When You Don't Know What Comes Next

 

When You Don’t Know What Comes Next

“Seth also had a son, and he named him Enosh. At that time people began to call on the name of the Lord.” (Genesis 4:26)

There are some verses in the Bible that arrive with trumpets. The Red Sea parts. Fire falls from heaven. Goliath hits the ground. Lazarus walks out of the tomb. And then there’s Genesis 4:26. A baby is born. His name is Enosh. And people start praying. That's it. There’s no parted sea. No fire. No giant falling over. Just a child being born and people beginning to call on the name of the Lord. But sometimes the quiet verses contain the loudest truths because Genesis 4:26 comes at the end of a very dark chapter.

Cain has murdered Abel. Adam and Eve have buried a son. Another son has become a wanderer. Violence is spreading. Sin has moved from the garden into the family and from the family into society. Imagine Adam and Eve sitting at the dinner table. There’s an empty chair where Abel should have been, and somewhere far away is Cain. They knew what Eden had been like. They remembered walking with God in the garden. They remembered life before shame, before blame, before graves. And now nothing looked the way they thought it would. Then Seth is born. Later Seth has a son named Enosh. And Scripture quietly says: “At that time people began to call on the name of the Lord.” They couldn't go back to Eden. They couldn't undo what Cain had done. They couldn't bring Abel back. They couldn't predict what would happen next. But they could call on God. That’s faith.

We sometimes imagine that mature Christians walk around with answers to everything. Most of us don't live there. Sometimes our most spiritual prayer sounds more like: “Lord, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.” And there’s something wonderfully biblical about that prayer. Sometimes we approach God the way men approach the instruction manual that came with something requiring assembly. We don't actually want to read it. We just want to know why there are three screws left over. You put the whole thing together, stand back proudly, and your wife says, “Is it supposed to lean like that?” “Absolutely. That's a design feature.” Then you finally open the instructions. Life can feel like that.

We have plans. Expectations. Timelines. We think we know how the pieces are supposed to fit. Then suddenly there are three screws left over and the whole thing is leaning. Genesis 4:26 says that when life no longer made sense, people began to call on the name of the Lord. But notice what the verse doesn't say. It doesn't say: “At that time everybody figured everything out.” It doesn't say: “At that time God explained everything.” It doesn't even say: “At that time everything got better.” It simply says they called. Genesis 4:26 doesn't give us a resolution; it gives us a posture.

There are things in life we can fix. Flat tire? Fix it. Leaky faucet? Fix it — or call somebody who actually knows what he or she's doing before the small leak becomes an indoor swimming pool. But there are other things we can’t fix. You can’t fix yesterday. You can’t force someone to love you. You can’t guarantee tomorrow. You can’t make every medical test come back the way you want. You can’t control your children or grandchildren forever. You can’t make another person make the right decision. You can’t prevent every disappointment.

And one of life's hardest lessons is discovering that there are burdens we were never strong enough to carry. The people of Genesis 4 discovered that. And what did they do? They called on God. That phrase appears again and again throughout Scripture. Abraham built an altar and “called on the name of the Lord.” (Genesis 12:8) David wrote: “I call to the Lord, who is worthy of praise.” (Psalm 18:3) Jeremiah records God's invitation: “Call to me and I will answer you.” (Jeremiah 33:3) God's people are calling. Why? Because calling on God is an admission: I need someone greater than me. That’s not a weakness. That’s faith.

Most of us would prefer certainty. We want God to tell us how everything will turn out. “Lord, I'll trust You. I just need a detailed explanation, a timeline, three references, and preferably something notarized.” But God rarely gives us that. Instead, He gives us Himself. Proverbs 3:5 says: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” We like the “trust in the Lord” part; it's the “lean not on your own understanding” part that gets a little uncomfortable. Most of us are pretty fond of our understanding. We consult it regularly. And occasionally our understanding says, “God, I think You're doing this wrong.” Maybe you've had that conversation. “Lord, I'm not trying to tell You how to run the universe, but I do have a suggestion.” And heaven somehow continues operating without our assistance.

Faith is learning that I do not need to understand everything God is doing in order to trust the God who is doing it. That’s what makes Genesis 4:26 so powerful. They called on God before they knew how the story would end. And maybe that’s exactly where you are today. You're waiting. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for something to change. Waiting for somebody else to change. Waiting for healing. Waiting to discover whether the thing you've been praying about is going to turn out the way you hope. And waiting has a strange effect on time. Five minutes waiting for your food at a restaurant is reasonable. But five minutes after the person who arrived fifteen minutes after you getting his or her food? “My server has clearly forgotten all about me.” Waiting makes us restless. Spiritual waiting does the same thing.

We begin wondering: “God, where are You?” “Did You hear me?” “Have You forgotten me?” But Scripture repeatedly teaches us that God's silence is not God's absence. Psalm 46:1 says: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” Not an occasionally present help. Not a present help only when everything makes sense. Ever-present. So, call from where you are. You don't have to wait until your faith feels stronger. You don't have to clean up the prayer. You don't have to pretend. Sometimes the most honest prayer is: “God, I'm scared.” “God, I'm angry.” “God, I'm tired.” “God, I don't understand.” Peter prayed one of the shortest prayers in Scripture while sinking in the water: “Lord, save me!” (Matthew 14:30) Not especially eloquent. No introduction. No three points. No closing illustration. Just three words. But Peter knew who to call. Sometimes you don't need a long prayer. You just need the right name.

There’s another beautiful detail in Genesis 4:26. It doesn't say merely that Seth called upon God. It says: “People began to call on the name of the Lord.” That matters because suffering often tempts us to isolate ourselves. When we're hurting, embarrassed, confused, or disappointed, our instinct can be to withdraw. But God gave us one another. Galatians 6:2 says: “Carry each other's burdens.” Sometimes you need someone to pray with you because you've run out of words. Sometimes you need someone beside you who can say: “I don't know what God is doing either, but I'll sit here with you while we trust Him.”

That may be one of the greatest gifts one Christian can give another. Not an explanation, but presence. Not, “I know exactly why God allowed this,” but “Let's call on Him together.” And here’s perhaps the most important thing about Genesis 4:26. After people began calling on God, Genesis 5 begins. And people still die. Then Genesis 6 comes, and humanity becomes even more corrupt. Calling on God did not instantly remove the brokenness of the world, and following Christ doesn’t mean we’re promised a life without grief, uncertainty, illness, disappointment, or unanswered questions. Jesus never promised that. He promised something better: “I am with you always.” (Matthew 28:20) The promise is not: You will always understand. The promise is: You will never be alone. That’s a pretty big difference.

Maybe you've driven somewhere unfamiliar with someone who knows exactly where you're going. You have no idea where you are. You're looking around thinking, “This can’t possibly be right.” But the driver isn't worried. Why? Because he knows the road. Sometimes faith is sitting in the passenger seat saying: “I don't recognize this road, Lord.” And God says: “I do.” “But this isn't where I thought we were going.” “I know.” “I don't understand.” “You don't have to understand the whole road. Trust the One who’s driving.” That’s faith.

The people in Genesis 4 didn't know what the next chapter held, and neither do we. None of us knows what next month will bring. You may have carefully planned out the next five years. That's wonderful. God has probably enjoyed reading your plans. But eventually life brings us to places where our calendar cannot help us, our experience cannot solve, and our strength cannot carry. And when that happens, Genesis 4:26 whispers across thousands of years: Call on the name of the Lord. You don't need to know what comes next. You need to know Who is with you when it comes. Psalm 50:15 says: “Call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you will honor me.” So, call.

Call when you're confident. Call when you're frightened. Call when you understand. Call when nothing makes sense. Call when the answer comes. Call while you're still waiting. Call when your faith feels strong. And call when all you can manage is: “Jesus, help me.” Because faith is not pretending uncertainty doesn't exist. Faith is deciding who you will trust in the middle of the uncertainty. Seth had a son. His name was Enosh. The world was still broken. Abel was still gone. Cain was still wandering. Eden was still behind them. The future was still uncertain. But something had changed. People began to lift their eyes toward heaven. They began to call upon the name of the Lord. And perhaps that’s God's invitation to us today. You may not know how your situation will end. You may not know what tomorrow holds. You may not understand what God is doing. And that's all right because when you don’t know what comes next, call on Him. All you really need to know is His name.

Grace,

Randy

God's at Work in the Ordinary

 

God’s at Work in the Ordinary

God's at Work in the Ordinary - Audio/Visual 

“Zillah also had a son, Tubal-Cain, who forged all kinds of tools out of bronze and iron. Tubal-Cain’s sister was Naamah.” (Genesis 4:22)

              Now, if you’re reading through Genesis, you might be tempted to say, “Okay… Tubal-Cain. Bronze and iron. Naamah. Got it. I’m moving on.” It’s not exactly the verse you would put on a coffee mug. You don’t usually hear someone say, “My life’s verse is Genesis 4:22.” He forged tools, worked with bronze and iron and his sister’s name is Naamah. That’s it. No great sermon. No Red Sea parting. No giant falling. No burning bush. Just a man doing his work. And yet God thought his life, including his sister’s, was worth mentioning. That’s because God sees the ordinary.

Sometimes we imagine that God is primarily interested in the big moments of our lives. We think God is interested when we get married, when we have a baby, when we get the promotion, when we retire, when we buy a house, when we sell a house, when we finally get the answer to the prayer we’ve been praying for ten years. But Genesis 4:22 reminds us that God is also interested in the ordinary.

Tubal-Cain was apparently good at making things. He worked with metal. He forged tools. He probably went to work, came home, ate dinner, went to bed, got up the next morning and did it all over again. Sound familiar? Most of us live much more like Tubal-Cain than Moses – we don’t wake up every morning expecting a burning bush in the backyard. We wake up and look for our glasses. And if you're like me, you may have to find your glasses before you can find your phone so you can see what you missed while you were asleep. We look at the calendar. We check he weather. We take care of the house. We pay the bills. We mow the lawn. We fix things. We make appointments. We take care of family. We go to the grocery store and wonder how four bags of groceries can cost $187.69. And somewhere in the middle of all that ordinary stuff, we sometimes wonder: “Does any of this really matter to God?” Genesis 4:22 says, “Yes,” because God sees the ordinary. In fact, you may be forging something you cannot see.

We live in a world where everything seems to move at incredible speed. We can order something on our phone in the morning and have it sitting on our doorstep that afternoon. We can send a message to somebody on the other side of the country and get an answer almost immediately. We can video-chat with somebody thousands of miles away. We can even ask artificial intelligence a question and get an answer before we've finished thinking about the question itself. But God still works at a different pace. We want instant answers, but God often works through long seasons. We want the microwave; God sometimes gives us the crockpot.

Tubal-Cain, for his part, forged tools. And there’s something intriguing about forging. You take something that looks rough and unfinished, and you put it into the fire. Then you hammer it. You shape it. You heat it again. You hammer it again. And eventually something useful begins to emerge. Now, if you were the piece of metal, you’d probably be thinking, “This is not going well.” You didn't ask for the fire. You didn't ask for the hammer. And you certainly didn't ask for somebody to keep pounding you with it. But the craftsman knows what the metal doesn’t  – he knows what he’s making. And that's exactly where we are with God. The metal doesn't understand the blacksmith's plan, but the blacksmith does.

The truth is that we live in a “microwave” world. We live in a culture that wants everything instantly. We want instant coffee. Instant messaging. Instant downloads. Instant photos. Instant answers. And now we have artificial intelligence that can draft a 2,000-word essay before you've even finished typing the topic. We've gotten incredibly good at making things happen quickly. But God has never seemed particularly impressed with our timetable.

And then, all of a sudden, you’re looking at your own life and thinking, “Why doesn't my life look like Sally’s?” But remember you're comparing your everyday life to somebody else's highlight reel. Most people don't post the picture of the broken water heater, the argument they had that morning, the unexpected bill or the three hours they spent waiting for customer service in India to answer the phone. We see everybody else's finished product while God may still be working on our foundation. And just because we cannot see what God is doing doesn’t mean God is doing nothing. In fact, the work you’re doing may be preparing you for something you cannot see.

Tubal-Cain didn't know what his tools would eventually accomplish. He didn't have the benefit of looking backward through history. He just knew what was in front of him. He had metal. He had fire. He had a hammer and he had work to do. And sometimes that's all God gives us. So, what’s in front of you today? Maybe you're raising children. Maybe you're caring for an aging parent. Maybe you're working at a job that isn't your dream job. Maybe you're rebuilding after a disappointment. Maybe you're learning something new. Maybe you're trying to become the person God wants you to become. Maybe you're praying for something that hasn't happened yet. Maybe you're simply trying to remain faithful when life isn't turning out the way you expected. But don't despise the season. God often does some of His greatest work in the seasons that look the least impressive.

David spent years watching sheep before he ever wore a crown. Joseph spent years in places he never expected to be before God opened the door for which he had been waiting. Moses spent forty years in the wilderness before God called him to confront Pharaoh. And Tubal-Cain? He forged tools. Sometimes preparation looks remarkably ordinary.

And then there’s the other detail in Genesis 4:22. It says: “Tubal-Cain’s sister was Naamah.” Why tell us her name? We don't know anything about Naamah, plus that’s the name we use for our grandma. Scripture doesn't give us her biography. We don't know what she accomplished. We don't know what her résumé looked like. We don't know whether she ever stood in front of a crowd or accomplished something that history would call great. But God recorded her name. Naamah. God remembers people we would forget. Think about that. Thousands of years later, we're talking about her because God decided that her name belonged in the story. And that ought to encourage somebody who feels forgotten. Because you may not be famous. Your name may not appear in a newspaper. You may not have thousands of followers. You may not have a book written about you. You may not have a statue somewhere. And frankly, some of us are perfectly happy with that. But God knows your name. God doesn’t measure your life by how many people notice you. He measures it by your faithfulness to Him.

Don’t confuse hidden with forgotten because there’s a big difference. A seed is hidden before it grows. A foundation is hidden beneath a building. Roots are hidden beneath the ground. The most important part of a tree may be the part that nobody ever sees. It’s not forgotten; it’s just hidden.

And sometimes God has us in a hidden season because He's developing something beneath the surface. You can't see the roots growing. You can't see the character being formed. You can't see the wisdom developing. You can't see how today's experience will connect with tomorrow's assignment. But that doesn't mean nothing is happening. In fact, something may very well be happening precisely because you can’t see it yet. It’s like a building under construction. When you drive past it during its early stages, sometimes all you see is a big hole in the ground with dirt everywhere. Trucks are coming and going. It doesn't look like much. But underneath all that dirt, they're building the foundation. Nobody drives by and says, “Look at that beautiful foundation!” But without the foundation, there wouldn’t be much of a building. You may be in a foundation season right now, and foundation work is often underground. It's hidden. It's slow. And it's not very exciting. But it’s absolutely necessary and certainly not forgotten.

So, what do we do while we're waiting? We do what Tubal-Cain did. We work with what God has placed in our hands. We use the gifts He has given us. We remain faithful in the responsibilities He's entrusted to us. We don't have to know the whole plan. We don't have to control the timeline. We don't have to understand every circumstance. We simply have to trust the Craftsman. Maybe today you're holding a hammer and wondering why God hasn't given you a crown. Maybe you're holding a set of tools and wondering why God hasn't opened the door. Maybe you're in the workshop wondering when the masterpiece is going to appear. Keep working. Keep trusting. Keep praying. Keep obeying. Keep becoming the person God is calling you to become. Because waiting doesn’t mean that God’s doing nothing. Sometimes waiting is where God is doing His deepest work. That’s because God is in the details.

Genesis 4:22 is easy to skip and, perhaps, that's part of the lesson. God is telling us that He’s present not only in the spectacular moments, but also in the details. In the workshop. In the kitchen. At the office. In the classroom. In the hospital room. At the kitchen table. In the retirement years. In the season of uncertainty. In the unanswered prayer. In the ordinary Tuesday afternoon. God is there.

So, if you're in a season today where you can't see what God is doing, don't assume He's absent. If the answer hasn't come, don't assume God’s forgotten you. If the door hasn't opened, don't assume God isn't preparing you. And if your life feels ordinary, don't assume it’s insignificant. Tubal-Cain forged tools. Naamah was remembered by name. And God was at work in the details. You may not be able to see what God is building. You may not understand why the process is taking so long. You may not know how today's faithfulness connects to tomorrow's purpose. But you can trust the Craftsman. Because the One who holds the future also holds you while you wait for it. And sometimes the most faithful thing you can say is simply: “Lord, I may not understand what you’re doing, but I trust You. You’re at work in the ordinary — even in the ordinary moments of people just like me.

Grace,

Randy

Trusting God When Life Says "But"

 

Trusting God When Life Says "But"

Trusting God When Life Says "But" 

Then King David rose to his feet and said, “Listen to me, my brethren and my people; I had intended to build a permanent home for the ark of the covenant of the Lord and for the footstool of our God. So, I had made preparations to build it. But God said to me, ‘You shall not build a house for my name because you are a man of war and have shed blood.’ Yet, the Lord, the God of Israel, chose me from all the house of my father to be king over Israel forever. For he has chosen Judah to be a leader; and in the house of Judah, my father’s house, and among the sons of my father he took pleasure in me to make me king over all Israel. (1 Chron. 28:2-4)

“I had intended . . . .” The David who speaks those words is now quite old. The hands that once swung a sling now hang quietly. The feet that had danced before the ark now shuffle. Though his eyes are still sharp, his hair is gray and his skin sags beneath his beard. “I had intended . . . .” A huge crowd had come to listen – courtiers, counselors, chamberlains and caretakers. They had assembled at David’s command. But the king is tired, and the time for his departure is near. So, they listen intently as he speaks. “I had intended to . . . .” That’s kind of an odd way to start a farewell speech. David doesn’t mention what he did, but what he wanted to do, yet couldn’t. “I had intended to build a permanent home for the ark of the covenant of the Lord and for the footstool of our God.” (1 Chron. 28:2)

A temple. David had wanted to build a temple. What he had done for Israel, he wanted to do for the ark — protect it. What he’d done with Jerusalem, he wanted to do with the temple — establish it. And who better than David to do that? Hadn’t he, literally, authored the book on worship? Didn’t he rescue the ark of the covenant? The temple would have been his swan song, his signature act. David had expected to dedicate his final years to building a shrine to God. At least, that was his intention; his plan.

So, he’d prepared – architects chosen; builders selected; blueprints and plans, drawings and numbers; temple columns sketched; steps designed. “I had intended.” “I had made preparations,” David said. Intentions. Preparations. But no temple. Why? Did David get discouraged? No, he stood ready, willing and able for the task. Were the people resistant? Hardly; they gave generously. Were resources scarce? Far from it. David “supplied more bronze than could be weighed, and . . . more cedar logs than could be counted.” (1 Chron. 22:3–4) So what happened? A conjunction – that’s what happened.

Conjunctions operate as the signal lights at the cross-roads of sentences. Some, like the word “and” are green lights – they mean, “Go!” Others, like the word “however,” are yellow – “Caution.” But a few conjunctions are red. Like fire engine red. They stop you. And David got a red light. “I had made preparations to build it. But God said to me, ‘You shall not build a house for my name because you are a man of war and have shed blood. . . . Your son Solomon is the one who shall build my house and my courts.’” (1 Chron. 28:2–3, 6) David’s bloodthirsty temperament had cost him the temple-building privilege, and all he could say was: I intended; I prepared; but God.

 Do you know anyone who’s uttered similar words? That God had different plans than they did? One man, for instance, waited until his mid-thirties to marry. Resolved to select the right spouse, he prayerfully took his time. When he found her, they moved west, bought a ranch and began their life together. After three short years, she was killed in a tragic accident. He had intended. He’d made preparations. But God. A young couple turned a room into a nursery. They papered the walls, refinished a baby crib, selected the name, but then the wife miscarried. They’d intended. They’d prepared. But God. Or take Willem for example.

Willem wanted to preach. By the age of twenty-five, he’d experienced enough life to know he was a perfect fit for the ministry. He sold art, taught language and traded in books. He’d made a living, but it wasn’t a life. His life was in the church. His passion was with the people. So, his passion took him to the coalfields of southern Belgium. There, in the spring of 1879, this Dutchman began to minister to the simple, hardworking miners of Borinage. But within weeks his passion was tested. A mining disaster had injured dozens in the village. So, Willem nursed the wounded and fed the hungry. He even scraped the slag heaps to give his people fuel. And after the rubble was cleared and the dead were buried, the young preacher had earned a place in their hearts – the tiny church overflowed with people hungry for his simple messages of love. Young Willem was doing what he’d always dreamed of doing. But . . . .

One day his superior came to visit. Willem’s lifestyle shocked his boss. The young preacher wore an old soldier’s coat. His pants were cut from sackcloth, and he lived in a simple hut. Willem giving his salary to the people explained his poverty. The church official was wholly unimpressed. “You look more pitiful than the people you came to teach,” he said. Willem asked him if Jesus wouldn’t have done the same, but his boss would have none of it. This was not the proper appearance for a minister, and he dismissed Willem from the ministry. The young man was devastated. He only wanted to build a church. He only wanted to honor God. Why wouldn’t God let him do this work? He’d intended. He’d made preparations. But God.

What do you do with the “but God” moments in your life? When God interrupts your good plans and careful preparation, how do you respond? The man who lost his wife didn’t respond well; he lives in a fog of anger and bitterness. The young couple is coping better. They stay active in church and prayerful about a child. And Willem? Now that’s another story altogether. But before we get back to Willem, what about David? When God changed David’s plans, how did he respond?

He followed the “but God” with a “yet God.” Yet, the Lord, the God of Israel, chose me from all the house of my father to be king over Israel forever. For he has chosen Judah to be a leader; and in the house of Judah, my father’s house, and among the sons of my father he took pleasure in me to make me king over all Israel. (1 Chron. 28:4) Reduce that paragraph to a phrase and it reads something like, “Who am I to complain?” David had gone from runt to royalty; from herding sheep to leading armies; from sleeping in the pasture to living in a palace. When you’re given an ice cream sundae, you don't complain about a missing cherry. David faced the giant of disappointment with, “yet God.” David trusted God. And so did Willem.

 Initially, Willem was hurt and angry. He lingered in the small village of Borinage, not knowing exactly where to turn. But one afternoon he noticed an old miner bending beneath an enormous weight of coal. Caught by the poignancy of the moment, Willem began to sketch the weary figure. His first attempt was pretty crude, but then he tried again. And although he didn’t know it at the time, that’s when Willem discovered his true calling. Not the robe of a clergy, but the frock of an artist. Not the pulpit of a pastor, but the palette of a painter. Not the ministry of words, but of images. The young man the leader would not accept became an artist the world could not resist: Vincent Willem van Gogh. You see, his “but God” became a “yet God.” And who’s to say yours can’t be the same?

“’For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord. ‘They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.’” (Jer. 29:11) Many times, unfortunately, we don’t even know our own minds and fear that God’s plans are against us. But there’s no uncertainty with God, and even the things that may appear evil are for our good. God doesn’t give us the expectations of our fears, as many times we suppose, but rewards us in keeping with the expectations of our faith.

So, if you ever have one of those “but God” moments, be like David – try trusting God when life says, “but” and then marvel at how far he’s brought you back to the future. In other words, when life says “but” let your faith say “yet.”

Grace,

Randy