God’s faithfulness

Is Anything Too Wonderful for God?

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Genesis 18:1–15

Every once in a while, a passage of Scripture meets us right where our hopes have given up. Genesis 18:1-15 is one of those passages. Abraham and Sarah have lived for decades with a promise from God. A promise not just of a child, but of a whole covenant future: a people, a land, and blessing for the world. But without a son, none of it can move forward. This isn’t a generic story about infertility; it’s about whether God will keep the very promise on which his redemptive plan rests.

The scene breaks into the ordinary. Abraham is resting in the heat of the day when three mysterious visitors appear. Genesis tells us that “the LORD appeared,” yet Abraham sees three men. However we understand these visitors, the point is clear: God has drawn near. And Abraham responds like a man who has been shaped by years of God’s gracious invitations. He runs, he bows, he prepares a feast far beyond what he offers in words. His hospitality mirrors the hospitality God has shown him.

But the heart of the story lies inside the tent, where Sarah listens as one of the visitors says, “About this time next year… Sarah shall have a son.” She laughs! Not the laugh of mockery, but the protective laugh of someone who has been disappointed before. She knows her age. She knows the long ache of waiting. And she knows how painful it is to hope again.

Many of us know that laugh. We hear promises of forgiveness, renewal, or resurrection, and something in us whispers, “Don’t get your hopes up.” Sometimes skepticism is just a shield.

Then comes the question that echoes down through the generations: “Is anything too wonderful for the LORD?” It’s not a rebuke. It’s a wake‑up call. The God who formed galaxies, who judged the world in Noah’s day, who scattered human pride at Babel, this God is not limited by our timelines or our tired expectations. And in the fullness of time, he would go even further than Sarah’s miracle, bringing life into the world through a virgin’s womb.

At the end of the passage, God insists that Sarah remember her laughter. Not to shame her. But so that when the promised child arrives, she will see just how far God has gone to keep his word.

Open a Bible and read Genesis 18:1–15 for yourself. Let that question linger: “Is anything too wonderful for the LORD?”

The God Who Sees: Understanding Genesis 16

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A woman in a brown hooded cloak gazes upward in a serene natural setting with trees in the background, illuminated by soft sunlight.

Genesis 16:13–16

This article concludes a four‑part series on Genesis 16. If you missed the earlier pieces, you can find them in previous posts. We began by watching Sarai and Abram take matters into their own hands, creating a mess that wounded everyone involved. Then we followed Hagar as she fled into the wilderness, only to be found by the God who sees the unseen. And in the third article, we watched the Lord gently confront her, call her to return, and assure her that her life and future were not forgotten. All of it prepares us for the final movement of this remarkable chapter.

Hagar returns home changed. She’s still a servant. Her circumstances haven’t magically improved. But she walks back with courage because she knows something she didn’t know before: God sees her.

She names the Lord “The God Who Sees Me” (Genesis 16:13). And Abram receives her testimony. He names the son she gives birth to Ishmael, meaning “God hears” (Genesis 16:15). Hagar’s return spoke to Abram. God showed him that he does hear. He knows. And Abram and Sarai can trust him.

That’s the heartbeat of Genesis 16. Not the failure of Abram and Sarai. Not the conflict between two women. But the God who steps into human mess and says, “I see you.”

He sees your fears. Your waiting. Your disappointments. Your pressures. Your problems. He sees the shortcuts you regret and the wounds you carry. And he invites you to trust him, not because you’ve earned his watchful care over you, but because he is faithful.

God doesn’t need your shortcuts. He needs your trust. And trusting him is something you will never regret.

If you want to meet the God who sees, open your Bible and read Genesis 16:1–16. You may find he has been looking for you all along.

It’s easy to try to outrun God

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Genesis 16

This piece begins a four‑part series exploring the story of Genesis 16 and what it reveals about God and the human heart.

God makes sweeping promises in Scripture: promises to prosper his people, to give them hope and a future, and more. But these promises begin small, like a seed. In Genesis, these promises begin with two people: Abram and Sarai. Everything God intends to do, make them a great nation, giving them a new land, and bless them richly, depends on one thing Abram and Sarai don’t have: a son. You may be surprised to know that all these promises are carried over into the New Testament, but not as a seed any longer but a mighty tree.

The lack of a son to Abram and Saria help explain their actions in Genesis 16. And it’s a problem that’s theological, psychological, and social all at once.

Theologically, God promised a great nation through Abram’s offspring. No son means no nation. Psychologically, Abram and Sarai longed for a child. Many today know that ache. Socially, Sarai lived in a world where a woman’s worth was tied to her ability to “build up” a family (Genesis 16:2). That pressure crushed her. It whispered that she was less-than, broken, inferior.

We may not live in her world, but we know that whisper. Every culture has its own way of telling us we’re not enough. One culture says, “You’re nothing without children.” Another says, “You’re nothing without a career.” Both fuel feelings of inferiority.

So Sarai, feeling worthless, looks for a shortcut. She turns to Hagar, her Egyptian servant, and proposes a solution that was perfectly acceptable in Canaanite culture, but not in God’s design for human flourishing. She offers her servant to Abram as a wife. Abram, instead of praying or waiting, simply “listened to the voice of Sarai” (Genesis 16:2). That’s Genesis-language for listening to a voice that, at least at that moment spoke contrary to God, rather than listening to the voice of God.

It’s easy to judge them, but we do the same. We rush ahead when God tells us to wait. We bend rules when we want something badly enough. We try to outrun God, and in doing so, we cut him out.

Genesis 16 invites us to see ourselves in Abram and Sarai. Their problem is our problem: Will we trust God to make good on his promises, or will we try to force them? Will we let God be God, or will we take matters into our own hands?

If you’ve never read this story, open a Bible this week and sit with Genesis 16:1–3. You may find your own reflection staring back. Next article we’ll evaluate the outcome of Sarai and Abram’s plan.  

True Comfort in a World Obsessed with Ease

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Isaiah 40:1-11

Since the pandemic, comfort has become a cultural obsession. Where do you go for comfort? Do you reach for the half gallon of ice cream in the freezer, settle in for a streaming marathon, or slip into your softest sweatpants?

Isaiah 40 begins with a word we all crave: Comfort. But this comfort doesn’t add pounds, wear thin, or fade with use. It endures when every other source fails. Over the coming weeks, I’ll explore how the comfort Isaiah 40:1–11 offers contrasts with the ways we typically chase comfort today.

We begin with this truth: True comfort comes from God’s redeeming work, not from present ease.

Many of us believe comfort will arrive when our schedules lighten, our workloads shrink, and our relational drama ceases. Isaiah 39 gives us a sobering example of that mindset. King Hezekiah receives devastating news: Babylon will invade, Jerusalem’s treasures will be carried off, and even his sons will be taken. Yet because this disaster won’t happen in his lifetime, he responds, “The word of the LORD… is good,” thinking, at least there will be peace in my days.

Hezekiah found comfort in present ease. It made him selfish. When present ease becomes our highest goal, we stop caring about anyone beyond ourselves.

Isaiah 40 announces better comfort, rooted not in ease but in redemption. God promises that Israel’s warfare will end, not just their exile in Babylon, but the deeper warfare caused by their sin.

Israel had forgotten the God who rescued her. To picture this, imagine a father who leaves his homeland to give his daughter a better life. Back home he was a doctor; here he works as a janitor so she can flourish. She grows up, becomes a doctor herself, but she rarely calls, scarcely visits, and abandons the virtues her father tried to pass down to her. That is what Israel did to God. He redeemed her from Egypt, nurtured her in the wilderness for forty years, passed down a good law, and gave her a verdant homeland. But she turned away. Almost every citizen was complicit. Now God promises to pardon her rebellion, by fully paying for it himself.

True comfort comes from knowing that Christ was crucified to pardon our sin. Hezekiah clung to ease and became self‑centered. Christ discomforted himself to bring us comfort. And that kind of comfort doesn’t shrink our hearts. Rather, it enlarges them. It makes us love God and others more, not less. True comfort gives us a purpose outside of ourselves that enriches us as we enrich the lives of those around us.