressing it. Her leadership does not come from asserting herself, but from aligning herself with Aslan.

Susan’s story, by contrast, is more painful. Her desire shifts toward comfort, reputation, and a version of maturity shaped by the world. Susan’s tragedy is not femininity—it is forgetfulness of what the truth is.

This tension is deeply familiar as we enter a new year. When desire detaches from truth, faith slowly erodes. The Daughter of Eve who stops listening to Aslan does not become free—she becomes lost.  The Stone Table in Narnia represents foundational truth—moral law, sacrifice, and justice. In Narnia, love fulfills the law, but never without a great cost.  Lucy and Susan are present and faithful witnesses as Aslan gives His life. (I’ll admit—I am always the blubbering woman in the corner when the mice begin to chew Aslan free and we see His return.)  And the the Daughters of Eve are there to witness the return of Aslan.

When I think about the very first Daughter of Eve—Eve herself—what stands out most is this: she never struggled with identity.

Eve did not wonder who she was or why she was here. God Himself formed her with intention and purpose.

Then the LORD God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him. — Genesis 3:15, ESV

This verse is the very first glimpse of the gospel. From Eve’s lineage would come the Savior—Jesus Christ—who would crush the serpent’s head once and for all.

Even after the fall, Eve’s story does not end in shame, but in hope.

“The man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all living.” — Genesis 3:20, ESV

There is quiet strength in that moment. Eve’s identity was not erased by her failure—it was redeemed through God’s promise.

As we step into a new year, we live in a world full of shifting definitions—of womanhood, truth, and purpose. Eve’s story reminds us that our identity was never meant to be found in culture, performance, or perception. It is found in our Creator.

Like Eve, we are God’s design—created on purpose, with purpose, and for His glory. Like Lucy, we are called to remember what is true. Like the faithful queens of Narnia, we are invited to lead not by control, but by obedience rooted in love.

The enemy still whispers lies—inviting us to redefine ourselves, chase fulfillment outside of God’s boundaries, or question His goodness. But each time we return to God’s Word, we hear the same truth Eve once knew before the fall: we belong to Him.

As Daughters of Eve, may we enter this new year with clear vision, submitted hearts, and steady hope—trusting the deeper magic written by God Himself, fulfilled in Christ, and alive in us today.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. — Proverbs 3:5–6, ESV 2:18, ESV*

Eve opened her eyes in a perfect world, unmarked by sin or sorrow. She walked with God. She lived without comparison, confusion, or cultural noise. Her identity was not something she searched for—it was breathed into her by her Creator.

But what Eve did not yet have was experience. She had never encountered deception. The serpent’s whisper was the first lie she had ever heard. And in her innocence, she reasoned that if the fruit looked good, surely it must be good.

But the serpent said to the woman, ‘You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil. — Genesis 3:4–5, ESV

 “In all probability the reptile called the serpent was a nobler creature before the Fall than now. The words of our text, so far as they literally concern the serpent, threaten that a change would be brought in him. It has been a sort of speculative opinion that the creature either had wings, or was able to move without creeping upon the earth as it now does.” (Charles Spurgeon)

Mathew Poole says the woman wasn’t surprised at the serpent’s speaking because Adam and Eve had free conversation with angelic beings that often appeared in the form of men. If this is true, it wasn’t so strange to Eve that an angelic being might appear to her in the form of a beautiful pre-curse serpent.

Eve reached for what she believed would bring wisdom and fulfillment—but instead it brought sorrow and separation. And yet, I do not see Eve as a hopeless failure. I see her as the first woman to learn what we all eventually discover: apart from God’s truth, even the most appealing choice can lead us astray.

From the beginning, Satan has tried to undermine God’s people by undermining God’s word. He can undermine just as effectively by getting us to neglect God’s word as by getting us to doubt it. Satan took God’s positive command in Genesis 2:16-17 (Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat) and rephrased it in a purely negative way: “God won’t let you eat of every tree.”   We can almost hear Adam telling Eve, “See that tree in the middle of the garden? Don’t touch it or God says we’ll die!” While this is better than saying nothing, what Adam didn’t explain made a vulnerable place where Satan could attack.  Satan drew Eve into a discussion with him and planted the seed of doubt about God’s word, and he exposed Eve’s incomplete understanding of God’s word. Now he moves in for the kill, with an outright contradiction of what God said. 

The woman saw that the tree was good for food: Eve’s perceptions were partially true and partially false. The tree was not really good for food, though Eve was deceived into thinking it was so. The fruit probably was pleasant to the eyes, though that shouldn’t mean much. And it was only true in Eve’s mind that the tree was desirable to make one wise.   Not only did Eve sin but she became the encourager of temptation for Adam. But when Adam ate, he was not deceived as Eve was. Adam sinned with his eyes wide open, in open rebellion against God.  When Adam sinned, they died. They passed from immortality to mortality; the principle of death was now introduced. It would be many more years until Adam would breathe his last, but death started working in him and Eve immediately, and they could feel it. Something was wrong, something was missing, something had to be covered up. 

Since the sin of Adam, death has completely reigned over humanity (Romans 5:17). Everyone who is born dies. No one survives. When a baby is born, it isn’t a question of whether the baby will live or die.  The only question is when. Adam and Eve must have been terrified as this once-beautiful creature called a serpent was transformed into the creeping, slithering, hissing snake we know today. They must have thought, “It’s our turn next!” 

So, Adam and Eve lied, trying to cover themselves with fig leaves.  Even in Eve’s failure, God did not abandon her. He clothed her. And He spoke a promise.

“I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.” — Genesis 3:15

For God to see the defeat of Satan at Satan’s first attempt of victory shows God knew what He was doing all along. God’s plan wasn’t defeated when Adam and Eve sinned because God’s plan was to bring forth something greater than man in the innocence of Eden. God wanted more than an innocent woman; His plan was to bring forth redeemed Daughters of Eve.

The Turning Of Yet Another Year

 

Taken by Beth Herrington Kruprzak

Today is the first day of 2026 — New Year’s Day.
Christmas has passed, the decorations are coming down, and many hearts are settling into reflection. According to Jewish custom, it has now been about a week since Jesus’ birth — around the time of His naming and circumcision (Luke 2:21). By the end of this month, Mary and Joseph will walk into the temple to present their Son to the Lord (Luke 2:22–24).

It is there, in that sacred but ordinary place, that scripture introduces us to a woman whose name appears in only three verses, yet whose life has spoken across centuries.

Her name is Anna.

As I reflect on her story this year, I do so with fresh tenderness — realizing how closely I came to walking in her shadow this past year, alongside dear sisters who are walking that path now, having lost their husbands during 2025. Like Anna, many women today are learning what it means to move from a life of marriage into a life of altered purpose — not by choice, but by providence.

And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four.
— Luke 2:36–37a, ESV

Anna was a prophetess, a woman recognized for spiritual insight shaped by deep communion with God. She was from the tribe of Asher, one of Israel’s northern tribes that had long been scattered and largely forgotten. Even her lineage reminds us that God sees faithfulness where the world does not.

Her personal story includes both love and loss. She knew marriage — briefly — and then she knew widowhood for decades.

In first-century Jewish culture, widows were vulnerable and often overlooked. Their social standing was limited, their voices rarely amplified. Yet Anna did not withdraw into bitterness or obscurity. Instead, she anchored her life in the presence of God.

She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day.
— Luke 2:37b, ESV

This does not mean Anna lived possible within the temple walls, but that her life revolved around God’s presence. Worship was not a season for her — it was her posture.

She lived through:

• Personal grief
• Roman oppression
• Generations of prophetic silence

Still, she remained faithful.

Anna chose prayer when words failed her grief.
She chose fasting when pain lingered unanswered.
She chose trust when understanding never came.

She teaches us something profoundly important:
communion with God is not born from an absence of problems, but from a daily decision to fix our hearts on a faithful God.

As Paul would later write:

Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.
— Colossians 3:2, ESV

Anna lived this truth long before it was written.

For decades, Anna waited — not passively, but prayerfully. She waited for Israel’s redemption, for God’s promises to unfold, for light to break through long silence.

Then one day, without announcement or spectacle, fulfillment arrived.

Mary and Joseph entered the temple carrying a child. Simeon took Jesus into his arms and proclaimed that he had seen God’s salvation (Luke 2:25–32). At that very moment, Anna stepped forward.

Her long years of faithfulness culminated in a single holy recognition:
the Messiah had come.

Not wielding a sword.
Not claiming a throne.
But as the Ancient of Days clothed in flesh — eternity wrapped in swaddling clothes, redemption arriving quietly.

Anna responded with thanksgiving and proclamation. She spoke to those who were also waiting — because waiting women recognize one another.

And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem.
— Luke 2:38, ESV

Anna refused to be crushed by pain, guilt, or bitterness. Instead, she was strengthened by relationship with God. That strength did not remove her circumstances — but it transformed her purpose.

Her joy was not circumstantial.
Her peace was not situational.
It flowed from intimacy with God.

Anna is not remembered for titles, positions, or visible achievements — but for a heart that remained before God even when everything seemed silent.

She trusted when she did not understand.
She prayed when grief left her wordless.
She fasted when hope felt thin.

Though Anna lived years before the church was established, her life reflects the very heart of what Scripture later calls women to be:

Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior… They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women…
— Titus 2:3–5, ESV

Anna ministered not through formal teaching, but through faithful presence, lived devotion, and proclamation of truth. She was a spiritual mother to those waiting alongside her — modeling perseverance, reverence, and hope.

In a culture that overlooked widows, God elevated one.
In a season of silence, God gave her a voice.
In a world that discounted women’s influence, God entrusted her with announcement.

Anna’s story reminds us that purpose does not end when a season ends.

Marriage may change.
Dreams may shift.
Life may look nothing like what we imagined.

Yet God is not finished.

Waiting is not wasted when it is lived before Him.
Faithfulness is never unseen.
And devotion, quietly lived, echoes into eternity.

Anna waited — and saw redemption.
May we do the same.