What humbles me even more is remembering how often God used my wife to speak into my life. It was never in some dramatic way but often in simple things and ordinary words. And yet, more often than I would like to admit, I would brush it aside. I would tell her, “You do not understand,” or “You are not going through this, so you would not know.” At the time it felt justified. But slowly, over time, it began to dawn on me that maybe I was not resisting her at all but I was resisting the way God was trying to steer me.

That is why when I came to 1 Kings 18 again, I saw something I had missed before. I have read this chapter bore and usually, when I think about it, I think about Elijah standing boldly before the prophets of Baal, mocking them, calling down fire, and proving in public who the true God is. That is the part that tends to stay with us. It is dramatic, powerful and unforgettable.

But this time, something quieter caught my attention.

Before the fire fell, Elijah spoke to the people and asked them, “How long will you falter between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow Him; but if Baal, follow him.” And the part that gripped me was not only the question, but the response. Or rather, the lack of one. The people answered him not a word. The silence of people felt that they were not openly rejecting God but were no longer wholly aligned either. And if I am honest, I know that kind of silence. I know what it is like to not fully turn away from God, but also not fully submit. I know what it is like to live in that in between place where the heart is not openly rebellious, but not fully surrendered either.

And then Elijah begins to prepare the altar.

That is where the whole passage opened up to me in a new way.

He does not begin with the fire. He begins with what is broken. He repairs the altar first. He takes the twelve stones according to the tribes of Israel and rebuilds what had been torn down. He arranges the wood. He places the sacrifice. He digs the trench. Then he pours water, not once, but again and again, until everything is soaked.

As I read that, I felt God quietly showing me that what I usually want is the fire, but where He often begins with is the altar. I want the outcome. I want the answer. I want the visible move of God but He first deals with what has been broken down inside me. He first brings me back to alignment. He first rebuilds what I have neglected. And sometimes, the reason the fire has not yet fallen is not because God is unwilling, but because I am still standing with a broken altar.

Even the water began to speak to me differently. Elijah drenched the altar until there was no possibility left for man to explain what would happen next. And I could not help but think about how, in our own lives, once the broken altar is repaired, we have to allow ourselves to be drenched again in the Word of God. Not sprinkled but fully drenched, because it is the Word that washes, corrects, aligns, and prepares us. It is the Word that takes us out of our divided opinions and brings us back into single minded devotion. Its also interesting he takes four waterpots of water for three times adding upto twleve, correlating to the twelve stones to rebuild the altar.

And then, at the time of the evening sacrifice, Elijah calls on God, and the fire falls.

But even there, what struck me was not just that the offering, but the timing of the offering. Why evening? Israel used to offer sacrifices in morning and evenings. Once the alignment is fixed, the fire touched everything. The sacrifice, the wood, the stones, the dust, even the water in the trench, nothing was left untouched. And I found myself thinking that this is exactly what the fire of God does. It does not come to touch one part of our life while leaving the rest untouched. When the Spirit of God truly moves, He consumes deeper than we expect. He reaches the offering, yes, but He also reaches the hidden things, the dry things, the dusty things, the things we thought would remain untouched.

And then the people finally speak. They fall on their faces and say, “The Lord, He is God; the Lord, He is God.”

I think that is what I long for in my own life too. Not just moments where I admire the fire from a distance, but moments where my whole life is brought back into right alignment with God. Moments where what is broken is repaired, where what is dry is drenched again, where what is divided in me is made whole. Because maybe the greatest miracle in this story is not just that fire fell from heaven, but that a broken altar was restored before it did.

And perhaps that is where I find myself even now. Not asking God only for fire, but asking Him to show me what in me still needs to be repaired. To help me stop living for the prize alone and to pay attention to the process. To let Him rebuild what I have neglected, to drench me again with His Word, and to make me a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to Him.

Because before the fire falls, something in us must first come back into order.

Let’s read Exodus 32:22-24 and this is the story that we often hear but lets now ready Exodus 32:2-4. Did you see the hidden things??? It’s only the golden earrings from the ears that was taken to make the golden calf and also it was Aaron who fashioned it with an engraving tool???

I get the idea of Aaron fashioning the calf but why only the earrings???

Exodus 21:5-6 see how it says a master shall pierce the ear with an awl if the slave wants to stay with his master. This shows as a symbol of ownership.

Exodus 12:35-36 says the children of Israel got articles of sliver, gold and clothing and plundered the Egyptians however in,

Ezekiel 16:11-15 i ordained with gold but you played the harlot

So each blessing comes with a test on how we handle that blessing.

When I started to further interpret, God gave the understanding that the earrings worn on the ears which are like a mark of His people and when they removed the ear rings and made them into a molded calf, it signifies that when they offered the earring, they were voluntarily switching loyalty from hearing Gods voice to man made idol. This reminded me of the verse that says, If you diligently hear my voice and do my commandments.....or like Solomon who asked for a hearing heart...

But our God being just and righteous, when he renewed his covenant with his people in exodus, brings back the same ear rings in Exodus 35:22 stating, they gave earrings again but for worship with a willing heart unlike the before incident.

As we read this, I would request for all of us to bring back those earrings which we have wrongly submitted and repent of those ways and willing submit ourselves to worship God, hear his voice to direct our steps and to allow Him to renew His covenant with us today.

I still remember one instance clearly. I had spoken about giving, and the very next day I found myself being tested on it. It was not about a large amount that I did not have. It was something small, something easy to overlook, something I could have justified and moved past.

And yet, that was the test.

As I was reading 1 Kings 13, I was reminded of that same pattern, but in a much deeper way.

The kingdom had already split into two. Jeroboam ruled the north, and Rehoboam ruled the south. Even though Jeroboam was made king by the people, he lived with a constant fear that their hearts might turn back. Out of that fear, he built two golden calves and rewrote their history, telling them that these were the gods who brought them out of Egypt.

Into that situation, God sends a man of God with a clear word. When the king tried to arrest him, his hand withered. The same man of God then prayed, and the king’s hand was restored. The altar was split apart, and the ashes were poured out, just as God had spoken. After all this, the king tried to draw him in. But the man of God refused, because he had received very specific instructions. He was not to eat, not to drink water, and not to return by the same way. He even said something that went beyond the moment, that even if he were given half the king’s house, he would not go in.

And then, he left.

Everything seemed aligned, until another voice entered the story.

An old prophet from the same region went after him, found him sitting under an oak tree, and invited him to come home and eat. The words sounded familiar, even spiritual. There was mention of an angel, a sense of authority, something that felt convincing.

And somewhere in that moment, something shifted. He went along with the prophet to eat and drink.

What struck me is this.

He was not persuaded by power nor by reward but by something that sounded spiritual.

That made me pause, because not everything that sounds spiritual is from God.

I remember an incident from our own lives. As a church, we had gone to a place for a gathering, and we met a man who introduced himself as a man of God. He began to speak into our lives, and the way he spoke was very compelling. It sounded accurate, almost as if he was seeing something real.

I still remember one specific thing he said. At that time, one of the women in our church was pregnant, and he said that she would give birth to a boy. It sounded confident. It sounded certain, but when the time came, every child born that year were girls.

Something can sound right, and yet not be true and that is what makes this passage so sobering.

The man of God who could refuse a king was led astray by a prophet. The instruction God had given him had not changed but he allowed another voice to reinterpret it.

And the story does not end there.

After he had eaten and drunk, he set out again. I felt the word drunk meant as if he did not stop at what was initially offered. What began as a small step outside the instruction slowly became something more. On the way, a lion met him and killed him. His body was left on the road, and yet something unusual happens.

The lion does not consume the body.

The donkey does not run away.

Both stood there next to the corpse.

It is almost as if the moment is being held still. Not random, not chaotic but intentional.

People who passed by saw it and told the old prophet. He came, took the body back, and buried him. And then he says something that feels both heavy and revealing, that when he dies, he wants to be buried next to him, because the word spoken by the man of God will surely come to pass.

As I sat with all of this, one thought stayed with me.

It is not enough to begin well. It is not enough to resist what is obviously wrong. It is not even enough to speak the truth. What matters is staying aligned with what God has already spoken.

Because alignment is not a one-time decision, it is something we hold on to, moment by moment.

Sometimes the shift does not happen in one big decision.

It begins in small places.

A conversation.

A suggestion.

A voice that sounds right.

And slowly, without realizing it, we begin to move away from what God originally said.

Sometimes the greatest danger is not the voice that is clearly wrong. It is the one that sounds right enough to make us let go of what we first heard. It is the same question that echoes from the beginning.

“Did God really say?”

And that leaves me with a question.

Am I still aligned with what God told me…or am I allowing other voices to slowly reshape it?

But then there are others—people who appear out of nowhere. They’re the most unexpected and yet God brings them into our story with a quiet purpose that becomes clearer with time. These are the companions God plants beside us, the ones who shape our direction more than we realize.

In the Bible, Lot and Hobab represent these two types of companions. For those who are right now thinking who is Hobab?, even I had the same thought before I read about him in Numbers. Similar to how Abraham took Lot with him, Moses took Hobab with him on his journey.

Lot walked with Abraham, but his heart was never aligned with God’s purpose. Lot chose by sight—by what looked good. He went toward Sodom because the land appeared fertile, but his choice led him into danger, and compromise. Lot reminds us that not everyone who starts with us are not meant to stay with us. Some people walk beside us but pull us away from God’s best.

Hobab, on the other hand, wasn’t even an Israelite. He wasn’t family by covenant, only by marriage. Infact he was not even interested in the journey with Moses and wanted to go back to his people, yet Moses invited him because Hobab had something priceless: wilderness wisdom. He knew the desert. He knew the terrain. He could see what others didn’t. Moses told him, “You can be our eyes.” (Numbers 10:31)

Sometimes the people God sends don’t look spiritual, polished, or perfect—but they carry what we need for the road ahead. Hobab joined the journey, and his descendants were blessed, settled in the Promised Land, and woven into Israel’s future (Judges 1:16; 4:11). He reminds us that the right companion—even if unexpected—can lead us deeper into God’s purpose.

So let me ask you:

Who’s walking with you today?

Are you surrounded by Lots—people who look good but lead you towards compromise?

Or are you walking with Hobabs—people who steady you, guide you, and quietly help you stay aligned with God’s direction?

Destiny is not shaped by speed or strength alone. Destiny is shaped by companionship.

Choose wisely.

Because the people beside you influence the path before you.

For a long time, I thought wisdom meant having clarity, having answers, or knowing what to do in a given situation. It felt like something you gained over time, something that came with learning and experience.

But when I began to look more closely at how the Bible uses the word, especially in the life of Solomon, something started to shift.

When Solomon is given the opportunity to ask God for anything, we are always taught that he did not ask for riches or honour neither for good health but he asked for wisdom to handle the people that God made him to rule over but there is more to this than just wisdom.

If you are an avid student of the scripture, you will see that in 1 Kings 3, the Bible says Solomon asked for an hearing heart and that is what God calls wisdom.

That made me pause.

Because it means wisdom does not begin with knowing. It begins with listening.

Scripture often connects wisdom with the fear of the Lord. Not fear in the sense of being afraid, but a posture of reverence, a positioning of the heart that is rightly aligned before God. In that sense, wisdom is not something we achieve but rather something we receive when we are rightly positioned.

And then comes a moment that brings this to life in a very practical way.

Two women stand before Solomon, each claiming the same child. At first, it appears to be a matter of facts, something that needs to be figured out but Solomon is not just listening to what is being said. He is listening deeper.

One woman says, “My son lives, and your son is dead.”

The other responds, “No, your son is dead, and my son is the living one.”

At first glance, both are saying the same thing, just in reverse.

But there is something subtle which is, the first mother speaks of life first while the second one begins with accusation. It is a small detail, easy to miss but perhaps it reveals something deeper.

Scripture says that out of the abundance of heart, the mouth speaks, so what comes first often reflects what is central. As the situation unfolds, that inner posture becomes fully visible, when Solomon proposes to divide the child, the real mother is willing to let go, if it means the child will live while the other one is willing to divide, even if it means destruction.

And suddenly, what was hidden becomes clear.

This is what a hearing heart does. It does not just process information but it discerns what lies beneath and that made me reflect on my own life.

1. How often do I try to be wise by thinking more, analyzing more, or trying to arrive at the right answer?

2. How often do I rush to conclusions instead of pausing to listen?

Maybe wisdom is not about figuring everything out but it is about being aligned with the One who already knows because it is possible to have right information and still miss what matters. It is possible to hear words and yet not truly listen.

Solomon’s wisdom was not in his ability to decide but it was in his ability to discern and that began with a heart that was willing to listen.

Perhaps that is where wisdom still begins today, not in having answers, but in learning how to listen, not in knowing more, but in being rightly aligned.

Maybe the issue is not that we do not know what to do, it is that we have been trying to define wisdom, without first learning how to listen to Him.

For a long time, I thought wisdom meant having clarity, having answers, or knowing what to do in a given situation. It felt like something you gained over time, something that came with learning and experience.

But when I began to look more closely at how the Bible uses the word, especially in the life of Solomon, something started to shift.

When Solomon is given the opportunity to ask God for anything, we are always taught that he did not ask for riches or honour neither for good health but he asked for wisdom to handle the people that God made him to rule over but there is more to this than just wisdom.

If you are an avid student of the scripture, you will see that in 1 Kings 3, the Bible says Solomon asked for an hearing heart and that is what God calls wisdom.

That made me pause.

Because it means wisdom does not begin with knowing. It begins with listening.

Scripture often connects wisdom with the fear of the Lord. Not fear in the sense of being afraid, but a posture of reverence, a positioning of the heart that is rightly aligned before God. In that sense, wisdom is not something we achieve but rather something we receive when we are rightly positioned.

And then comes a moment that brings this to life in a very practical way.

Two women stand before Solomon, each claiming the same child. At first, it appears to be a matter of facts, something that needs to be figured out but Solomon is not just listening to what is being said. He is listening deeper.

One woman says, “My son lives, and your son is dead.”

The other responds, “No, your son is dead, and my son is the living one.”

At first glance, both are saying the same thing, just in reverse.

But there is something subtle which is, the first mother speaks of life first while the second one begins with accusation. It is a small detail, easy to miss but perhaps it reveals something deeper.

Scripture says that out of the abundance of heart, the mouth speaks, so what comes first often reflects what is central. As the situation unfolds, that inner posture becomes fully visible, when Solomon proposes to divide the child, the real mother is willing to let go, if it means the child will live while the other one is willing to divide, even if it means destruction.

And suddenly, what was hidden becomes clear.

This is what a hearing heart does. It does not just process information but it discerns what lies beneath and that made me reflect on my own life.

1. How often do I try to be wise by thinking more, analyzing more, or trying to arrive at the right answer?

2. How often do I rush to conclusions instead of pausing to listen?

Maybe wisdom is not about figuring everything out but it is about being aligned with the One who already knows because it is possible to have right information and still miss what matters. It is possible to hear words and yet not truly listen.

Solomon’s wisdom was not in his ability to decide but it was in his ability to discern and that began with a heart that was willing to listen.

Perhaps that is where wisdom still begins today, not in having answers, but in learning how to listen, not in knowing more, but in being rightly aligned.

Maybe the issue is not that we do not know what to do, it is that we have been trying to define wisdom, without first learning how to listen to Him.

A backdrop to this is in Numbers 11. Israel is on the move for the first time since leaving Sinai but among them walks a group…the mixed multitude—non-Israelites who came out of Egypt with them (Exodus 12:38). They shared the same journey, but not the same heart.

As the camp grows tired of the wilderness, the mixed multitude started to murmur, small conversations… quiet complaints… subtle dissatisfaction. The mixed multitude “yielded to intense craving.” Then Israel heard it…and they began to complain. What began outside the heart of God’s people soon infected the inside. The mixed multitude remembered Egypt’s five star buffet but forgot its chains. Their influence slowly shifted Israel’s focus—manna no longer looked like a miracle; it looked like monotony. Gratitude became grumbling. Desire replaced devotion.

Moses felt crushed by seeing and hearing the weeping of the people. God gave quail enough to drown their cravings but while they were still chewing, judgement fell on them because the issue was not hunger but influence.

Mixed multitudes are not always “bad people.” They’re voices that do not share your commitment to God. They can walk with you… but not agree with God’s ways.

As you reflect on this story, please recollect who are the mixed multitude in your life. The subtle voices, the familiar cravings, the companions without covenant, the memories calling you back to Egypt,

And most importantly—

Who will you allow to influence the direction of your heart? is it the voice of God or the voice of the mixed multitude.

If you are curious about this, or if you are someone who has felt this way about the Bible, I would invite you to read this blog further. In reality, every book of the Bible contains moments where women become catalysts in shaping events and influencing decisions. Names like Sarah, Rebekah, Deborah, Ruth, Naomi, and Mary are familiar to many readers. But sometimes people respond by saying, “Well, those are just a few exceptions.”

As I’ve been reading the books of Samuel recently, I began noticing something fascinating.

The first recorded prayer in Samuel is from a woman and the last act of grief that saves a land from famine is also from a woman. Some of the most decisive turning points in the story involve women who many people rarely talk about. These women did not hold official positions of power, yet at critical moments they redirected the course of events.

And when you step back and look carefully, a pattern begins to emerge.

When the Priesthood Was Corrupt — Hannah

The book of Samuel begins during a time of spiritual decline. Eli served as priest, but his sons were corrupt. They abused their position in the temple and dishonored the offerings of God.

In the middle of that broken priesthood, we meet Hannah.

She holds no title. She is not a priest, prophet, or leader. She pouring out her heart before the Lord in prayer. Yet from that prayer comes Samuel the prophet who will later guide Israel and anoint its kings.

In many ways, the renewal of Israel begins not with a king or a priest, but with the prayer of a woman.

When Anger Was About to Destroy — Abigail

Later in the story, David is still running from Saul. In a moment of anger he prepares to destroy the household of a man named Nabal.

At that critical moment, Abigail steps in.

With humility and wisdom she approaches David and speaks carefully. Her words stop him from shedding innocent blood. David later recognizes that God sent her to prevent him from acting in vengeance.

Abigail does more than save her household. She protects David’s future from being stained by unnecessary violence.

When Injustice Was Committed — Tamar

The story then takes a darker turn with Tamar, David’s daughter.

When Amnon attempts to violate her, Tamar speaks with remarkable clarity. She appeals to honor, reason, and even to the law of God. But her voice is ignored.

Her story exposes the moral failure within the royal household, a failure that will later erupt into rebellion and division.

Scripture shows us not only the wisdom that prevents destruction, but also the truth that reveals injustice.

When a King Struggled With Restoration — The Woman of Tekoa

Later, David struggles with how to deal with the situation involving his son Absalom.

Joab sends a woman from Tekoa to speak to the king. Through a carefully crafted story she reminds David of something profound about God’s character:

“God devises means so that His banished ones are not expelled from Him.”

Her words reveal the heart of God, “God who seeks ways to restore rather than abandon.”

When a City Was About to Be Destroyed — The Wise Woman of Abel

Near the end of the story, a rebel named Sheba hides in the city of Abel. Joab’s army surrounds the city and prepares to destroy it.

Once again, a woman steps forward.

Through wisdom and negotiation she persuades the people of the city to act. Because of her courage and clarity, the entire city is spared from destruction.

When the Land Needed Restoration — Rizpah

Another powerful moment appears later in the story through a woman named Rizpah.

Because of Saul’s earlier violence against the Gibeonites, a famine strikes the land during David’s reign. Justice must be carried out, and several descendants of Saul are executed. Their bodies are left exposed. Rizpah, the mother of two of them, refuses to leave. For months she stays there, guarding the bodies from birds by day and animals by night. Her grief is quiet but relentless.

Eventually David hears about what she has done.

Her persistence moves the king to act. David gathers the bones of Saul and Jonathan and gives them a proper burial along with the others.

Then the Scripture records something striking: “After that, God answered prayer for the land.”

A mother’s grief became the turning point that led to justice and restoration.

The Pattern We Often Miss

When we step back and look at these stories together, something remarkable appears.

When the priesthood was corrupt — a woman prayed.

When anger threatened violence — a woman intervened.

When injustice occurred — a woman spoke truth.

When reconciliation was needed — a woman revealed God’s heart.

When a city faced destruction — a woman used wisdom to save it.

When the land needed restoration — Rizpah refused to walk away.

Perhaps this is the lesson we often overlook.

God does not limit His work to gender, titles, positions, or roles that society might recognize. Throughout Scripture, He works through both men and women of faith, courage, and wisdom who are willing to respond when the situation arises.

Sometimes the most powerful influence is not loud or visible. Sometimes it comes through a prayer spoken in sorrow, a wise word spoken at the right moment, or the courage to speak truth when others remain silent.

And when we read the books of Samuel carefully, we begin to see something beautiful. It may be filled with kings, prophets, and battles. But at some of the most decisive turning points in the story, it is the voices, prayers, courage, and wisdom of women that quietly redirect the course of events.

I have been there.

The chaos that follows such moments is difficult to express unless you have lived through it. It is not just about circumstances falling apart but it feels like your confidence, your identity, even your future is shaking.

If you ask me today whether I would want anyone else to walk through that kind of pain, I would definitely say no. Those are deeply testing times. Yet I also know that in His infinite wisdom, God allows certain seasons not to destroy us but to shape us. One day, you will look back at that valley and draw strength from it.

That is exactly what came to mind when I read 1 Samuel 30.

David had wanted to fight alongside the Philistines, but he was sent back. On his return to Ziklag, he found the city burned. The Amalekites had invaded, set everything on fire, and taken the women and children captive.

But there is one small detail in verse 2 that is often missed — “they did not kill anyone.”

Though David had operated in deception earlier while living among the Philistines, God in His mercy did not allow this situation to end in tragedy. What looked like total loss was actually the beginning of total restoration.

Still, the moment was devastating. Scripture says David was greatly distressed. The very men who had followed him now spoke of stoning him because of their grief.

And then comes the line that helped me in my own time of pain: “But David strengthened himself in the Lord his God.”

He did not have a prophet encouraging him.

He did not have a friend speaking life into him.

He strengthened himself.

What does that mean?

For me, it has meant going back to the Word of God. Reading Scripture not casually, but intentionally. Allowing it to speak into my situation. Remembering the promises that were spoken over my life. Letting God’s truth be the voice than my fear being a noise. Many times when I have been low, it was the Word that steadied me. God strengthened, encouraged, and guided me through Scripture.

Only after strengthening himself did David inquire of the Lord. And the Lord answered in a way that forever changed how I see difficult seasons:

“Pursue, for you shall surely overtake them and without fail recover all.”

Strength came before strategy. But the story does not stop there.

On the way, David encounters an abandoned Egyptian servant who was weak and left behind. Before asking him anything, David gives him bread, water, figs, and raisins. Only after restoring him does he inquire. And that act of compassion becomes the key to finding the Amalekites.

Even in our own struggles, God may bring someone across our path. We often think, “I am struggling myself, how can I help someone else?” Yet sometimes the breakthrough we are waiting for is hidden in obedience to serve.

David pursued. He overtook. He recovered all.

But before he recovered his family, his city, and his possessions, he recovered his strength.

My encouragement to you today is this: whatever situation you are in, go back to the Word of God. Let it speak to you. Let it strengthen you. Let it guide you.

Because when God strengthens you, He enables you to pursue, overtake, and recover all that is meant for you.

After David steps forward to face Goliath, two interactions happen that are easy to miss.

First, his brother confronts him: “I know your pride and the insolence of your heart.”

That statement struck me. His own brother completely misunderstands him. He assumes arrogance where there is conviction. He assumes pride where there is faith. Sometimes those closest to us cannot see what God is forming in us.

Then Saul does something else. He dresses David in his own armor. If you read carefully, what Saul puts on David looks very similar to what Goliath himself is wearing. Bronze helmet, coat of mail, sword. In a way, Saul is preparing David to fight like a Philistine.

And then David says something that stopped me in my tracks: “I cannot walk with these, for I have not tested them.”

Hold on. Did you catch that?

He doesn’t say they are too heavy.

He doesn’t say they don’t fit.

He says he has not tested them.

Often in life, we try to fight our battles by listening to people who do not fully understand what we are going through, or by wearing someone else’s armor. I’ve learned this the hard way that I cannot expect the same move of God in someone else’s life to happen in the same way in my life as well. Each of us must experience God personally and work out what He has formed in us.

David had tested something long before this moment. He had tested his sling. He had tested his trust in God when no one was watching. He had tested courage in the fields with lions and bears. Those battles were not public. They were not applauded. There was no army behind him, no king watching, no nation depending on him.

But they were real.

God allows lions and bears not just to prepare our skill, but to settle our identity. Because when David stands before Goliath, the real battle isn’t about size or strength but about identity. Saul’s armor represents what looks strong. It represents the expected way to win. It represents the world’s definition of power. If David had worn it, he might have looked more like a warrior. But he would not have been himself.

His brother misunderstood him. Saul tried to reshape him. Both, in different ways, attempted to redefine him. One questioned his motive. The other adjusted his method. But David knew something they didn’t. He knew who he was when no one else was looking. Saul needed armor because he led from position. David didn’t need armor because he operated from conviction.

And that challenged me.

How often do we try to wear armor that isn’t ours? How often do we adopt someone else’s voice, strategy, or appearance of strength simply because it feels safer? Sometimes we step into battles trying to look like what we think a warrior should look like, instead of trusting what God has already formed in us.

David removed the armor because it wasn’t tested in his life. The sling, however, carried history. It carried stories. It carried quiet victories no one else saw. The lions and bears were not random interruptions. They were preparation. They were identity formation.

As I sat with this passage, I had to ask myself: Am I fighting giants with tested faith, or borrowed armor? Because when identity is settled in private, you don’t need to borrow strength in public.

And maybe the reason God allows us to face unseen battles is not merely to sharpen our skills, but to anchor who we are in Him, so that when we are tested in public, we already know who we are.

When you know who you are, you can walk into the valley without wearing someone else’s armor.

Consider Eli. He served in the house of God, yet his sons abused their priestly role and dishonored the Lord. Though Eli knew, he did not restrain them. Judgment followed. The ark was captured. His sons died. Glory departed.

Then comes Samuel, a man who heard God’s voice from childhood and walked faithfully before Him. Yet his sons took bribes and perverted justice. Even a righteous father did not guarantee righteous sons.

And then we arrive at 1 Samuel 13–14.

Saul has just disobeyed God. The army is trembling. Men are hiding in caves and pits. Saul, the king chosen for his stature, now sits under a pomegranate tree, paralyzed by fear.

And then there is Jonathan.

Without announcement or permission, he says to his armor-bearer, “Come, let us go over to the garrison… It may be that the LORD will work for us, for nothing restrains the LORD from saving by many or by few.”

Same battlefield, same enemy, same father but different spirit.

Saul sits calculating. Jonathan climbs believing. Saul acts out of insecurity. Jonathan moves in trust. Saul’s rash vow nearly destroys his own house. Jonathan’s faith brings victory to a trembling nation.

Here, “like father, like son” collapses.

Jonathan did not inherit Saul’s fear. He did not absorb his father’s insecurity. He refused to let the circumstances surrounding him to determine the condition of his heart. He chose faith.

That is what struck me most.

Eli’s sons followed decline.

Samuel’s sons followed decline.

But Saul’s son chose differently.

Which means something deeply freeing for us.

Our background does not bind your future. Our parents faith does not guarantee our faith neither our parents failure doom us to repeat their failures. Proximity to God does not equal intimacy with Him.

Every generation must choose.

As I read this, I had to ask myself: What spirit am I carrying forward? Am I repeating patterns I’ve seen? Or am I responding personally to God?

Faith is not inherited. It is exercised. Like father, like son? Not necessarily. Legacy may influence you but it does not define you.

And that gives hope to every generation.

But when I was reading 1 Samuel, I noticed something unusual.

In 1 Samuel 12, after Saul is appointed king, Samuel calls upon the Lord to send thunder and rain so the people may recognize their wickedness in asking for a king. And then he says something striking: “Is today not the wheat harvest?” (1 Samuel 12:17) That sentence could easily be overlooked but wheat harvest in Israel was dry season. Rain at that time was abnormal. Thunder during harvest was disruptive and rains might even be dangerous for crops.

Why would God shake things during harvest? Then I remembered something else.

In 1 Samuel 6, when the Philistines return the ark of the covenant, guess what season it is? Wheat harvest again. The people of Beth Shemesh are reaping their harvest when they see the ark return. It’s a joyful moment. Stability restored. God’s presence back. Everything feels good. And in that very moment of comfort and relief, they casually look into the ark.

Familiarity had replaced reverence.

In both chapters, the setting is harvest. Abundance, stability, emotional high. And in both, something is shaken.

In chapter 6, harvest joy leads to irreverence.

In chapter 12, harvest stability leads to misplaced trust in a king.

It’s interesting how in famine we assume God is checking us, but in harvest we rarely check ourselves.

During famine we pray more.

During harvest we relax more.

During famine we cling.

During harvest we grow familiar.

And familiarity can quietly dull reverence.

The people in 1 Samuel 8 asked for a king so they could be like other nations. Even when warned, they persisted. By chapter 12, Samuel reminds them again that asking for a king was a rejection of God as their true King. But it doesn’t fully sink in, until thunder rolls during harvest. God interrupts their most stable moment. Not to destroy them.

But to remind them.

The thunder during harvest wasn’t punishment, it was perspective.

Sometimes God allows thunder in our harvest seasons as well. Not because He is angry. Not because He wants to strip us of our blessing but because harvest has a way of convincing us that what we hold is our security.

Maybe the real question is not whether we are in famine or harvest. Maybe the deeper question is this:

Is our trust resting in the season or in the Lord of the season?

Because famine reveals dependence. But harvest reveals what we truly believe.