Today’s Readings: Genesis 36–38
I wrote something down earlier today because I didn’t want to forget it:
Seeing it with time. Following God’s Word and feeling the freedom. Shouldn’t that be proof enough?
I’ve been thinking about that ever since.
Proof is a big word.
And I don’t mean that I suddenly have some scientific formula that proves God exists. I don’t mean that every prayer gets answered exactly how I want it to. I don’t mean that because I’m reading the Bible, difficult things have stopped happening.
Actually, that’s what makes what I’m noticing even more meaningful to me.
My circumstances are still uncertain.
I still don’t know what is going to happen with work.
I still have normal life stresses.
I still have thoughts that can pull me toward fear.
But the feeling inside of me has changed.
And shouldn’t I pay attention to that?
The Stories Are Ancient. The Struggles Aren’t.
One of the things I remember thinking the first time I read the Bible was how incredible it was that something written so long ago could still feel so relevant to everyday life.
And I’m experiencing that all over again.
Different places.
Different cultures.
Different circumstances.
But the people?
They’re wrestling with things we still wrestle with today.
Jealousy.
Comparison.
Fear.
Resentment.
Betrayal.
Temptation.
Judgment.
Family conflict.
Grief.
Forgiveness.
Faith.
Control.
Tonight, I reached the beginning of Joseph’s story in Genesis 37.
Joseph’s brothers become jealous of him.
That jealousy grows into resentment.
The resentment grows into hatred.
And eventually, they throw their own brother into a pit and sell him.
Obviously, most of us aren’t throwing our siblings into pits because we’re jealous of them.
But that root feeling?
We know it.
And comparison has already been on my mind before I ever reached this chapter.
I’ve written about what social media has done to comparison. I’ve thought about what it means for our children. I’ve talked about it in my own family.
And now here it is again.
Thousands of years ago.
Same human heart.
Maybe That’s Why the Bible Still Feels So Current
I’ve found myself returning to something I remember realizing years ago:
The Bible is not simply a collection of old stories.
It’s guidance for how to live.
And the more I read it, the more fascinating that becomes to me.
Because the world has changed enormously since these stories were written.
Our technology has changed.
Our medicine has changed.
The way we communicate has changed.
The way we work has changed.
But so many of the things happening inside of us haven’t changed nearly as much.
We still compare ourselves to other people.
We still become jealous.
We still struggle to forgive.
We still judge people before examining ourselves.
We still allow fear to influence our decisions.
We still want control.
We still hurt people.
We still need grace.
And God’s Word continually gives us guidance for what to do with those things.
Forgive.
Serve.
Love.
Be humble.
Tell the truth.
Don’t allow jealousy to consume you.
Don’t judge another person’s heart while ignoring your own.
Have faith.
Trust.
Do the next right thing.
Maybe the answers aren’t always answers to what will happen to me?
Maybe they’re answers to something more important:
How should I live while it’s happening?
The Noise Is Getting Quieter
Another theme that keeps appearing in my devotionals lately is hearing God’s voice.
I’ve thought about this throughout these entries because I’ve wondered:
How do I know?
How do I know whether something is God’s guidance, my own thoughts, fear, intuition, or something else entirely?
I don’t pretend to have that completely figured out.
But I have noticed something.
The noise has gotten quieter.
That’s the only way I really know how to explain it.
The noisiness and chaos in my mind have seemed to silence a little.
And underneath all of that noise, I feel like I’m recognizing God’s voice more clearly.
Not because I’m hearing some booming voice telling me exactly what to do.
It’s quieter than that.
And what I’m recognizing tends to align with what I’m reading.
Kindness.
Patience.
Forgiveness.
Service.
Courage.
Truth.
Grace.
Trust.
Keep going.
And when the other thoughts come – the frantic ones, the fearful ones, the ones demanding that I figure everything out right now – I’m learning not to automatically follow them.
I’m learning to stop.
Pray.
Compare what I’m thinking to what I know about God’s Word.
Wait.
Notice.
And then take the next step.
Maybe learning to recognize God’s voice isn’t about making every other thought disappear.
Maybe it’s about becoming familiar enough with His Word that you can recognize what sounds like Him.
So What Is the Proof?
That’s where I came back to the question I wrote down earlier.
Shouldn’t that be proof enough?
Again, I don’t mean proof for everybody else.
Faith is personal.
I can’t hand someone my experiences and expect them to feel what I’ve felt.
But I can look at my own life.
I can look at the woman I was eighteen years ago.
I can look at the seasons when I’ve felt closest to God.
I can look at the seasons when I’ve drifted.
And now I can look at these last couple of weeks.
The uncertainty hasn’t disappeared.
But something inside of me has changed.
I’m more hopeful.
The fear isn’t as loud.
When it does become loud, I’m recognizing it faster.
I’m redirecting my thoughts.
I’m praying more.
I’m examining my own heart.
I’m thinking about forgiveness.
I’m noticing comparison.
I’m giving myself more grace.
I’m becoming more comfortable talking openly about my faith.
And perhaps most importantly:
I’m beginning to feel that freedom again.
The freedom I wrote about when I shared my story of finding God while incarcerated.
That sounds almost impossible when you say it aloud.
I was physically incarcerated and somehow felt freer internally than I had before.
And now, eighteen years later, I’m remembering why.
Maybe Freedom Isn’t Having Control
I’ve spent so much of my life believing peace would come when I knew everything was going to be okay.
When I had the answer.
When I knew the outcome.
When I could control what happened next.
But maybe that’s backward.
Maybe freedom comes when I finally accept that I don’t have to control everything.
Maybe peace isn’t:
I know what’s going to happen.
Maybe peace is:
I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I trust God anyway.
And if spending more time with God produces more peace…
If following His Word makes me kinder…
If it helps me forgive…
If it quiets comparison…
If it interrupts fear…
If it makes me examine myself before judging someone else…
If it gives me courage to speak when fear once kept me quiet…
If it helps me surrender what I cannot control…
And if, in one of the most uncertain seasons of my life, I can genuinely say that I’m beginning to feel more free instead of less…
Then for me?
Shouldn’t that be proof enough?
Questions I’m Leaving With
What happens inside of me when I spend more time with God – and what happens when I don’t?
Am I looking for God’s voice while filling my life with so much noise that I can’t recognize it?
When a thought comes, does it align with what I know of God’s Word and character – or is it pulling me toward fear, resentment, judgment, or control?
Where is comparison keeping me from recognizing what God has already given me?
And maybe most importantly:
Instead of constantly asking God to prove Himself to me, am I paying attention to what has already changed within me?
Today’s Takeaway
Maybe I don’t need every question answered.
Maybe I don’t need every Godwink explained.
Maybe I don’t need to know exactly where this path is going.
I can look at the fruit.
I can look at the peace.
I can look at the growth.
I can look at the freedom.
And I can keep going.
The circumstances haven’t changed nearly as much as I have.
And tonight, for me, that feels like proof.
Until next time… keep noticing.