One of my favorite Elisabeth Elliot quotes has always been this:
“To be meek is to have a sane and proper estimate of one’s place in the scheme of things. It is a sense of proportion.”
Elisabeth Elliot has been something of a spiritual mother to me. I have read her words in many different seasons, and depending on where I was in life, they have felt like correction, a lecture, encouragement, or sometimes simply a soft place to land. There were times I read her words and felt as though I were being lovingly disciplined by an older woman who had walked through suffering and knew something I desperately needed to learn.
One of the things she helped me understand was that meekness is not weakness. It is strength under control. It is having a right understanding of who I am in relation to God: I am the created, and He is the Creator. I am not sovereign, I am not in control of everything, and I don’t have to be.
That realization changed the way I looked at my life, particularly motherhood.
When my son was very young, during the isolation of COVID and the months surrounding his autism diagnosis, his needs and behaviors were becoming increasingly difficult to understand. He was nonverbal at the time, and sleep became almost nonexistent. There were months when I was getting less than ten hours of sleep in an entire week.
Looking back, it is remarkable to me that I was still functioning. I was caring for my son, tending to our home, continuing to work, and trying to learn everything I could about autism while running on almost nothing.
But I know now that it wasn’t because I was strong enough. God was sustaining me.
I remember one particular night, around three in the morning, after two days without sleep. My son woke me by slapping me in the face. He wasn’t being aggressive or disobedient. He was nonverbal and simply trying to wake Mommy because Mommy wasn’t waking up.
For the first few seconds after waking, I had an overwhelming urge to hit him back.
I was angry. I was exhausted. I was completely at the end of myself.
And as painful as it is to admit that, I am grateful for what God showed me in that moment. I saw my flesh in a way I don’t think I ever had before. I saw how quickly my exhaustion could expose the sinfulness of my heart. I saw how desperately I needed a Savior.
Being at the end of myself became an invitation to stop pretending that I could be sufficient for myself.
I began learning to pursue the Lord even when I didn’t feel like pursuing Him. Sometimes all I had to offer was five minutes of Scripture or ten minutes of prayer. Then five minutes became ten, ten became twenty, and eventually those small pieces of time became hours.
Some of my sweetest times with the Lord happened in the middle of the night while my son paced back and forth or watched the same short documentaries over and over again. I would sit with my Bible and pray, asking God to change me and make me the mother my son needed.
And then there were the bathtubs.
For a long time, water was one of the few things that helped my son regulate and feel safe in his body. So I spent a lot of time sitting beside the bathtub. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes more than once a day. Because of the safety concerns, I couldn’t simply leave him there. I had to stay.
I remember lying beside that bathtub and thinking about all the things I was missing out on. Motherhood was supposed to look so different. I had imagined something quieter and more predictable.
But somewhere in those long hours of forced stillness, I began to realize that maybe motherhood hadn’t gone wrong. Maybe this was simply what motherhood needed to look like in that particular season.
And I remember what felt like the quietest conviction from the Lord:
If you cannot be still before your son, how will you ever learn to be still before Me?
Those moments of stillness, along with the long nights of being completely dependent upon God’s grace, eventually became the beginning of The Meek Momma.
I didn’t start this blog because I had figured motherhood out. I started it because I hadn’t.
I needed somewhere to put the honest emotions, the questions, the Scripture I was wrestling through, and the things God was teaching me. I hoped that perhaps another woman could read those words and find encouragement before she reached the same place of exhaustion and desperation.
Because the Lord gives us opportunities every day to turn toward Him. His mercies are new every morning.
And I think that is part of what meekness has come to mean to me.
It is recognizing that I am not enough, but also recognizing that I was never meant to be.
It is learning to live within the boundaries of my created place rather than constantly fighting to take God’s place. It has changed the way I think about my marriage, my motherhood, my work, my leadership, my finances, my service to others, and even the way I respond when I believe I know what should happen next.
It has also changed the way I understand submission.
I believe submission to a husband, rightly understood through Scripture, is a beautiful thing. It does not require a woman to become voiceless, passive, or insignificant. It is not an erasure of strength. Rather, it is one of the places where strength can be brought under control and entrusted to God.
There is something beautiful about a woman who doesn’t have to dominate every room, win every argument, control every outcome, or prove that she is the strongest person present.
There is strength in knowing when to speak and when to be quiet. There is strength in yielding. There is strength in serving. There is strength in trusting God’s order when our flesh would rather insist on our own.
That is why I love this definition of meekness so much.
A sane and proper estimate of my place in the scheme of things.
Not thinking too highly of myself, but not thinking too little of myself either. Simply understanding that I am God’s creation, He is my Creator, and my life makes the most sense when I live within that reality.
I am still learning this.
I am learning it in my home, in my marriage, in my work, in the courtroom, in leadership, and in the way I serve families and volunteers. I still wrestle with my desire to control. I still have moments when my flesh gets the better of me. But now I know where to take those things.
Back to Him.
Elisabeth Elliot taught me that suffering is never for nothing. She helped me understand that all things stand in the shadow of the cross, and that when I keep my eyes there, I can begin to count even the hardest things as joy—not because suffering is enjoyable, but because God is faithful to use even what I would never have chosen.
This is why I chose the name The Meek Momma all those years ago.
Content note: This study discusses sexual violence, physical abuse, and trauma in the context of Judges 19 and includes a personal testimony of surviving abuse.
There are chapters of Scripture that comfort us.
There are chapters that encourage us.
There are chapters that strengthen our hope, remind us of God’s faithfulness, and give us words to pray when our own words fail.
Judges 19 is not one of those chapters.
Judges 19 is meant to horrify us.
There is no deliverer.
There is no victory.
There is no miraculous rescue.
There is no repentance.
There is only a Levite, his concubine, an old man, a violent mob, a night of unspeakable abuse, the death of an unnamed woman, and a nation about to tear itself apart.
Judges 19 is one of the darkest chapters in all of Scripture.
And we should not rush through the darkness.
We should not soften the violence.
We should not turn the suffering of this woman into a convenient illustration.
We should not search so quickly for an encouraging application that we fail to sit beneath the weight of what the text is showing us.
Because Judges 19 is here for a reason.
The book of Judges has been showing us what happens when the people of God reject the rule of God.
Again and again, Israel has done what is right in their own eyes.
They have compromised.
They have worshiped idols.
They have reshaped God according to their preferences.
They have pursued comfort.
They have sought blessing without obedience.
They have built religions they could control.
And now, at the end of the book, we are shown where that road leads.
Israel has become indistinguishable from the nations around them.
Worse still, Israel has become like Sodom.
Before We Read
Before going any further, we need to acknowledge what this chapter contains.
Judges 19 describes sexual violence, abuse, dehumanization, and death.
The Bible records these events.
It does not approve of them.
Scripture is painfully honest about the evil human beings are capable of committing. The Bible does not hide the consequences of sin. It does not sanitize human depravity. It does not pretend that rebellion against God remains private, harmless, or contained.
Sin spreads.
Sin corrupts.
Sin dehumanizes.
And when people persistently reject the authority of God, other human beings bear the consequences.
The unnamed woman at the center of Judges 19 is not merely a literary device.
She is a human being made in the image of God.
She is sinned against.
She is abandoned.
She is violated.
She dies.
And the men surrounding her repeatedly treat her as though her life exists for their convenience.
We should allow the horror of that reality to trouble us.
The text intends for us to be troubled.
In Those Days There Was No King
Judges 19 begins with words we have heard before:
“In those days, when there was no king in Israel…”
This statement has become the theological backdrop of the final chapters of Judges.
Israel’s problem is not merely political.
Their deepest problem is spiritual.
There is no human king, but more importantly, Israel is living as though there is no divine King.
God has spoken.
God has given His law.
God has established His covenant.
God has told His people how to worship, how to pursue justice, how to treat the vulnerable, how to order their families, and how to live together as His holy people.
Yet everyone continues doing what is right in his own eyes.
Judges 19 shows us what happens when subjective morality reaches its logical conclusion.
When everyone becomes his own authority, the strong eventually decide what happens to the weak.
When personal desire becomes the highest standard, other people become objects to be used.
When God’s authority is rejected, human dignity does not increase.
It collapses.
A Levite Who Should Have Known Better
Once again, a Levite stands near the center of the story.
That should trouble us.
The Levites had been set apart for service connected to the worship of God.
If anyone should have known the Word of God, it was a Levite.
If anyone should have understood covenant faithfulness, justice, holiness, and the value of belonging to God, it was a Levite.
Yet the Levite in Judges 19 is not presented as a faithful spiritual leader.
He is part of the problem.
The chapter begins by introducing his concubine, who leaves him and returns to her father’s house in Bethlehem.
After four months, the Levite travels to persuade her to return.
Her father welcomes him enthusiastically.
For several days, the men eat, drink, and delay the journey.
Eventually, the Levite insists on leaving.
The decision is made late in the day.
As darkness approaches, the servant suggests that they stop in Jebus, the city that would later become Jerusalem.
But the Levite refuses.
Jebus is inhabited by foreigners.
He does not want to spend the night among people who are not Israelites.
Instead, he chooses to continue to Gibeah.
Surely they will be safer among the people of God.
They are not.
When Israel Became Sodom
The travelers arrive in Gibeah, a city belonging to the tribe of Benjamin.
They sit in the town square.
No one welcomes them.
Eventually, an old man returning from his work in the fields sees them and offers hospitality.
Then the story begins to sound disturbingly familiar.
The men of the city surround the house.
They demand that the Levite be brought outside so that they can sexually assault him.
The deliberate connection to Genesis 19 is difficult to miss.
In Genesis, the men of Sodom surround Lot’s house.
In Judges, the men of Gibeah surround the old man’s house.
In Genesis, the mob demands the male visitors.
In Judges, the mob demands the Levite.
The language is similar.
The circumstances are similar.
The depravity is similar.
But there is one devastating difference.
Gibeah is not a Canaanite city.
Gibeah belongs to Israel.
God had called Israel to be holy.
God had separated them from the nations.
God had given them His Word.
God had placed His name among them.
God had called them to display His character to the world.
But now the people who were supposed to be different have become indistinguishable from the people they were commanded not to imitate.
Israel has become Sodom.
This may be one of the most terrifying warnings in the entire book of Judges.
The people of God can live among the things of God, possess the Word of God, use the name of God, and still become increasingly unlike God.
Spiritual privilege does not make anyone immune to spiritual decay.
A people who repeatedly refuse to listen to God can eventually become unrecognizable as His people.
The Failure of Every Man in the Story
There are no heroes in Judges 19.
The men of Gibeah are wicked.
But they are not the only men who fail.
The old man offers the women of the household to the mob.
The Levite sends his concubine outside.
The men abuse her throughout the night.
In the morning, she collapses at the doorway of the house.
And when the Levite opens the door, he says:
“Get up, let us be going.”
There is no recorded grief.
No tenderness.
No attempt to help her.
No acknowledgment of what she has suffered.
When she does not respond, he places her body on his donkey and returns home.
The woman at the center of the story is repeatedly acted upon.
Men decide where she will go.
Men decide what will happen to her.
Men sacrifice her safety to protect themselves.
Men violate her.
Men speak over her.
Men use her death for their own purposes.
She is never given a voice.
And that silence is part of the horror.
The further Israel moves from the rule of God, the more vulnerable people suffer.
Throughout Scripture, the treatment of the vulnerable is repeatedly connected to the spiritual condition of God’s people.
When people love God, they are commanded to love their neighbor.
When people fear God, they are forbidden from using power merely for their own advantage.
When people reject God’s authority, power becomes something to seize, protect, and use.
Judges 19 shows us a society in which nearly everyone is protecting himself.
And the person with the least power pays the highest price.
The Banality of Evil
One of the most disturbing things about the final chapters of Judges is how ordinary everyone seems.
These are not monsters from another world.
They travel.
They eat meals.
They extend hospitality.
They have families.
They speak about God.
They belong to tribes.
They participate in religious life.
And yet beneath the ordinary surface lies profound moral corruption.
Evil does not always announce itself dramatically.
Sometimes it grows quietly.
Compromise after compromise.
Excuse after excuse.
Desire after desire.
People gradually become accustomed to what once would have horrified them.
Sin becomes normal.
Consciences become dull.
People learn to live with contradictions.
They speak the language of faith while living according to their own desires.
The final chapters of Judges show us what happens when rebellion becomes ordinary.
The people do not merely commit isolated acts of sin.
They inhabit an entire moral world in which everyone is doing what is right in his own eyes.
The Woman at the Door
There is an image near the end of the chapter that is difficult to forget.
Morning comes.
The door opens.
And the woman is lying at the threshold with her hands on the doorway.
She had almost reached shelter.
But the door remained closed.
There are times when careful Bible study requires us to resist the urge to turn every detail into a metaphor.
This woman does not need to become a symbol before we are willing to grieve what happened to her.
She was a person made in the image of God.
And she was treated as disposable.
The text does not give us her name.
But God saw her.
The men in this chapter use her.
Ignore her.
Abandon her.
Violate her.
Dismember her.
But the God who inspired Scripture does not allow Israel to forget her.
Her suffering becomes part of the testimony against a nation that has rejected its King.
Her presence in Scripture reminds us that God does not look away from the suffering human beings would prefer to ignore.
The Bible bears witness to victims whom powerful people would rather leave unnamed.
The God Who Saw Me Too
There is a reason I cannot read Judges 19 from a safe distance.
I know what it is like to be sexually abused.
For a long period of my life, I was sexually abused by my father. I was also sexually and physically abused by other men.
I know something of the deep wounds these kinds of sins leave behind.
I know what it is like to carry questions you do not know how to ask.
Does God see me?
Does He care about what happened?
Will there ever be justice?
Am I still worthy of being loved?
For many years, I did not know how to bring those questions to God. I did not know how to process what had happened to me within my theology.
Then I began learning to slow down when I read Scripture.
I stopped rushing past difficult passages.
I stopped assuming that the darkest stories in the Bible were obstacles to faith that needed to be explained away as quickly as possible.
And I began to see something I had missed.
God does not hide what evil does to people.
He does not call evil good.
He does not ask us to pretend that suffering does not matter.
He does not look away from the people others would prefer to forget.
Judges 19 does not allow us to forget this woman.
The text does not give us her name, but God preserved the testimony of what was done to her.
Her suffering is not hidden.
The evil committed against her is not erased.
Generation after generation has been forced to reckon with what happened in Gibeah because God allowed her story to remain in His Word.
And as I learned to see her, I began to understand more deeply that God saw me too.
I thought about Hagar.
She was a woman caught within the sinful decisions and abuses of power of other people.
She fled into the wilderness.
And there, the angel of the LORD found her.
He called her by name.
“Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?”
— Genesis 16:8
Hagar responded by giving God a name:
“You are a God of seeing.”
She said:
“Truly here I have seen Him who looks after me.”
— Genesis 16:13
Later, Hagar would find herself in the wilderness again, believing she was about to watch her son die.
She wept.
God heard.
And the angel of God called to her from heaven.
These passages began changing the way I understood God.
The God of Scripture is not the author of evil.
He is good.
He is just.
He sees.
He hears.
He knows.
And because He is faithful, He will keep every promise He has made.
That means evil will not be ignored forever.
Those who have harmed others will answer to God’s perfect justice.
Some of us may see justice in this life.
Some of us may not.
Human courts may fail.
People may refuse to believe us.
Those who committed evil may never acknowledge what they have done.
But there is no hidden thing that will remain hidden before the judgment of God.
The Judge of all the earth will do what is just.
For me, that truth did not make forgiveness unnecessary.
It made forgiveness possible.
I began to understand that forgiveness does not require me to call evil good.
It does not require me to pretend that justice does not matter.
It does not require me to deny what happened.
I can entrust final judgment to the God who sees perfectly, knows completely, and judges righteously.
And I can bring my wounds to Jesus.
The One who sees Hagar in the wilderness is the same God who came near to us in Christ.
Jesus saw women others ignored.
He welcomed people others rejected.
He touched those others considered unclean.
He drew near to the suffering.
He was betrayed.
He was stripped.
He was mocked.
He was beaten.
He was crucified.
And He willingly bore the judgment for sin so that sinners could be reconciled to God.
The cross taught me that God does not minimize evil.
Sin is so serious that the Son of God gave His life to save sinners from it.
And the resurrection taught me that evil, suffering, and death will not have the final word.
Slowly, the Old Testament and the New Testament began coming together for me.
The God who saw Hagar is the God who saw me.
The God who refused to let Israel forget the unnamed woman of Judges 19 had not forgotten me.
The righteous Judge before whom every evil will one day be exposed is also the Father who received me through His Son.
I began to understand that Jesus loved me deeply.
I began to receive the love of God instead of believing that what had been done to me determined my worth.
I began to seek forgiveness for my own sins.
I began learning to forgive others.
And I began trusting God with the justice I could not accomplish for myself.
These passages did not destroy my faith.
They deepened it.
They taught me that I do not need a Bible that looks away from evil.
I need a God who sees it more clearly than I ever could.
I do not need a God who offers shallow explanations for suffering.
I need the God who enters our suffering, judges with perfect justice, saves sinners through the blood of His Son, and promises that one day He will make all things new.
If you have experienced sexual violence, physical abuse, or other deep wounds, or if you love someone who has, I want you to know why I am willing to remain in difficult passages like Judges 19.
It is because I have found that slowing down in these passages has helped me know God more deeply.
You do not have to pretend that evil is less evil in order to trust Him.
You do not have to silence your grief.
You do not have to be afraid of your questions.
Bring them into the light of Scripture.
Learn the character of the God who sees.
Learn the justice of the God who will judge rightly.
Learn the mercy of the Savior who receives sinners.
Learn the love of the Father who gave His Son so that all who trust in Him might be reconciled to God.
My prayer is not merely that you will make it through the difficult chapters of the Bible with your faith intact.
My prayer is that, as you slow down and see the God who has revealed Himself there, your faith will deepen too.
The God who saw Hagar sees.
The God who preserved the testimony of the unnamed woman remembers.
The God who gave His Son saves.
And the King who is coming will judge the world in righteousness.
Come and see the God who sees.
Where Is God?
One of the unsettling realities of Judges 19 is the apparent silence of God.
There is no divine speech.
No angel appears.
No miracle interrupts the violence.
No deliverer arrives.
Where is God?
The answer is not that God has disappeared.
The entire book has shown us a people repeatedly refusing to listen to Him.
God has spoken.
Israel possesses His covenant.
Israel has His law.
Israel knows His commands.
The tragedy is not that God failed to reveal what righteousness looks like.
The tragedy is that Israel has rejected what God has revealed.
We must also be careful not to confuse God’s silence in the narrative with God’s indifference to suffering.
The chapter itself stands as testimony against Israel.
God has preserved the record of what happened.
The evil in Gibeah is not hidden from Him.
The suffering of the woman is not forgotten.
Judges 19 shows us what life looks like when human beings insist upon doing what is right in their own eyes.
And it leaves us longing for judgment, rescue, and a righteous King.
Outrage Is Not Repentance
The Levite takes the woman’s body and divides it into twelve pieces.
He sends the pieces throughout the territory of Israel.
The act is horrifying.
The response is immediate.
The people of Israel say:
“Such a thing has never happened or been seen from the day that the people of Israel came up out of the land of Egypt until this day; consider it, take counsel, and speak.”
Israel is finally shocked.
After years of idolatry.
After generations of compromise.
After repeated rejection of God’s covenant.
After everyone has done what is right in his own eyes.
Israel has finally found a sin terrible enough to produce national outrage.
But outrage is not the same thing as repentance.
It is possible to be horrified by the sins of others while remaining blind to the sin within ourselves.
It is possible to correctly identify evil and still respond to evil in ways that reveal our own estrangement from God.
That is where Judges 20 will take us.
The nation will gather.
The people will demand justice.
A civil war will begin.
Thousands will die.
And the people who are outraged by Gibeah will continue demonstrating that the deepest problem in Israel cannot be contained within one city.
The problem is everywhere.
The Road to Gibeah Was Longer Than One Night
Israel did not become Sodom overnight.
The violence of Judges 19 is the fruit of seeds planted throughout the entire book.
Israel compromised with the Canaanites.
Israel tolerated idolatry.
Israel abandoned covenant faithfulness.
Israel repeatedly cried out to God when suffering became unbearable, only to return to rebellion when relief arrived.
Israel treated God as a means of obtaining blessing rather than as their King.
By Judges 17, Micah has created his own religion.
By Judges 18, the tribe of Dan has established institutionalized idolatry.
By Judges 19, Israel has become Sodom.
This is the trajectory of sin.
Sin rarely tells us where it intends to take us.
It asks only for the next compromise.
The next excuse.
The next small act of disobedience.
The next moment when we decide that what seems right in our own eyes matters more than what God has said.
Judges 19 forces us to see the destination.
We Need a Righteous King
The book of Judges has shown us judge after judge.
Some were faithful.
Some were deeply flawed.
Some delivered Israel from external enemies while remaining unable to change the hearts of God’s people.
But now there is no judge.
There is no deliverer.
There is no faithful leader standing between the vulnerable and those who would destroy them.
The repeated refrain tells us what Israel lacks:
“In those days there was no king in Israel.”
But Israel does not merely need someone wearing a crown.
Israel needs a righteous King.
A King who will not exploit the weak.
A King who will not sacrifice others to save Himself.
A King who knows the Word of God and obeys it perfectly.
A King who sees the forgotten.
A King who defends the vulnerable.
A King who judges evil without becoming evil.
A King who can deal not only with the enemies surrounding God’s people, but with the sin dwelling within them.
Judges leaves us longing for such a King.
The gospel tells us His name.
The King Who Gave Himself
The men in Judges 19 preserve themselves by giving up someone else.
Jesus does the opposite.
Christ does not sacrifice the vulnerable to save Himself.
He gives Himself to save sinners.
The Good Shepherd does not abandon the sheep when the wolves come.
He lays down His life for the sheep.
Jesus does not use His power to protect Himself from suffering.
He willingly enters suffering.
He is betrayed.
He is mocked.
He is beaten.
He is condemned.
He is crucified.
Not because humanity is innocent.
But because humanity is guilty.
At the cross, we see both the horror of human sin and the holiness of God.
The cross does not minimize evil.
It reveals how serious sin truly is.
The righteous King bears judgment in the place of His people.
Judges 19 shows us human beings sacrificing others to save themselves.
The gospel shows us the Son of God giving Himself to save sinners.
Jesus Christ is the King Israel needed.
And He is the King we need.
The King Who Sees
Judges 19 reminds us that human beings can overlook suffering.
Communities can normalize injustice.
Religious people can become indifferent.
Powerful people can protect themselves.
Victims can remain unnamed.
But God sees.
God hears.
God knows.
And God will judge rightly.
The gospel does not ask us to pretend evil is less terrible than it is.
The gospel tells us that evil will not have the final word.
Jesus Christ was crucified.
Jesus Christ was buried.
Jesus Christ rose from the dead.
Jesus Christ reigns.
And one day the King who sees every injustice will judge the world in righteousness.
Every hidden thing will be brought into the light.
Every wrong will be answered according to perfect justice.
For those who belong to Christ, the promise of His kingdom means that suffering, violence, injustice, and death will not endure forever.
The King is coming.
Behold Him, Not Me
Judges 19 is difficult to read because it shows us what human beings become when we reject the rule of God.
Israel was called to be holy.
Israel was called to be different.
Israel was called to display the character of God among the nations.
Instead, Israel became Sodom.
The warning should humble us.
We should never assume that religious language, biblical knowledge, church attendance, ministry involvement, or spiritual heritage makes us immune to compromise.
We need more than outrage over the sins of the world.
We need more than moral reform.
We need more than better circumstances.
We need new hearts.
We need forgiveness.
We need righteousness we cannot produce for ourselves.
We need a King.
Judges leaves us searching for Him.
The rest of Scripture tells us His name.
Jesus Christ.
The righteous King.
The faithful Shepherd.
The One who sees the forgotten.
The One who judges with perfect justice.
The One who gave Himself to save sinners.
When everyone does what is right in his own eyes, look to the King.
When the world becomes accustomed to evil, look to the King.
When religious people fail, look to the King.
When human justice proves insufficient, look to the King.
When the darkness seems unbearable, look to the King.
Behold Him.
Heart Check
Am I more skilled at identifying the sins of others than examining the compromises within my own heart?
Have I become comfortable with things that Scripture calls evil?
Are there areas of my life where personal preference has become more authoritative than the Word of God?
Do I assume that being surrounded by Christian things is the same as faithfully following Christ?
How do I respond when obedience to Jesus requires me to protect, serve, or speak for people who have less power than I do?
Do I merely feel outrage over evil, or does the reality of sin lead me toward repentance, prayer, obedience, and trust in Christ?
Where am I tempted to protect myself at the expense of others?
Do I truly believe that Jesus is the righteous King I need—not only to judge the evil around me, but to save me from the sin within me?
Prayer
Father,
Judges 19 is difficult to read.
The violence is horrifying. The suffering is real. The depth of human sin is difficult to comprehend.
Yet Your Word refuses to hide what happens when people reject Your rule and do what is right in their own eyes.
Search my heart.
Show me where I have become comfortable with compromise.
Show me where I am quicker to condemn the sins of others than to repent of my own.
Guard me from a faith that knows Your Word but refuses to submit to it.
Teach me to see people as those made in Your image.
Give me courage to protect the vulnerable, speak truth, pursue justice, and refuse to make peace with evil.
For those reading who carry wounds caused by the evil of others, draw near to them.
Help them know that You see.
Help them know that You hear.
Help them know that evil is not hidden from You and that Your justice will not fail.
Lead them to the Savior who receives sinners, binds up the brokenhearted, and will one day make all things new.
And when the darkness of human sin feels overwhelming, turn our eyes toward Christ.
Thank You for giving us the King we could never produce for ourselves.
Thank You that Jesus did not sacrifice others to save Himself, but willingly gave Himself to save sinners.
Thank You that He sees the forgotten, receives the repentant, judges rightly, and reigns forever.
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.
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.
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.
Bible Study Notes
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.
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.”
Key Takeaways
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.
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.
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?
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:
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.
Choosing silence instead of speaking truth.
Prioritizing comfort over calling.
Justifying small compromises because they “make sense.”
Trusting our logic over God’s Word.
Like Israel, we can convince ourselves that partial obedience is enough.
But God doesn’t call us to what is convenient—He calls us to what is faithful.
Obedience Requires Dependence
Judges 1 reminds us of something critical: God’s commands are not given because we are strong enough, but because He is faithful enough.
Israel’s failure wasn’t just military—it was spiritual. They relied on their own reasoning instead of God’s power.
And we’re prone to do the same.
True obedience flows from dependence. It says:
God, Your way is better—even when it’s harder.
Your wisdom is greater—even when I don’t understand.
Your commands are for my good—even when they cost me something.
Final Reflection
Where in your life has convenience quietly replaced obedience?
Where have you settled for “almost” instead of fully trusting God?
The call of Scripture is clear: not partial obedience, not delayed obedience, not convenient obedience—but wholehearted, faithful surrender.
Because in the end, obedience isn’t about restriction—it’s about trust.
There are days when faith feels steady… and days when it feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion of motherhood. Maybe it’s the weight of unanswered prayers. Maybe it’s just the quiet doubt that creeps in when life doesn’t look how you thought it would.
And in those moments, we don’t just need encouragement—we need truth.
That’s exactly where Psalm 103 meets us.
More Than Forgiveness
In verses 3–5, we’re given a breathtaking picture of God’s heart:
He forgives—yes. But He doesn’t stop there.
He redeems your life from the pit. He restores what feels broken. He crowns you with steadfast love and mercy.
God is not doing the bare minimum in your life. He is abundantly, intentionally caring for you—even in ways you don’t yet see.
Who God Is (Even When Life Feels Uncertain)
As the psalm continues, we’re reminded of truths that don’t shift with our circumstances:
God is patient by nature (v. 8)
He does not treat us as our sins deserve (v. 10)
His forgiveness is complete and final (v. 12)
His compassion is relational, not distant (v. 13)
He knows your weakness (v. 14)
His mercy is continuous, not temporary (v. 17)
His love is covenant love—steady, committed, unbreaking
This is who God is—not just on your good days, but on your worst ones too.
Worship Isn’t Built on Feelings
Here’s where this psalm gently corrects us:
Worship is not emotional first—it’s theological first.
We don’t worship because we feel close to God. We worship because He is worthy, whether our feelings cooperate or not.
That truth is freeing.
Because if worship depended on our emotions, we’d all fall short. But it doesn’t—it rests on the unchanging character of God.
The God Who Never Changes
Psalm 103 intentionally echoes Exodus 34:6–7, where God declares His own nature:
“The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love…”
What God proclaimed about Himself then—His people experienced as true.
And it’s still true today.
He has not changed. Not in your waiting. Not in your struggles. Not in your questions.
The Reality We Can’t Ignore
This psalm doesn’t ignore hard truths:
Sin is real. Judgment is deserved. Redemption is costly. Mercy is intentional.
And yet—God chose mercy.
He chose to redeem. He chose to love. He chose you.
Oh, How You Are Loved
If you walk away with anything today, let it be this:
You are not held together by your ability to “get it right.” You are held by a God whose love is steadfast, patient, and unchanging.
So when your feelings waver… When your strength feels thin… When you forget who He is…
The Meek Momma 