Knowing God Is Better Than Having All the Answers

Before We Dive In

You may notice some overlap between this study and the previous two Judges posts I’ve shared. That’s intentional. In those studies, we looked at the broader movement of Judges 12–13 and how the story points us forward to Christ. This time, I found myself lingering over a much smaller section of the text—Judges 13:8–25—and discovering a lesson I wasn’t ready to move past.

Sometimes Scripture is like that. We read a passage once and see the big picture. Then we come back and find the Lord gently pressing a particular truth deeper into our hearts. For me, that truth was this: knowing God is better than having all the answers.

So if some of these verses feel familiar, I hope you’ll slow down with me and look again. God’s Word always has more to show us.

And perhaps that’s one of the greatest gifts of studying Scripture slowly. We don’t simply gather more information—we come to know the Author more deeply. As always, my prayer is that through this study we would learn to behold Him, not ourselves, trusting that His character is enough even when we don’t have all the answers.

Judges 13:8–25

As I studied Judges 13 this week, I found myself identifying with Samson’s father, Manoah.

After hearing that his barren wife would bear a son, Manoah prayed:

“Please, Lord, let the man of God you sent to us come again to teach us how to bring up the boy who is to be born.” (Judges 13:8)

His request is deeply relatable. He wants clarity, direction, and a plan for the future God has placed in his hands.

I’ve prayed the same way countless times.

As the mother of a son with autism, I have often asked God for guidance. Should I pursue this therapy or that one? Should I homeschool or choose public school? What does faithfulness look like in this situation?

If God would simply make the path clear, I would gladly follow it.

But Judges 13 reveals a better gift. The central lesson of Manoah’s story is this:

Knowing God is better than having all the answers.

Manoah asks for guidance, yet God gives him something deeper—a greater revelation of Himself. And that is often how God works in our lives as well.

Faith That Believes the Impossible

Before we look at Manoah, we must first notice the remarkable faith of Samson’s mother.

When the angel of the Lord appeared and announced that she would conceive and bear a son, she simply believed.

There is no recorded laughter as there was with Sarah when she heard she would bear Isaac in her old age (Genesis 18:9–15).

There is no disbelief like Zechariah displayed when he learned John the Baptist would be born (Luke 1:13–20).

Instead, Samson’s mother receives God’s word with faith:

“A man of God came to me. He looked like an angel of God, very awesome.” (Judges 13:6)

She believed the promise before she saw the fulfillment.

In this way, she reminds us of another woman who would receive impossible news more than a thousand years later.

When Gabriel announced the coming birth of Jesus, Mary responded:

“May it be to me as you have said.” (Luke 1:38)

Both women trusted God’s promises.

Both women submitted themselves to God’s purposes.

Both women accepted personal cost in order to participate in God’s plan.

Samson’s mother embraced the Nazarite restrictions required during her pregnancy. Mary embraced the shame and misunderstanding that would accompany an unwed pregnancy.

Both women demonstrate that faith is not merely believing God can do the impossible—it is willingly placing ourselves at His disposal.

Manoah’s Request

Unlike his wife, Manoah has questions.

And honestly, I appreciate that.

His response feels very human.

Notice that he doesn’t ask whether God’s promise is true.

He assumes the child will come.

His request is not for proof but for guidance.

He wants to know:

“What is to be the rule for the boy’s life and work?” (Judges 13:12)

How do we raise him?

What should we do?

What rules should we follow?

Again, I find myself nodding along.

As parents, we want certainty.

We want formulas.

We want detailed instructions.

We want guarantees.

Yet when the angel returns, something surprising happens.

He doesn’t provide much new information at all.

The child will be a Nazarite.

Manoah’s wife must continue obeying what she has already been told.

That’s essentially it.

No parenting manual.

No detailed roadmap.

No step-by-step guide.

Why?

The Help Manoah Wanted Versus the Help He Needed

At first it seems like God ignored Manoah’s request.

But He didn’t.

God answered the prayer.

Just not in the way Manoah expected.

Manoah wanted information.

God gave revelation.

Manoah wanted rules.

God revealed His character.

Manoah wanted to know what to do.

God showed him who He was.

When Manoah asks the angel’s name, the angel responds:

“Why do you ask my name? It is beyond understanding.” (Judges 13:18)

Then the angel ascends into heaven in the flame of the sacrifice.

Suddenly Manoah realizes this was no ordinary visitor.

This was a divine encounter.

The angel of the Lord had come not merely to deliver information but to reveal God’s greatness.

That was the help Manoah truly needed.

And perhaps it is the help we need as well.

The Lesson I Keep Learning

This part of the story stopped me in my tracks.

Because I often approach God exactly the way Manoah did.

I want clarity.

I want confidence for the next step.

I want God to show me how to move forward.

As the mother of a child with autism, I have cried out to God with questions similar to Manoah’s.

But God’s silence has not really been silence.

Like Manoah, I often discover that God is answering a deeper question than the one I am asking.

He is teaching me His character.

His goodness.

His faithfulness.

His wisdom.

His sovereignty.

Because the truth is this:

Knowing God is better than having all the answers.

No set of instructions can prepare us for every decision we will face.

Only a deep understanding of who God is can guide us through the countless twists and turns of life.

Faith Is Not the Absence of Thinking

After Manoah panics and assumes they are about to die because they have seen God, it is his wife who calmly reasons through the situation:

“If the Lord had meant to kill us, he would not have accepted a burnt offering and grain offering from our hands.” (Judges 13:23)

Her response beautifully illustrates what Tim Keller wrote:

“Faith is not the absence of thinking. It is thinking and acting on the basis of the Word and promises of God.”

She reflects on what God has already revealed.

She reasons from His character.

She trusts His promises.

That is biblical faith.

Not blind optimism.

Not wishful thinking.

But confidence rooted in who God is.

We Need God More Than More Rules

Tim Keller points out that mature relationships require fewer external rules and more internal wisdom.

Young children need constant instructions:

Don’t touch that.

Don’t go there.

Don’t do this.

But as children mature, parents desire them to internalize wisdom and values so they can make good decisions even when specific instructions are absent.

The same is true spiritually.

Many Christians imagine Old Testament believers had a better system because they received more regulations.

Yet under the New Covenant, we have something far greater.

We have the Holy Spirit.

Paul writes:

“Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” (Romans 12:2)

And:

“We have the mind of Christ.” (1 Corinthians 2:16)

Rather than endless prescriptions, God gives us Himself.

Rather than merely telling us what to do, He transforms who we are.

What Manoah needed most was not more regulations.

It was a greater vision of God.

And the same is true for us.

Samson’s Birth and Our Need for a Greater Savior

Finally, just as God promised, Samson is born.

The promise was never in doubt because it rested on God’s word.

The child grows.

God blesses him.

The Spirit begins to stir within him.

Everything appears poised for success.

If anyone ever had spiritual advantages, it was Samson.

Miraculous birth.

Divine calling.

God’s blessing.

The Spirit’s power.

Yet as we continue through Judges, we will discover that Samson is not the Savior Israel needs.

He will disappoint us.

His flaws will become painfully evident.

And that disappointment is intentional.

Because Samson was never meant to be the final Deliverer.

He points beyond himself.

To David.

And beyond David.

To Jesus Christ.

The One who would perfectly obey.

The One who would perfectly trust.

The One who would perfectly save.

Heart Check

As I closed my Bible, one question lingered in my heart:

In what areas of my life would I rather have answers than God Himself?

Where am I asking for certainty instead of trust?

Where am I asking for a roadmap instead of a relationship?

Like Manoah, we often think we need more information.

But God knows what we truly need.

We need Him.

His character.

His wisdom.

His presence.

His promises.

Because in the end:

Knowing God is better than having all the answers.

Behold Him, not me.

June 20, 2026 2

Behold Him, Not Me: Part 2

Judges 13:1–25

The Promised Deliverer and the God Who Gives Life

As I continue studying verse by verse through the book of Judges, I find myself increasingly amazed by how often God chooses to work through the weak, the overlooked, and the seemingly impossible.

Judges 13 introduces us to one of the most important mothers in Israel’s history, yet we are never told her name.

We know her husband’s name. We know her son’s name. We know the nation she lived among and the oppression she endured. Yet the woman through whom God would begin Israel’s deliverance remains unnamed.

At first glance, that may seem insignificant. But for many women, especially those who have walked through seasons of loneliness, infertility, disappointment, or feeling unseen, there is something deeply comforting here.

We may not know her name.

But God did.

And that is enough.

As someone who has wrestled with infertility myself, this passage immediately drew me in. For twelve years my husband and I prayed for a child. Then, in God’s kindness, He gave us Jackson. Yet even now, as Jackson grows older, there are still moments when I feel the ache of unmet expectations and unanswered prayers.

Perhaps that is why this woman feels so familiar.

She was barren.

She knew disappointment.

She understood waiting.

And yet she was not forgotten.

Israel’s Need and God’s Mercy

Judges 13 opens with a familiar refrain:

“And the people of Israel again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord.”

We have seen these words throughout the book of Judges.

Israel sins.

God disciplines.

Israel suffers.

God raises up a deliverer.

The cycle repeats.

This time, God gives Israel into the hands of the Philistines for forty years.

Israel’s greatest problem, however, was not the Philistines.

It was their sin.

And the same is true for us.

The greatest danger we face is never ultimately outside of us. It is the rebellion that resides within our own hearts.

Yet even as Israel continues its downward spiral, God is already preparing a rescue.

Not because Israel deserves it.

Not because they have repented.

But because God is merciful.

The God Who Sees the Unseen

The angel of the Lord appears not to a king.

Not to a priest.

Not to a military leader.

He appears to a barren woman.

And the first words she hears are words of hope:

“Behold, you are barren and have not borne children, but you shall conceive and bear a son.” (Judges 13:3)

The world often overlooks people who seem insignificant.

God does not.

Scripture repeatedly reminds us that God sees those whom others forget.

Hagar in the wilderness.

Ruth in the fields.

Hannah in her grief.

Elizabeth in her barrenness.

And here, Manoah’s wife.

The God of Scripture is not drawn to the impressive. He delights in displaying His power through weakness.

Her barrenness was not evidence of God’s absence.

It became the stage upon which His grace would be displayed.

A Child Set Apart Before Birth

The angel gives unusual instructions.

Manoah’s wife is not to drink wine.

She is not to eat anything unclean.

Her son’s hair must never be cut.

Why?

Because the child would be a Nazarite from birth.

The Nazarite vow described in Numbers 6 was ordinarily voluntary and temporary.

A person would willingly set themselves apart for a specific season of devotion to God.

The vow included three primary restrictions:

No cutting of the hair.
No produce from the vine.
No contact with dead bodies.

These were outward signs of an inward dedication to the Lord.

But Samson’s situation was unique.

He never chose this vow.

God chose it for him.

Before he was born.

Before he could speak.

Before he could understand.

Before he could make any decisions for himself.

God had already set him apart.

Notice how far back God’s claim on Samson extends.

The vow begins while he is still in his mother’s womb.

What she consumes affects him.

What she does impacts him.

God’s purpose for Samson begins before birth.

That reality should cause us to pause.

In a culture that often treats unborn life as insignificant, Scripture consistently presents the child in the womb as a real human being known by God.

Samson is not viewed as a potential person.

He is already a person with a divine calling.

God’s instructions concern him even before he takes his first breath.

The Lord’s care for life begins long before birth.

When God Writes a Story We Didn’t Choose

As I studied Samson’s lifelong Nazarite calling, I found myself wondering something.

Have you ever known someone whose life seemed planned out before they were born?

Perhaps their family had certain expectations.

Certain traditions.

Certain goals.

Certain dreams.

Sometimes those expectations can become burdens.

They can produce resistance.

Even rebellion.

And I cannot help but wonder if that contributed to some of Samson’s struggles.

As we will soon see, Samson repeatedly pushes against the very calling God placed upon his life.

He breaks every aspect of the Nazarite vow.

He pursues what God forbids.

He treats holy things casually.

He resists the identity God gave him.

And if we are honest, we often do the same.

How frequently do we push against God’s design for our lives?

How often do we resent the circumstances He has chosen for us?

How often do we look at His plans and secretly wish for different ones?

The problem is not merely that we dislike His plans.

The problem is that we often believe our plans are better.

That has been a painful lesson for me.

There have been moments in my infertility journey when my heart has quietly insisted that I know what would be best.

A larger family.

More children.

A different path.

A more “normal” experience of motherhood.

None of those desires are inherently sinful.

Children are blessings from the Lord.

Yet even good desires can become dangerous when they become demands.

When I insist that God must give me what I want in order for His plan to be good, I am placing myself in the position of judge.

I am declaring that my wisdom is superior to His.

And that is not trust.

It is idolatry.

The God Who Gives Life

One of the most beautiful themes in Scripture is God’s habit of bringing life from impossible situations.

Samson is not the first miraculous child.

Long before him, there was Isaac.

Sarah was barren.

Yet God gave life.

Then Samuel.

Hannah was barren.

Yet God gave life.

Then John the Baptist.

Elizabeth was barren.

Yet God gave life.

And finally Jesus.

Not conceived through a barren womb but through a virgin.

An even greater miracle.

Each birth announces the same truth:

Salvation belongs to the Lord.

God is demonstrating that His purposes do not depend upon human ability.

He is showing us that redemption is His work from beginning to end.

As Romans 4:17 declares, He is the God:

“who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.”

Every miraculous birth points us to that reality.

Every impossible pregnancy whispers the same message:

God alone saves.

Samson Points Beyond Himself

Yet there is something striking in the angel’s announcement.

The angel does not say Samson will completely save Israel.

Instead he says:

“He shall begin to save Israel from the hand of the Philistines.” (Judges 13:5)

Begin.

Not finish.

Samson’s salvation would be incomplete.

Like every judge before him, he would ultimately fail.

His victories would be real.

But partial.

His strength would be impressive.

But insufficient.

His life would point beyond itself.

In many ways Samson prepares us for David.

David would accomplish what Samson could not.

He would establish peace and defeat Israel’s enemies.

Yet David would also fail.

His greatest enemies were not outside him but within his own heart.

And so David points beyond himself as well.

Both Samson and David leave us longing for a greater Deliverer.

One who would not merely begin the rescue.

One who would finish it.

The Better Samson

Jesus is everything Samson was supposed to be.

Samson was set apart from birth.

Jesus was set apart before the foundation of the world.

Samson possessed great strength.

Jesus possesses all authority in heaven and on earth.

Samson repeatedly failed.

Jesus never sinned.

Samson began a deliverance he could not complete.

Jesus finished the work completely.

As the angel told Joseph:

“He will save his people from their sins.” (Matthew 1:21)

That is the salvation every judge pointed toward.

That is the salvation every king pointed toward.

That is the salvation every miraculous birth pointed toward.

The story was never ultimately about Samson.

It was always about Christ.

Behold Him, Not Me

The longer I study Judges, the more convinced I become that the book is designed to leave us dissatisfied with human heroes.

Every judge disappoints us.

Every deliverer fails.

Every leader falls short.

The need for a Savior keeps growing.

And that is precisely the point.

Judges is teaching us to stop looking horizontally for salvation and start looking upward.

Not to Samson.

Not to David.

Not to ourselves.

To Jesus.

The One who does not merely begin the rescue.

The One who finishes it.

The One who gives life where there is only death.

The One who sees the forgotten.

The One who keeps every promise.

The One who takes away the sins of the world.

Behold Him, not me.

June 13, 2026 0

He Told Her All His Heart

“Then he told her all his heart…”
— Judges 16:17

I’ve read the story of Samson and Delilah many times.

Like many people, I often focused on the obvious lessons—the danger of temptation, Samson’s pride, Delilah’s betrayal, or the cutting of his hair. But this morning, one small phrase stopped me in my tracks:

“Then he told her all his heart.”

Suddenly, Samson felt less like a larger-than-life judge and more like a deeply lonely man.

Behind all the strength, bravado, and reckless choices was someone desperately craving intimacy.

Samson wanted to be known.

He wanted to be loved.

He wanted someone to hold his heart.

The tragedy is not that Samson desired intimacy. God created us for relationship. The tragedy is that Samson sought from Delilah what he could only receive from God.

Isn’t that often our story too?

How often do we go to people first for validation, security, comfort, approval, or identity? We carry empty places in our hearts and expect spouses, friends, children, ministry, success, or relationships to fill what only God was ever meant to satisfy.

Psalm 118:8 reminds us:

“It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man.”

The problem isn’t loving people.

The problem is asking people to be what only God can be.

When we come to others looking for them to fill our deepest needs, we eventually place a weight on them they were never designed to carry. But when we first come to the Lord, allowing Him to satisfy our hearts with His steadfast love, we are free to love others not out of need but out of service.

That is exactly what Samson never learned.

Many of us were taught that Samson’s strength was somehow hidden in his hair. Almost as if his hair possessed some magical power. But Scripture tells a different story.

After Delilah had his head shaved, Samson awoke expecting to defeat the Philistines once again.

“But he did not know that the Lord had left him.” (Judges 16:20)

The hair was never the source of his strength.

The Lord was.

Psalm 28:7 says:

“The Lord is my strength and my shield.”

Samson’s strength did not leave when his hair was cut.

His strength left when the presence of the Lord departed.

As I reflected on this passage, my mind kept returning to Psalm 118. Again and again the psalmist repeats truths we need to hear:

“The Lord is on my side.”

“The Lord is my helper.”

“The Lord is my strength.”

“His steadfast love endures forever.”

The Christian life is not about becoming stronger versions of ourselves.

It is about learning to depend on the One who is already strong.

Unlike Samson, we do not need to rip city gates from their hinges and carry them up a mountain. We do not need to prove ourselves through our own strength.

Instead, we are invited to enter the gates of the Lord with thanksgiving, humility, and trust.

The steadfast love of the Lord endures forever.

And because it does, we can bring Him our whole hearts.

As I closed my Bible this morning, I realized that Samson’s story isn’t only a warning for me—it’s a mirror.

Like Samson, I know what it is to crave being seen. I know what it is to long to be known, understood, chosen, and loved. There are days when I look to people for what I should first seek from God. Days when the approval of others feels more tangible than His presence. Days when I wish someone would notice the burdens I carry without me having to speak them aloud.

And if I’m being honest, sometimes the presence of the Lord doesn’t feel like enough.

Not because He isn’t enough, but because my heart is still learning to believe that He is.

That is part of living in a broken world. We were created for perfect fellowship with God, yet we live east of Eden, still feeling the ache of longing, loneliness, and unmet desires.

This morning I found myself praying:

“Lord, return to me the joy of my salvation. Remind me that You are my refuge and my strength. Teach me to wait patiently for You. When I am tempted to run to others for what can only be found in You, turn my heart back toward Your steadfast love. Hear my cry and turn to me. Let me find in You what I keep searching for everywhere else.”

The good news is that unlike Delilah, the Lord never betrays the heart that is entrusted to Him.

His steadfast love truly does endure forever.

June 10, 2026 0

Behold God, Not Me

Judges 12-13, Infertility, Idolatry, and the Deception of Sin

One of the things I love most about studying God’s Word verse by verse is that it often confronts me in places I didn’t expect.

Recently, I found myself praying and talking with a friend about a struggle that has resurfaced many times throughout my life: infertility.

For twelve years, my husband and I prayed for a child. Then, in His kindness and perfect timing, God gave us Jackson. What a gift he has been. Yet as Jackson approaches eight years old, our family has not grown in the way I once assumed it would.

Like many women, I was told that once you have one child, having more often becomes easier. That has not been our story.

And if I’m honest, there are days when grief sneaks in.

I see beautiful growing families around me. I celebrate them sincerely because every child is a gift from God. Working in foster care has only deepened that conviction. There is not a single child I believe was born outside the knowledge and purpose of our good Father.

Yet sometimes I still find myself asking, “Lord, why?”

Why do some families grow effortlessly while others wait?

Why are some prayers answered quickly while others seem to linger unanswered?

As always, when I earnestly seek the Lord about the condition of my heart, He faithfully meets me in His Word.

Some Are Increased, Others Are Diminished

As I was studying the minor judges in Judges 12, I noticed an interesting contrast.

Ibzan had thirty sons and thirty daughters (Judges 12:9).

Earlier in Judges, Jair also had thirty sons.

Yet Jephthah had only one child—a daughter—and through his foolish vow and tragic actions, she never married and left no descendants.

Seventeenth-century commentator Matthew Henry observed:

“Some are increased, others are diminished; both are the Lord’s doing.”

Those words are not easy to accept.

Our hearts naturally want explanations.

We want formulas.

We want reasons.

We want to know why God gives one person abundance while another experiences loss.

Yet Scripture repeatedly reminds us that God’s wisdom exceeds our own.

Isaiah tells us:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9)

That was exactly the reminder my heart needed.

God knows what He is doing.

God knows me.

God knows what will bring Him glory.

God knows what will make me more like Christ.

And that must be enough.

The Forgotten Judges and the God Who Is Remembered

As I continued reading, I noticed something else.

The Bible gives us only a few details about Ibzan, Elon and Abdon. We learn how long they judged Israel. We learn a few facts about their families. Then their stories end.

At first glance, it almost feels unsatisfying.

We want more details.

We want their stories fully told.

But perhaps that discomfort reveals something about us.

Isn’t that what we want for ourselves?

We want to leave a legacy.

We want to be remembered.

We want our stories to matter.

Yet Scripture consistently directs our attention elsewhere.

The Bible is not ultimately about human greatness.

It is about God’s greatness.

The focus of Scripture is not the lives of judges, kings, prophets, or even ordinary believers.

The focus is Christ.

Every page points to Him.

Even Abdon’s wealth and the mention of his sons riding on donkeys subtly remind us of a greater King who would one day ride into Jerusalem on a donkey, fulfilling prophecy and declaring His kingship.

The judges fade into the background.

Christ remains.

And that leads me to ask an uncomfortable question:

Does my life say, “Behold me,” or “Behold God”?

Character profiles of the 3 Minor Judges discussed

The Beginning of the Final Cycle

As we enter Judges 13, we begin the final cycle of the book.

The chapter opens with familiar words:

“And the people of Israel again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord.”

We have seen this refrain over and over throughout Judges.

The people sin.

God disciplines them.

They cry out.

God delivers them.

Then the cycle repeats.

Yet there is something particularly significant about this final occurrence.

The phrase “evil in the sight of the Lord” highlights a truth our culture desperately needs to hear.

Notice what the text does not say.

It does not say Israel did what was evil in their own eyes.

In fact, later in Judges we encounter another repeated phrase:

“Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”

The two statements are connected.

The Israelites did not wake up every morning thinking, “Today I will rebel against God.”

They believed their choices were reasonable.

Understandable.

Justified.

Acceptable.

In their own eyes, much of their behavior probably seemed perfectly fine.

Yet God saw things differently.

And therein lies the danger.

What Is Sin?

This passage teaches us something foundational about sin.

Sin is not ultimately defined by my feelings.

Sin is not determined by cultural approval.

Sin is not established by majority opinion.

Sin is not measured by whether my conscience happens to bother me.

Sin is defined by God.

Something is sinful because it violates God’s will and God’s design.

This truth directly contradicts modern thinking.

Our culture continually tells us:

“Follow your heart.”

“Live your truth.”

“You define what is right for you.”

But Scripture says something very different.

If morality is determined only by personal perception, then no one can meaningfully condemn evil.

History itself demonstrates the flaw in that thinking.

People can sincerely believe terrible things.

Groups of people can collectively justify horrific actions.

Human perception is not a trustworthy standard.

Only God is.

The eyes that ultimately matter are not my eyes.

They are God’s.

The Deception of Sin

The second truth we learn is how deceptive sin really is.

The Israelites had convinced themselves they were fine.

They had explanations.

Rationalizations.

Justifications.

At the conscious level, everything seemed acceptable.

But beneath the surface, they had drifted far from God.

That should concern all of us because we are no different.

The most dangerous sins are often not the obvious ones.

The most dangerous sins are the ones we have learned to justify.

Pride.

Bitterness.

Materialism.

Worry.

Control.

Self-reliance.

These sins rarely look sinful in our own eyes.

And this is where the Lord began pressing on my own heart.

When Good Desires Become Ultimate Desires

As I thought about my longing for more children, I realized something uncomfortable.

The desire itself is not sinful.

Children are a blessing.

Family is a gift.

Wanting those things is good.

But good things become idols when they become ultimate things.

The line between loving something and worshiping something is often thinner than we realize.

And I began to wonder:

Had I crossed that line?

Had my desire for more children subtly become a demand?

Was I saying, “God, I know what would be best for my life”?

Was I acting as though God’s gifts were somehow insufficient?

Was I placing myself in the judge’s seat?

Because when I insist that God must give me what I want in order for His plan to be good, I am no longer trusting Him.

I am attempting to replace Him.

That is the essence of idolatry.

An idol is not always a bad thing.

More often, it is a good thing that has become an ultimate thing.

Tim Keller famously described idols as good things turned into god things.

Family can become an idol.

Ministry can become an idol.

Work can become an idol.

Even motherhood can become an idol.

Anything we place above trustful submission to God becomes a rival to Him.

As the Puritan Thomas Brooks wisely wrote:

“Satan paints sin with virtue’s colors.”

The idol never announces itself as an idol.

It disguises itself as wisdom.

Responsibility.

Love.

Good stewardship.

Common sense.

And before we realize it, our hearts have drifted.

Behold God

That is why we must constantly evaluate ourselves through Scripture.

Not through culture.

Not through emotions.

Not through popular opinion.

Through God’s Word.

The Word reveals what our hearts often hide.

And when it does, our response should not be despair.

It should be worship.

Because the goal of our lives is not ultimately to get everything we want.

The goal is not to have our preferred story.

The goal is not even to be remembered.

The goal is to behold God.

The minor judges came and went.

Their stories occupy only a few verses.

Yet God’s purposes prevailed.

Their significance was not found in the size of their role.

It was found in the God who authored the story.

The same is true for us.

Whether God increases or diminishes.

Whether He gives or withholds.

Whether our stories look ordinary or extraordinary.

He remains worthy.

And so today, I find myself returning once again to Isaiah 55.

His ways are higher than my ways.

His thoughts are higher than my thoughts.

He knows what is best.

He knows my heart.

He is trustworthy.

And when I preach that truth to myself, it changes everything.

Behold Him, not me.

June 8, 2026 0

When Broken People Read Scripture Wrong: Jephthah, Grace, and Learning to Read the Bible Carefully

There is something both comforting and deeply unsettling about the story of Jephthah in Judges 10–11.

Comforting, because God uses a rejected and broken man.
Unsettling, because that same man carries distorted beliefs about God that lead to devastating consequences.

For many women learning to study Scripture faithfully — especially young mothers, homeschool moms, women rebuilding after hardship, or believers new to the faith — Jephthah’s story becomes more than history. It becomes a mirror.

Because one of the hardest truths to learn as Christians is this:

We can know some truth about God while still misunderstanding Him deeply in other places.

And if we are not careful readers of Scripture, we can begin mixing biblical truth with cultural assumptions, personal wounds, fear, and worldly thinking.

That is exactly what happens in the life of Jephthah.

God Raises an Unlikely Savior

Jephthah is introduced in Judges 11 as a mighty warrior. But immediately we are told something painful about him:

He was the son of a prostitute.

His half-brothers drove him away from the family home, rejecting him and cutting him off from inheritance and belonging. He grew up as an outcast, living in the wilderness surrounded by what Scripture calls “worthless fellows” — essentially a band of violent men and raiders.

Humanly speaking, Jephthah is not the kind of man anyone would expect God to use.

And yet God does.

This is one of the repeated themes throughout the book of Judges: God continually rescues His people through deeply flawed deliverers.

Why?

Because the judges were never meant to be ultimate saviors. They were shadows pointing forward to the true Savior still to come — Jesus Christ.

Jephthah’s rejection points us toward Christ, who was also rejected by His own people.
Jephthah’s suffering prepared him to lead hurting people.
His strength in battle reflected Israel’s need for deliverance.

But unlike Jesus, Jephthah was deeply sinful and spiritually confused.

And Scripture does not hide that from us.

Learning Context Matters

One of the biggest mistakes new believers often make when reading the Bible is assuming that because the Bible describes something, God therefore approves of it.

But biblical narrative does not always equal biblical endorsement.

The book of Judges especially shows us what life looks like when “everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25).

The stories become darker and darker intentionally.

Judges is not simply recording heroic stories. It is showing the spiritual collapse of Israel when people drift from God’s Word.

That context matters tremendously when reading Jephthah’s tragic vow.

Jephthah’s Strength — and His Blindness

Before battle with the Ammonites, Jephthah actually shows surprising wisdom.

Instead of immediately rushing into war, he first pursues peace. He sends messengers, reasons carefully through Israel’s history, and presents legal, theological, and historical arguments explaining why the Ammonites are in the wrong.

This matters because it shows Jephthah was not merely a reckless brute. He understood leadership, diplomacy, and negotiation.

God had even shaped his painful background into useful strength.

His suffering formed resilience.
His exile formed toughness.
His wilderness years formed leadership.

Sometimes the hardest parts of our lives become the very places God uses most powerfully.

But giftedness is not the same thing as spiritual maturity.

And this is where careful Bible reading becomes so important.

Because right after displaying wisdom, Jephthah makes one of the most horrific vows in all of Scripture.

The Terrible Vow

Judges 11:29 says:

“Then the Spirit of the Lord was upon Jephthah…”

That detail matters.

God had already determined to give victory.

The outcome was never dependent on Jephthah bargaining with God.

Yet Jephthah vows that if God gives him victory, he will sacrifice whatever first comes from his house upon returning home.

And tragically, his daughter comes out first.

This is one of the moments where Christians must slow down and read carefully.

Some try to soften the text into something symbolic. Others suggest his daughter was merely devoted to lifelong service.

But the passage itself points toward something far darker and more tragic.

Why would Jephthah even make such a vow?

Because although he knew about God, he still thought about God in many pagan ways.

When We Mix God With The World

The surrounding pagan cultures practiced human sacrifice. Their gods were viewed as beings who had to be manipulated, impressed, or bribed through extravagant offerings.

Jephthah had absorbed some of that thinking.

And if we are honest, we often do the same thing.

Not usually through violence or sacrifice — but through worldly beliefs about success, beauty, money, relationships, motherhood, control, or worth.

We often say we believe grace…

Yet live as though God’s love must constantly be earned.

We assume:

God will love us more if we perform better.
God is pleased only when we are productive.
God’s blessing depends entirely on our perfection.
Rest must be earned.
Weakness disqualifies us.

That is not the gospel.

And that is why studying Scripture carefully matters.

Because if we are not rooted deeply in God’s Word, culture will disciple us instead.

Romans 12:2 warns:

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.”

Jephthah’s tragedy is not merely that he made a foolish vow.

It is that he fundamentally misunderstood the character of God.

Grace Is Harder To Believe Than Rules

Perhaps the saddest part of the story is this:

Even after realizing the horror of his vow, Jephthah still seems unable to trust God’s mercy enough to repent and stop.

Why?

Because he does not truly understand grace.

He seems trapped by fear — believing God must be appeased rather than trusted.

And honestly, many believers live there too.

Grace feels unsafe to us.

We would often rather manage God through rules than trust Him relationally.

But the gospel tells us something radically different:

God’s favor cannot be bought.

The Father already decided to rescue His people long before Jephthah made his vow. Likewise, Christ came for sinners before we cleaned ourselves up.

Jesus is the better Judge.

Where Jephthah sacrificed his daughter because of his sinful misunderstanding, God the Father willingly gave His own Son out of perfect love and perfect wisdom to save sinners.

One sacrifice brought death through human sin.
The other brought life through divine grace.

How Do We Read Scripture Faithfully?

Stories like this teach us several important principles for Bible study:

1. Read passages in context

Never isolate verses from the larger story of Scripture.

2. Distinguish description from approval

The Bible often records sinful actions honestly without endorsing them.

3. Let clearer passages interpret difficult ones

Scripture already clearly condemns human sacrifice elsewhere.

4. Study God’s character across the whole Bible

One distorted view of God can shape an entire life wrongly.

5. Read humbly

Every culture has blind spots. We need Scripture constantly correcting us.

A Final Encouragement For Christian Women

If you are new to studying Scripture, please do not be discouraged by difficult passages like this.

Lean into them.

Some of the deepest growth happens when we slow down, ask questions, study context, and allow Scripture to reshape how we think about God.

The goal of Bible study is not merely gathering information.

It is learning to know the Lord rightly.

And that matters because what we believe about God shapes everything:

how we mother,
how we endure suffering,
how we handle failure,
how we rest,
how we repent,
and how we love others.

Jephthah’s story is tragic.

But even tragedies in Scripture are gracious warnings meant to draw us closer to the true Savior — the One who does not manipulate, crush, or abandon His people, but lovingly redeems them through grace.

June 6, 2026 0

When Success Becomes More Dangerous Than Failure

Lessons from Gideon for Christian Women Seeking Faithfulness

“We need to remember we are saved by grace when we fail, but we need to remember it much more when we succeed.” — Tim Keller

The last few days in my verse-by-verse study through the book of Book of Judges have pressed this truth deeply into my heart.

When we think of spiritual danger, we often think of failure. Falling into sin. Wandering from God. Seasons of weakness. But Gideon’s story reminds us that success may actually be the greater threat to our souls.

God Reduced the Army by 99%

When Gideon marched into battle against Midian, he did not go in strong.

He went in weak.

God intentionally reduced Gideon’s army from thousands down to only 300 men. The Lord stripped away every earthly reason Israel could boast in themselves.

What power there is in that truth.

Imagine what God can do with one percent.

In the Book of Judges, chapter 7, the Israelites marched into battle not with military strength, but with trumpets, jars, and torches. And when the jars shattered and the trumpets sounded, the Lord caused the enemy camp to turn against itself.

The battle belonged entirely to God.

Gideon should have walked away from that battlefield saying:

“This victory was the Lord’s. My role was simply to trust and obey.”

And honestly, I understand this personally.

Recently, in my own work advocating for vulnerable children and families, I found myself sitting at a table with attorneys, professionals, and a judge. I come from a background very different from many of my peers. I was raised in poverty and abuse. I do not have prestigious credentials or a polished résumé.

What I do have is a testimony.

I know the power of God.

And when the Lord allows even a small victory in my work, I have to consciously preach the gospel back to myself:

“This did not come from me.”

God uses what is weak to shame what is strong.

At the end of our lunch together, everyone stood to leave, and there was an unspoken assumption that I would clean the table and bus the dishes.

The world would call that offensive.

Pride would say:
“You deserve more honor than this.”

But as I carried the dishes away, I sensed the quiet kindness of God reminding me:

“This is good for you.”

And truly, it was.

Because humility guards the heart in ways success never can.

Serving keeps us close to Christ.

Gideon Forgot What Grace Had Done

As we move into chapter 8, Gideon begins changing.

And the shift is subtle at first.

When the tribe of Ephraim complains that Gideon did not call them into battle sooner, Gideon answers diplomatically and gently. He calms their anger with humility.

At first glance, this looks godly.

But the next interaction reveals something deeper.

When the towns of Succoth and Penuel refuse to help Gideon’s exhausted men, Gideon erupts in anger and vengeance. He threatens punishment. Later, after his victory, he returns and carries out brutal revenge against his own people.

Why the different response?

Because Ephraim wounded Gideon’s pride gently.

Succoth and Penuel wounded it directly.

And suddenly we begin to see that Gideon’s heart has shifted from dependence on God to dependence on his own honor.

The man who once hid in a winepress trembling now expects recognition.

The man who once begged God for reassurance now lashes out when others do not respect him.

Success revealed what was already growing in Gideon’s heart.

The Danger of Spiritual Success

There is a terrible danger in success.

Not because success itself is sinful, but because our hearts are desperate to believe we earned it.

We begin by thanking God for the victory.

Then slowly we begin protecting our reputation.

Defending our influence.

Needing recognition.

Wanting respect.

And before long, we are no longer serving God’s kingdom.

We are building our own.

Gideon forgot that God called him.
God equipped him.
God reassured him.
God won the battle.

And sisters, we forget too.

We forget that every good work we do was prepared beforehand by God.

We forget that faithfulness itself is grace.

We forget that motherhood, ministry, leadership, hospitality, encouragement, advocacy, teaching, and service are not trophies we earned, but gifts we were entrusted with.

Ephesians 2:8-10

“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”

We Still Build Ephods

One of the saddest moments in Gideon’s story comes after he refuses kingship.

Outwardly, Gideon says the right thing:

“The Lord will rule over you.”

But immediately afterward, Gideon begins living like a king anyway.

He gathers wealth.
He elevates himself.
He creates an ephod that becomes a snare to Israel.

In other words:
he rejected the title while embracing the glory.

And if we are honest, we often do the same.

We say:
“All glory to God.”

But inwardly we crave recognition.

We want to be the one people admire.
The one people need.
The one people look to for answers.

Ministry can quietly become self-salvation.

Motherhood can become identity worship.

Even serving others can become another way of trying to prove our worth.

We still build ephods.

Look to the Better Judge

But Gideon was never meant to be the final deliverer.

Like every judge in Scripture, he points us forward to a better Savior:
Jesus Christ.

Unlike Gideon, Jesus did not use His authority to demand honor.

Though He was King, He came as a servant.

Though He deserved glory, He washed feet.

Though He had every right to be exalted, He humbled Himself to death on a cross.

Jesus Christ did not come to be served, but to serve and give His life as a ransom for many.

And because of that, we are finally free.

Free from needing applause.
Free from proving ourselves.
Free from being crushed by failure.
Free from becoming intoxicated by success.

The gospel liberates us from both pride and despair.

A Final Encouragement

Friend, maybe God has recently given you victory in some area of life.

Maybe your marriage is flourishing.
Maybe ministry is growing.
Maybe motherhood feels fruitful.
Maybe people are finally recognizing your gifts.

Praise God for those things! Success can either deepen worship or feed self-glory.

It is well for us to serve.
It is well for us to be humbled.
It is well for us to remember that we are creatures, not the Creator.

So today, ask yourself:

Are there areas of my life where I am subtly seeking honor that belongs to God alone?
And how does the servant-heartedness of Christ free me from turning success into self-salvation?

May we never forget:
the victory belongs to the Lord.

May 30, 2026 0

When Summer Doesn’t Feel Free: Autism, Routine, Grief, and the Goodness of God

Honest thoughts after another sleepless night…

Jackson had been hopping, running, flapping, vocalizing, and moving almost nonstop for over twenty-four hours. The kind of movement that tells me his little nervous system is trying so hard to regulate itself. The kind of exhaustion that settles deep into a mother’s bones because even while your body is tired, your mind never fully rests.

And somewhere between the pacing and the praying last night, I found myself thinking about this season we’re stepping into again.

Summer.

Or at least the version of summer families like ours experience.

Because summer feels different when you parent a child with autism.

For many families, summer means freedom. Later bedtimes. Road trips. Ballgames. Camping trips. Pool days. Spontaneous outings. Relaxed schedules. A temporary release from structure so families can collect memories and enjoy the break from routine.

But for many autism families, routine cannot simply disappear because the school year ended.

Routine is not just preference here.
It is safety.
It is regulation.
It is emotional predictability.
It is the framework that helps a child’s nervous system feel secure enough to function.

And when routine breaks down, often so does everything else with it.

There can be dysregulation, sleep disruption, sensory overload, anxiety, meltdowns, setbacks, confusion, exhaustion, and a deep unraveling in areas where progress had finally begun to bloom.

So while the world around us seems to exhale in the summer, many of us grip tighter just trying to hold peace together inside our homes.

And if I’m being honest?

Sometimes that feels lonely.

I watch families around us living a version of motherhood that often feels inaccessible to me right now. I see kids Jackson once sat beside in classrooms now thriving in sports, making friendships effortlessly, gaining independence naturally, trying new experiences confidently.

I see younger children surpassing milestones my son is still fighting hard to reach.

And there is a grief in that I don’t think people talk about enough.

Not because I am bitter.
Not because I am not genuinely happy for them.
Not because I would trade my son for another child.

I adore my son.

But because motherhood inside special needs parenting carries a very specific tension:
you can be deeply grateful while simultaneously grieving.

Both can exist at the same time.

I can clap for your child while quietly crying in the bathroom later because I wish some things came easier for mine.

And I think pretending otherwise helps no one.

Jackson is seven now.

There are things he does today that once felt impossible. Things some children with autism may never fully accomplish independently. Every single victory matters to us because we understand what it cost him to get there.

But autism is complex.

A child can read above level while struggling with emotional regulation.
A child can memorize entire songs but not communicate their needs clearly.
A child can appear socially engaged one moment and completely dysregulated the next.
A child can seem “high functioning” to outsiders while privately struggling with things typical toddlers navigate with ease.

And that complexity is often misunderstood.

When people see capability in one area, they assume capability must exist everywhere else too.

So when it doesn’t, the response is often criticism instead of curiosity.

Judgment instead of compassion.

Assumptions instead of questions.

And what hurts sometimes is not even the hard itself.

We can do hard things with Christ.

What hurts is feeling unseen inside the hard.

What hurts is when people stop extending understanding the moment autism doesn’t look like what they expected it to look like.

Because autism is not always obvious.
And it is rarely linear.

There are days Jackson seems years ahead in one area and years behind in another all at once.

There are days he thrives beautifully.
And there are days where every small task feels impossibly hard.

Both are true.

I think that’s why I love the way Jesus interacted with hurting people in Scripture.

He noticed people others overlooked.

The weary.
The isolated.
The misunderstood.
The parents carrying invisible burdens.
The people sitting quietly on the edges of the crowd hoping someone would see them.

Jesus never seemed uncomfortable with complicated pain.

And honestly, that comforts me deeply because autism parenting is complicated pain sometimes.

Beautiful pain.
Holy pain.
Refining pain.
But still pain.

There are moments I desperately need someone to remind me:
Jackson is doing beautifully.
Progress does not have to look typical to matter.
God is not absent in delayed milestones.
And our future is not hopeless simply because it is unknown.

Because the truth is—we simply do not know yet what Jackson’s future will fully look like.

Autism is not something you simply “outgrow.”

Can therapies help? Absolutely.
Can support systems help? Yes.
Can growth happen? Of course.

But autism is also a neurological difference that impacts the way a person experiences, processes, communicates, regulates, and interacts with the world.

And long-term outcomes are not always predictable.

That uncertainty can feel heavy as a parent.

Especially when the world keeps measuring children against timelines.

But lately God keeps reminding me:
He is not asking Jackson to become someone else.

And He is not asking me to parent someone else’s story.

Psalm 139 says God knit Jackson together intentionally.

Not accidentally.
Not mistakenly.
Not as an afterthought.

Intentionally.

And that means even the areas that feel hard to me are still fully seen by God.

The hidden victories matter to Him.

The sensory recoveries.
The flexibility after disruption.
The moments of connection.
The brave transitions.
The hard-earned words.
The regulation after overwhelm.
The trust.
The growth.
The trying again.

God sees all of it.

And maybe that is why I keep returning to dependence.

Because autism parenting has stripped away my illusion of control in so many ways.

It has taught me how desperately I need Christ daily.

Not the polished version of faith.
Not the social media version.
Not the “everything is inspiring all the time” version.

Real dependence.

The kind where you pray through meltdowns.
The kind where you cry in the bathroom and then walk back out anyway.
The kind where you celebrate tiny victories nobody else would notice.
The kind where you trust God with a future you cannot clearly picture.

And maybe that dependence itself is holy.

Maybe God is forming something eternal in us through this life we would not have chosen ourselves.

Our family may not look like everyone else’s family.
Our summers may not look like everyone else’s summers.
Our journey may not follow the timeline culture expects.

But our story is not less beautiful because it is different.

And to the special needs moms quietly carrying all of this too:

I see you.

God sees you.

Your child is not behind in the eyes of the One who created them.

Your exhaustion is not weakness.
Your grief is not failure.
Your longing does not cancel your gratitude.
And your hard is not unseen by God.

Keep showing up.

Keep loving deeply.

Keep trusting Jesus in the uncertainty.

And keep celebrating every single victory no matter how small the world thinks it is.

Because heaven notices things this world overlooks all the time.

May 26, 2026 0

When Faith Feels Weak: What Gideon Teaches Us About Knowing God Through His Word

Are We Letting Scripture Shape Us?

One of the greatest dangers for Christians today is not always outright rebellion against God—it is slowly drifting into a faith where our emotions, assumptions, culture, and personal experiences begin shaping our understanding of Him more than His Word does.

This can happen so subtly.

We stop opening our Bibles consistently. We rely more on inspirational content than Scripture itself. We begin approaching God through our feelings instead of allowing His truth to inform our hearts. And before long, we can find ourselves asking questions about God that reveal just how little we truly know of His character.

This is exactly why the story of Gideon in Book of Judges chapter 6 is so encouraging for weary believers, young women in the faith, busy mothers, and even mature Christians who may have grown distant from daily time in God’s Word.

Because Gideon’s story is not ultimately about a brave man—it is about a gracious God who patiently reveals Himself to weak and fearful people.

“If God Is Really With Us…”

When we first meet Gideon in Judges 6, Israel is suffering under Midianite oppression because they had abandoned the Lord and turned toward false gods.

Gideon’s response to the angel of the Lord sounds strikingly familiar:

“Please, my lord, if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us?”
— Judges 6:13

How many of us have quietly asked the same question?

If God is with me, why is motherhood so exhausting? Why does suffering continue? Why does obedience feel costly? Why does life feel heavy? Why are prayers unanswered?

Gideon struggled to reconcile his circumstances with the promises of God. Yet what is remarkable is that God does not respond harshly to Gideon’s weakness.

Instead, the Lord answers:

“Go in this might of yours… do not I send you?”
— Judges 6:14

God was already at work accomplishing His purposes through a man who felt weak, fearful, and inadequate.

And that should deeply encourage us.

Because throughout Scripture, God has never required perfect strength from His people before using them. He calls us to trust Him in the midst of our weakness.

God Reveals Himself to Weak Faith

One of the most comforting parts of this chapter is seeing how patient God is with Gideon.

After encountering the angel of the Lord, Gideon becomes afraid and believes he may die. But the Lord reassures him:

“Peace be to you. Do not fear; you shall not die.”
— Judges 6:23

The Lord was not pushing Gideon away because his faith was weak. He was drawing him closer.

This matters because many Christians wrongly assume that struggling believers are immediately met with frustration from God. But throughout Scripture we repeatedly see the Lord patiently strengthening weak faith.

That does not mean God celebrates unbelief. But it does mean He is compassionate toward those who genuinely desire to know Him and trust Him more fully.

Before Public Victory Came Private Obedience

After comforting Gideon, God gives him a difficult command.

In Judges 6:25–26, Gideon is told to tear down his father’s altar to Baal, cut down the Asherah pole beside it, and build an altar to the Lord in its place.

This was a bold act of obedience.

The bull being sacrificed symbolized devotion to Baal, the false god Israel had been worshiping. By tearing down these idols, Gideon publicly declared that the gods Israel trusted were powerless.

But before God would use Gideon to deliver Israel publicly, Gideon first had to obey privately.

And honestly, this is where many of us struggle too.

Sometimes the idols in our lives are not obvious statues or pagan altars. Sometimes they are comfort, control, approval from others, entertainment, political identity, self-sufficiency, busyness, or even our own feelings.

When we neglect God’s Word long enough, we slowly begin creating a version of God that fits our preferences rather than submitting ourselves to who He truly is.

Scripture was never meant to conform to us.

We are meant to be conformed by Scripture.

What About Gideon and the Fleece?

One of the most misunderstood parts of Gideon’s story is the sign of the fleece in Judges 6:36–40.

Many people use this passage to justify asking God for random signs:

“Lord, if you want me to take this job, let someone call me today.”

But Tim Keller points out in Judges For You that Gideon was not asking for vague personal signs to help him make ordinary decisions.

Gideon was specifically asking God to reveal His nature.

Baal was believed to be a storm and fertility god tied to nature. Gideon’s request involving dew and dry ground was actually asking God to demonstrate that He alone was sovereign over creation itself.

Gideon’s faith was weak, but his questioning was leading him toward a deeper understanding of who God truly was.

That distinction matters.

Because there is a difference between demanding signs from God out of unbelief and asking God to strengthen weak faith through greater understanding of His character.

We Have What Gideon Longed For

One of the most humbling realities in this passage is recognizing that Gideon did not have what believers today possess.

He did not have the completed Word of God.

He did not know Christ as we do now.

He did not have the ordinary means of grace God has given the Church through Scripture, Christian fellowship, baptism, and the Lord’s Supper.

Hebrews 1:1–2 says:

“Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last he has spoken to us by his Son…”

Gideon’s request was to help build up his faith. God in his Grace responded twice and when we make the same request – God graciously responds by pointing us to the fullest and final revelation of his character and his purposes – the Lord Jesus.

When we find ourselves doubting God’s promises or God’s presence, we can ask him to point us again to his son saying, “I do believe help me overcome my unbelief” (Mark 924). This is what Gideon needed and received. God will do the same for us.

Are there parts of your life today where you need to ask God to point you to his son so that you can trust more fully in His promises?

May 23, 2026 0

When We Let the Text Speak: Deborah, Barak, and the Importance of Faithful Hermeneutics

There is something both humbling and beautiful about coming to Scripture only to realize we may have been reading our assumptions into the text all along.

Recently, while studying Judges 4 and 5, I found myself doing exactly that.

For years, I had heard — and repeated — the common interpretation that Deborah had to step into leadership because Barak was weak, fearful, or unwilling to obey God without her. It is such a common conclusion that many of us barely stop to ask whether the text itself actually says that.

But when I slowed down, prayed, studied carefully, compared translations, looked into the original language, considered the historical context, and read the surrounding passages alongside Hebrews 11, I realized something important:

The text never explicitly says Barak lacked faith.

In fact, Hebrews 11 includes Barak among those commended for their faith.

That realization forced me to pause and ask a difficult but necessary question:

Had I allowed cultural assumptions and familiar commentary to speak louder than the actual words of Scripture?

Deborah Was Not an Emergency Substitute

One of the most striking observations in Judges 4 is that Deborah is already introduced as a leader before Barak even appears in the narrative.

Judges 4:4 identifies Deborah as both a prophetess and a judge in Israel. She was not functioning as a temporary stand-in because no man was available. Scripture presents her as someone God Himself had raised up and appointed.

She held court under the palm of Deborah, where the people of Israel came to her for judgment and counsel. This was not a queen’s throne, but a courtroom. Israel trusted her wisdom, discernment, and leadership.

Unlike many of the judges before and after her, Deborah did not primarily lead through military strength or physical might. She led through wisdom, discernment, character, and faithful proclamation of God’s Word.

We see this clearly in Judges 4:6 when she tells Barak:

“The Lord, the God of Israel, commands you…”

As a prophetess, Deborah faithfully declared the Word of God. She counseled, guided, and judged the people. In many ways, she comes closer than any judge before the monarchy to modeling a ruler who shepherds with wisdom and righteousness.

Deborah’s role should not be minimized simply because Barak also played a role in God’s deliverance.

The text honors both.

The Danger of Bringing Assumptions Into Scripture

As women especially, I think many of us have been quick to frame Deborah’s story as proof that she only led because Barak failed.

But that interpretation may reveal more about our assumptions than about the text itself.

When Barak tells Deborah in Judges 4:8:

“If you will go with me, I will go, but if you will not go with me, I will not go,”

many immediately read cowardice or disobedience into his response.

And certainly, some respected commentators understand the passage that way.

But others note that Deborah’s response in verse 9 can also be translated differently. Rather than being a rebuke, it may simply be a prophetic statement that the honor for Sisera’s defeat would ultimately go to a woman.

That distinction matters.

Because if Barak is not being rebuked, then his request for Deborah’s presence may actually demonstrate faith rather than unbelief.

After all, why would he not want the Lord’s prophet with him as he marched into battle against overwhelming odds?

Hebrews 11 forced me to wrestle honestly with this possibility. Scripture itself commends Barak’s faith. That means we should be careful not to build an interpretation that ultimately contradicts the broader testimony of God’s Word.

Faithful Hermeneutics Requires Humility

This study reminded me how important good hermeneutics truly are.

Hermeneutics simply means the way we interpret Scripture.

It means asking questions of the text instead of assuming we already know the answers. It means studying passages in context. It means comparing Scripture with Scripture. It means considering grammar, historical background, original language, genre, and surrounding passages. Most importantly, it means approaching God’s Word prayerfully and humbly, willing to be corrected.

So often we come to the Bible looking for confirmation instead of truth.

We read through lenses shaped by culture, church traditions, personal experiences, social media discussions, or popular teaching. Sometimes we inherit interpretations we have never personally examined.

But faithful Bible study requires us to slow down enough to let the text speak for itself.

Not forcing Scripture to fit our narrative.

Not reading motives into people that God Himself never states.

Not minimizing one person in order to elevate another.

Simply letting God say what He intended to say.

The Glory Ultimately Belongs to God

One of the most beautiful things about Judges 4 and 5 is that there is not just one human hero.

There is Deborah.
There is Barak.
There is Jael.

And yet Judges 5 makes clear where the true glory belongs.

To the Lord.

The Lord is the One who delivered Israel.

The Lord is the One who routed Sisera.

The Lord is the One who used ordinary people in different ways for His purposes.

Deborah ruled and counseled.
Barak obeyed and fought.
Jael struck the final blow.

But God alone secured the victory.

Isn’t that often how the Lord works?

He delights in using different people with different gifts for the accomplishment of His purposes so that no single person can claim the glory for themselves.

A Final Encouragement

One of the greatest acts of spiritual maturity is allowing Scripture to challenge us.

Not defending our assumptions.
Not clinging to familiar interpretations.
Not reading quickly.
Not approaching God’s Word to prove a point.

But prayerfully opening the Bible and saying:

“Lord, help me see what is actually there.”

The more I study Scripture, the more I realize how dangerous it can be to approach the text with conclusions already in place.

Good hermeneutics is not cold academics.
It is an act of humility.

It is loving God enough to want His meaning more than our own opinions.

And sometimes, faithful study means being willing to say:

“I may have gotten this wrong before.”

That is not weakness.

That is reverence for the Word of God.

May 16, 2026 0

When Convenience Replaces Obedience: A Lesson from Judges 1:28–36

In Book of Judges 1:28–36, we encounter a quiet but dangerous pattern in the life of Israel—partial obedience. God had clearly commanded His people to drive out the inhabitants of the land. This wasn’t arbitrary; it was for their protection, knowing their weakness and tendency to fall into idolatry.

But instead of fully obeying, the Israelites chose a different path.

Again and again, the text tells us they did not drive them out. Instead, they subjected the people to forced labor. From a human perspective, it made sense. It was efficient. Economically beneficial. Less costly. Less exhausting.

But it wasn’t obedience.

As Timothy Keller insightfully puts it, here we see that “convenience trumps obedience.” What felt practical in the moment became a spiritual compromise with long-term consequences. The very people they allowed to remain would later become a snare.

Even more striking is what we read about the tribe of Dan. In Judges 1:34–35, the Amorites pressed them back into the hill country. There’s no indication that the enemy was stronger or better equipped. Instead, it appears they simply had greater resolve. Those who did not know God showed more determination than those who did.

That contrast should stop us in our tracks.

A Pattern Repeated Throughout Scripture

This isn’t an isolated moment. Scripture repeatedly shows us the subtle drift from obedience to compromise.

Consider First Book of Samuel 15. God commands King Saul to completely destroy the Amalekites. Instead, Saul spares King Agag and keeps the best of the livestock. His justification? It would be used for sacrifice to the Lord.

It sounded spiritual—but it was disobedience dressed up as worship.

The prophet Samuel’s response is piercing: “To obey is better than sacrifice.” (1 Samuel 15:22)

Saul chose what seemed reasonable over what God required.

Or look at Book of Genesis 3. Adam and Eve were given one command—do not eat from the tree. Yet when temptation came, the fruit appeared “good,” “pleasing,” and “desirable.” Convenience, desire, and reasoning overruled obedience.

The result? Separation, brokenness, and the entrance of sin into the world.

In Book of Numbers 20, Moses—faithful leader of Israel—strikes the rock instead of speaking to it as God commanded. It may have seemed like a small deviation, especially under pressure. But partial obedience is still disobedience. Even Moses experienced the consequence of not fully honoring God’s instruction.

And in the New Testament, we see a powerful example in Acts of the Apostles 5. Ananias and Sapphira sell property but secretly withhold part of the proceeds while presenting it as the full amount. Their sin wasn’t in keeping some—it was in the deception. They wanted the appearance of obedience without the cost of it.

The Danger of “Almost”

What ties these accounts together is not outright rebellion, but something more subtle—almost obedience.

Israel didn’t reject God—they just didn’t go all the way.
Saul didn’t ignore God—he adjusted the command.
Adam and Eve didn’t abandon God—they doubted His word.
Moses didn’t defy God publicly—he altered the method.
Ananias and Sapphira didn’t refuse to give—they pretended to give fully.

In each case, convenience, reasoning, fear, or desire quietly replaced trust-filled obedience.

And the consequences were never small.

A Call to Examine Our Own Hearts

The truth is, we’re not so different.

We may not be conquering lands or ruling nations, but we face daily choices where obedience to God conflicts with what is easier, faster, or more comfortable.