Unfold Your Hands

 

Unfold Your Hands

The fool folds his hands and eats his own flesh. (Ecclesiastes 4:5)

There’s a special kind of confidence that comes from putting something on a list. You write it down, underline it, and immediately feel productive. You haven’t done the thing, but you have purchased a notebook worthy of the thing. Some of us have organized our procrastination so beautifully that it deserves its own ministry. And we laugh because we recognize ourselves. There’s a conversation we keep postponing, an apology we keep rehearsing, a responsibility we keep explaining away. We say we’re waiting for the right moment. Sometimes we are. Sometimes we’re hoping the right moment will arrive carrying tools and do the work for us. Into that familiar struggle comes Ecclesiastes 4:5: “The fool folds his hands and eats his own flesh.”

That’s strong language. It describes the self-destructive consequences of refusing to work. But the surrounding passage matters. The next verse commends a handful with quietness over two handfuls gained through toil and chasing the wind. Wisdom teaches us to live faithfully between restless ambition and destructive neglect. God is not measuring your worth by the length of your calendar. Your body needs sleep. Your mind needs quiet. Grief needs room. Illness may require treatment and a slower pace. Jesus himself invited his disciples to come away and rest in Mark 6:31. The exhausted person who needs restoration is not the target of this rebuke. The question is whether our stillness helps us receive what God gives or avoid what God asks.

A garden doesn’t become healthier because we refuse to enter it. Weeds have never gathered for a meeting and said, “Let’s respect the homeowner’s busy season.” Neglect has momentum. So do neglected relationships. Silence can harden into distance. An unspoken hurt can become settled resentment. A small financial problem can grow while unopened envelopes collect on the counter. In our lives, the self-destruction pictured in this verse can look like peace, trust, opportunity, or strength gradually disappearing. James 4:17 reminds us that knowing the good we ought to do carries responsibility. Sometimes faithfulness means answering the call, keeping the promise, telling the truth, or caring for the person whose need we already know. Disobedience can be quiet. We leave the message unanswered. We postpone the appointment. We promise to address our anger after everybody else becomes easier to live with. That last plan has a remarkably poor success rate.

God brings these patterns into the light so they can change. Conviction identifies a place where obedience can begin. Shame tells us failure is our permanent identity. But Romans 8:1 announces freedom from condemnation for those who belong to Jesus. We can admit what’s wrong without surrendering to despair. And Ephesians 2:8–10 holds grace and responsibility together. Salvation comes through grace, received through faith. Then Paul describes us as God’s workmanship, created in Christ for good works. We don’t work to persuade God to love us; we act because his love has already reached us. We are beloved children learning to walk with our Father. When we stumble, we can receive mercy and keep learning. That grace also allows us to be honest about a favorite hiding place: spiritual language. We say, “I’m praying about it,” when we have already received enough light to act.

Imagine asking God for a healthier marriage while refusing to listen. Imagine praying for reconciliation while guarding an apology like a state secret. Imagine asking for wisdom about money while refusing to open the bank statement. Prayer is essential. And prayer can accompany the very action we’ve been postponing. Philippians 2:13 tells us that God works in his people, shaping both their desire and their action according to his good purpose. We can ask for help while taking the next responsible step.

Nehemiah gives us a picture of this. When opposition threatened the rebuilding of Jerusalem’s wall, the people prayed and posted a guard, as Nehemiah 4:9 records. They trusted God while responding to the danger before them. Your next step may be small. Call the counselor. Schedule the examination. Open the bill. Spend ten attentive minutes with your child. Ask forgiveness without adding a paragraph explaining why the other person was worse. A sincere apology doesn’t need a defense attorney. Much of a faithful life grows through ordinary decisions repeated over time, often without applause.

Perhaps fear has kept your hands folded. You remember what happened the last time you trusted someone, tried something new, or spoke honestly. God knows that history. Courage may involve moving carefully, seeking counsel, and establishing wise boundaries. Psalm 56:3 gives frightened people a place to stand: the psalmist turns toward God in trust when fear arises. You can make the appointment with trembling hands. You can speak the truth with a shaking voice.

Perhaps the obstacle is perfectionism. You’re waiting until your plan has no weakness, your feelings have no hesitation, and your circumstances offer a written guarantee. Ecclesiastes 11:4 warns that the person who waits on ideal conditions may never sow or reap. Your first attempt may be awkward. Growth involves practice, correction, and support. A setback can show you where help is needed without requiring you to put your whole life on hold.

Think of the friends who carried a paralyzed man to Jesus in Mark 2. When the doorway was crowded, they lowered him through the roof. Their faith took the shape of shared effort. The man did not have to carry himself. That matters for anyone whose strength is gone. Sometimes your next faithful action is allowing trustworthy people to carry you toward Christ. Sometimes your calling is to become one of those friends. We pray together, bear burdens together, and help each other take the next step.

Faithful action does not guarantee the outcome we want. Other people make choices. Some circumstances remain painful. Obedience may bring no promotion, immediate healing, or restored relationship. Galatians 6:9 encourages perseverance in doing good even when weariness makes us want to stop. We entrust the harvest to God and remain faithful with what he has given us today.

Sometimes that faithfulness means stopping. Stop making the dishonest excuse. Stop accepting responsibilities you cannot carry. Stop facing a destructive pattern alone and ask for help. A faithful response may include a boundary, a confession, a change of direction, or deliberate rest. We need discernment. Ask God what love requires here. Consider Scripture. Seek wise counsel. Then respond to the responsibility that becomes clear, without demanding certainty about the entire road.

Picture your hands for a moment. Folded hands can express prayer. Open hands can receive mercy. Working hands can serve a neighbor. Reaching hands can ask for help. God can teach us when to be still, when to receive, and when to act.

Where have you been withdrawing from a responsibility you know is yours? Name one place. You do not need to repair your entire life before dinner. Choose one honest, concrete step. Make the call. Write the message. Seek the help. Begin the task. If you need rest, receive it intentionally. Let your response grow from trust in the Savior who gave himself for you and rose to bring you life.

Grace,

Randy

When Forgiveness Still Brings Tears

 

When Forgiveness Still Brings Tears

When Forgiveness Still Brings Tears - Audio/Visual 

So, they sent word to Joseph, saying, “Your father left these instructions before he died: ‘This is what you are to say to Joseph: I ask you to forgive your brothers the sins and the wrongs they committed in treating you so badly.’ Now please forgive the sins of the servants of the God of your father.” When their message came to him, Joseph wept. (Genesis 50:15–21)

Sometimes the hardest part of forgiveness isn't letting go of what someone did; it's learning to live with what happened after you've let it go. Joseph's story seems to have had the perfect ending: the pit becomes a palace, the prisoner becomes Egypt's governor, and the brothers who betrayed him are reunited with him. Cue the music. Roll the credits. Except Genesis gives us one more scene. Their father Jacob has died, and Joseph's brothers are terrified. They send Joseph a message claiming Jacob asked him to forgive them. Genesis 50:17 says, “When their message came to him, Joseph wept.” After all those years, Joseph cries again. Not because they've sold him again, but perhaps because the people he has forgiven still fear him. And that raises a question: What does forgiveness look like when the wounds are old, but the feelings are still fresh?

What Joseph's brothers did was horrible. They resented their father's favoritism, Joseph's dreams, and that famous coat. Jacob practically put a sign on Joseph that read, “I’m Dad’s favorite.” Parents, a little free advice: have a favorite chair, a favorite restaurant, even a favorite football team. But if you have twelve sons, don't give just one of them a designer jacket and expect family harmony. And, of course, Joseph didn't help matters by describing dreams in which his brothers bowed before him. Some things are probably better kept between you and God — especially when your brothers already want to throw you into a well. They stripped off his coat, threw him into a pit, sold him into slavery, and let Jacob believe he was dead. This wasn't just an innocent misunderstanding. It was betrayal.

Years passed. God brought Joseph through slavery, false accusation, prison, and eventually into authority in Egypt. Famine brought his brothers to him for food. They didn't recognize Joseph, but he recognized them. So, imagine the scene. The people who sold him are now asking him for groceries. If this were a movie, Joseph might say, “Well, well, well. Look what the cat drug in. Hungry?” But he eventually revealed himself and extended mercy. Now Jacob is dead and Genesis 50:15 records the brothers' fear: “What if Joseph holds a grudge against us and pays us back for all the wrongs we did to him?”

What if? Two words that can steal a night's sleep. What if he hasn't really forgiven us? What if he's been waiting for Dad to die? They were living in Egypt, but in their minds they were still beside that pit. The past does that. A memory, a familiar voice, even a conversation can bring yesterday into today without knocking. We may have moved on geographically while remaining stuck emotionally. The brothers appeal to Jacob's supposed last instructions. Interestingly, Scripture doesn't actually tell us whether Jacob even said those words. Perhaps he did. Perhaps they thought, “Joseph loved Dad; let's mention Dad.” It's the ancient version of “Mom said you have to.” And Joseph weeps. Maybe not simply because he remembers what his brothers did to him, but because his brothers cannot forget what they did to him. Joseph has moved beyond the pit, but his brothers are still living beside it. He’s offered forgiveness, but they’re still waiting for punishment.

Here’s something worth remembering: forgiveness can be offered in a moment, but trust may take years to rebuild. Ephesians 4:32 says, “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” It doesn't say that forgiveness erases the event or instantly repairs the relationship. Forgiveness, reconciliation, and trust belong together, but they are not identical. Forgiveness releases our personal claim to revenge. Reconciliation involves both people working toward peace. Trust grows as honesty and dependable conduct return.

You can forgive someone without pretending what happened was harmless. You can forgive and still maintain sensible boundaries. For instance, let’s say a friend borrows your car, wrecks it, and denies doing anything wrong. You may forgive him, but you don't necessarily hand him the keys again next Saturday — especially when he says, “Relax. I'm a much better driver now.” Forgiveness isn't foolishness. Joseph did not call evil good. He chose, instead, not to let his brothers' evil decide who he would become.

Joseph cries several times in Genesis: when he hears his brothers, when he sees Benjamin, when he reveals himself, and when he sees his father. Apparently, being governor of Egypt didn't make him emotionally bulletproof. Somewhere we’ve picked up the idea that mature faith means never crying. But John 11:35 says, “Jesus wept.” Jesus knew He would raise Lazarus, yet He stood with grieving people and cried. Knowing God has a future for us doesn't mean the present cannot hurt. Forgiveness doesn't erase memory, and faith doesn't cancel sorrow. Psalm 34:18 promises, “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted.” God doesn't wait until our eyes are dry to draw near. Sometimes He meets us in the middle of our tears.

Perhaps you've forgiven someone sincerely, but a certain anniversary or conversation still stings. That doesn't automatically mean your forgiveness was false. It may mean the wound was deep. A forgiving heart is not necessarily an unbroken one.

The brothers fall before Joseph and offer themselves as slaves. Joseph answers in Genesis 50:19, “Don't be afraid. Am I in the place of God?” Joseph has power. He could punish them, humiliate them, or make their lives miserable. Instead, he refuses to appoint himself the final judge. Romans 12:19 tells us, “Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God's wrath.” That sounds wonderful until we're the ones wronged. We’re happy to let God handle justice, provided He works quickly and sends regular progress reports. “Lord, I don't want to interfere. I'm just wondering whether You've read that email.”

But revenge keeps us tied to the offense. We replay arguments, rehearse accusations, and invent brilliant responses we never actually delivered. Have you ever won an argument in the shower? You were magnificent. Unfortunately, your opponent wasn't there. Joseph chooses freedom from that endless courtroom in his mind. He doesn't deny accountability. He simply recognizes that God is God, and Joseph is not. Neither are we. Then comes Joseph's remarkable statement in Genesis 50:20: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”

Notice Joseph's honesty: “You intended to harm me.” He doesn't pretend the betrayal was a blessing in disguise. Their intentions were evil. But God worked through what they did to preserve lives during the famine. Romans 8:28 reminds us that God works in all things for the good of those who love Him. It does not say all things are good. Some things are cruel. Some losses make no sense. Some scars remain. Yet other people's worst choices do not place our lives beyond God's reach.

Joseph could not see the palace from the pit. He could not see the famine relief from his prison cell. But God was working even when Joseph couldn't trace the plan. We should be careful not to tell hurting people, “Everything happens for a reason,” as though that explains away pain. Joseph's testimony is stronger: the wrong was real, and God's redemptive work was real too.

Joseph finishes in Genesis 50:21: “So then, don't be afraid. I will provide for you and your children.” Scripture adds, “He reassured them and spoke kindly to them.” He doesn't merely announce forgiveness; he practices and then models mercy. He speaks gently to people who once treated him cruelly. That doesn't mean every damaged relationship will be restored in the same way, but it shows the kind of heart God had formed in Joseph. Peter once asked Jesus whether forgiving someone seven times would be enough. Jesus answered, “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” (Matthew 18:22) Jesus wasn't handing Peter a calculator. He was teaching him a way of life.

Some days forgiveness feels settled. Other days an old memory returns, and we must again surrender the desire to retaliate. Colossians 3:13 says, “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” And that's where Joseph's story points beyond Joseph — to Jesus. We all have a past: words we regret, choices we'd undo, failures we wish no one remembered. Sometimes we're more willing to believe that God can forgive somebody else than that He can forgive us. We believe in grace as a doctrine but struggle to receive it as a gift. We know what Scripture says about forgiveness, but we keep bringing God the same sins, as though He’s somehow misplaced the paperwork. But 1 John 1:9 promises that when we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive. His promise doesn't become unreliable because our feelings fluctuate. Joseph's brothers expected punishment; they received reassurance. They remembered the pit; Joseph remembered what God had done.

Maybe you're struggling to forgive. Maybe you've forgiven, but trust remains fragile. Maybe you're the one carrying guilt long after mercy has been offered. Remember Jesus on the cross praying, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34) Forgiveness does not declare the wrong acceptable. It refuses to let the wrong have the final word. Joseph didn't erase his past. He didn't stop being human. He still wept. But he refused to let yesterday's betrayal dictate tomorrow's mercy.

And that brings us back to where we started — with Joseph's brothers standing before a man they had betrayed, wondering whether forgiveness was really possible. Joseph’s brothers thought the past would eventually catch up with them. They expected revenge. Instead, they found mercy. They expected judgment. Instead, they heard, "Don't be afraid." And perhaps that's what God wants us to hear today. The past may explain your tears, but it doesn't have to determine your future. Because when God is writing the story, betrayal doesn't have to be the final chapter. Bitterness doesn't have to be the final chapter. Even our deepest wounds don't have to be the final chapter. Grace still has another chapter.

Grace,

Randy

When Faith Says, "Even If"

 

When Faith Says, “Even If”

When Faith Says, "Even If" - Audio/Visual 

“Go, gather together all the Jews who are in Susa, and fast for me. Do not eat or drink for three days, night or day. I and my attendants will fast as you do. When this is done, I will go to the king, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.”
(Esther 4:16)

There are moments in life when you wish God would just send you a detailed set of instructions. A complete itinerary, expected outcomes, and preferably a money-back guarantee. “Lord, if You want me to take this job, please send me an email. If You want me to move, put it on a billboard. And if You want me to have that difficult conversation with my spouse, perhaps You could just handle that one Yourself.” But God doesn't usually work that way. Sometimes He calls us to take a step without showing us where the staircase leads. And that's exactly where we find Esther.

Esther was a young Jewish woman who had become queen of Persia. She had a palace, servants, beautiful clothes, and probably never had to ask where anyone wanted to go for dinner. But there was a problem. A man named Haman had convinced King Xerxes to issue a decree calling for the destruction of the Jewish people. And Esther was Jewish. Her privilege had become a tremendous responsibility. Her cousin Mordecai sent her a message urging her to intervene. But there was a complication. Under Persian law, no one — not even the queen — could approach the king without being summoned. Doing so could result in death unless the king extended his golden scepter.

I've had difficult conversations where somebody might get upset or even walk out. But I've never had a conversation where I thought, “Well, if this doesn't go well, they're going to execute me.” That's a whole different level of awkward. Esther could remain silent and protect herself temporarily or risk everything to save her people. And then Mordecai asked one of the most important questions in all of Scripture: “And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14) For such a time as this.

What if the very place Esther found herself — the place she had not planned, the circumstances she had not chosen — was exactly where God intended to use her? And what if the same is true of you? Maybe you're dealing with a problem you didn't create or responsibilities you never asked for. And you've been asking God, “Why am I here?” Perhaps the better question is, “Lord, what do You want to do through me while I'm here?” Because sometimes God doesn't put us in comfortable places. He puts us in consequential places. Notice what Esther did next.

She didn't immediately rush into the throne room. She didn't hire a consultant or post a strongly worded statement on social media. She said, “Gather the people and fast for three days.” Before confronting the king, she sought God. The text mentions fasting, not prayer, but Scripture frequently connects fasting with seeking God. Ezra 8:23 tells us: “So we fasted and petitioned our God about this, and he answered our prayer.” Esther understood something we frequently forget. Preparation isn't always about doing more. Sometimes preparation is about becoming still enough to trust God.

We celebrate action: Do something! Fix the problem! We have instant everything. We get irritated when the microwave takes too long. And then we wonder why God's timing seems so slow. “Lord, I've been praying about this for almost twenty minutes. Is there a problem with the connection?” But Isaiah 40:31 reminds us: “But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.” Sometimes slowing down reminds us of who’s in charge. Esther didn't fast because she knew God would guarantee her safety. She fasted because she knew she couldn't control the outcome.

Prayer doesn't always change our circumstances immediately, but prayer changes how we enter those circumstances. Philippians 4:6–7 tells us not to be anxious about anything, but to bring everything to God in prayer. And what does God promise? Not necessarily the outcome we requested. He promises His peace, and sometimes peace is what we need for the next step.

So, after three days, Esther made her decision. She would go to the king. And then she spoke those unforgettable words: “And if I perish, I perish.” Now, that's not exactly the kind of inspirational slogan you'd expect to find on a coffee mug. Most mugs say, “Choose Joy” or “But First, Coffee.” Imagine one that says, “If I perish, I perish.” That'll get your morning started. But Esther wasn't being pessimistic. She was being courageous. She understood the danger and decided that doing right mattered more than comfort. That's what biblical courage looks like.

Courage isn't the absence of fear. Courage is trusting God enough to obey Him while fear is still sitting in the passenger seat. Think about Joshua. After Moses died, God called Joshua to lead the Israelites into the Promised Land. And in Joshua 1:9, God said: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Notice what God didn't say. He didn't say, “Joshua, there's nothing to worry about.” There were enemies and a river to cross. God didn't promise Joshua an easy assignment. He promised His presence. Jesus repeats that promise in Matthew 28:20: “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” Sometimes we want God to remove the obstacle, but God wants us to discover that His presence is greater than the obstacle.

Remember Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego? When King Nebuchadnezzar threatened to throw them into the fiery furnace, they declared that God was able to deliver them. But then they added something remarkable: “But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods.” (Daniel 3:18) There it is again. The faith of Esther. The faith that says, “Even if.” Even if God doesn't answer the way I hoped. Even if the circumstances don't change. Even if obedience costs me something. I will still trust Him. That's not weak faith. That's mature faith.

Here's something important about Esther. We know how her story ends. She approaches the king. He extends his golden scepter. Eventually, Haman's wicked plot is exposed, and the Jewish people are delivered. We can read the story in twenty minutes. Esther couldn't. She was living it one frightening day at a time. She didn't have Esther chapter 5 to reassure her that the king would welcome her. She didn't have chapter 7 to tell her Haman would be exposed. And she certainly didn't have chapter 9 to show her how the story would turn out. She only had the moment in front of her.

 We want chapter 9 while we're still struggling through chapter 4. We want God to show us how everything works out before we're willing to trust Him. But Hebrews 11:1 says: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” And Proverbs 3:5–6 reminds us: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Notice it doesn't say God will explain every turn in the road. It says He will direct our paths. But we want God to be our GPS. “Lord, tell me exactly where I'm going, how long it will take, and whether there's traffic.” And God simply says, “Trust Me. Take the next step.”

Thankfully, most of us will never face a Persian king with the power to execute us. But every one of us eventually faces a throne-room moment. Maybe it's a conversation you've been avoiding. Maybe it's admitting you were wrong. That's particularly difficult for some of us. We can apologize, provided we're allowed to explain why we were technically right. As a lawyer, I’ve made a living out of arguing why my client was technically right. Or maybe it's trusting God with a future that looks nothing like the one you planned. James 1:22 tells us: “Do not merely listen to the word and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.” There comes a time when faith must move from what we believe to what we do. Esther prayed. Esther fasted. And then Esther walked into the throne room. She didn't know what would happen but knew what to do. And sometimes that's all God gives us.

I love that God's name is never explicitly mentioned in the book of Esther. And yet, His providence can be seen throughout the story. Through delays and unexpected reversals, we see God working even when He seems silent. Just because you cannot see God working doesn't mean He isn't working. Just because you don't know the outcome doesn't mean God has lost control. And just because you're afraid doesn't mean you lack faith. Esther's greatness wasn't that she knew everything would turn out well. It was that she chose to do what was right without knowing how things would turn out. So, pray before you move. Seek godly counsel. Prepare your heart. And when the moment comes, take the step. Not because you know what tomorrow holds, but because you know the One who holds tomorrow.

Perhaps the greatest question isn't “Will everything work out the way I want?” but: “Lord, will I still trust You if it doesn't?” Because real faith doesn't always say, “I know God will rescue me.” Sometimes real faith simply says: “I know God is able. I know God is good. And even if things don't turn out the way I hoped, I will trust Him.” Esther said, “If I perish, I perish.” Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego said, “Even if He does not.” And Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, prayed: “Yet not my will, but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42) Three different moments. One extraordinary expression of surrender.

Faith is not trusting God because we know how the story ends; faith is trusting God because we know who’s writing it. And when your moment comes, when the door opens and the future is uncertain, may you have the courage to say: “Lord, I've prayed. I've prepared. I'm afraid. But I'm going forward. And whatever happens, I'm trusting You – even if.”

Grace,

Randy