overcoming fear

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.  

No Scheme Can Out-Save God’s Plan

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Genesis 12:10-20

Have you ever bent the truth just a little, just enough to avoid discomfort?

It’s Thursday night. You’re halfway through dinner when a text buzzes in: “Can you help Saturday?” You sigh. You don’t want to go. So, you and your spouse craft a reply: “So sorry, we’ve got commitments.” You actually have no commitments. The reply is smooth. Polite. No drama. But across the table, your 10-year-old heard every word. The discomfort. The collaboration. The carefully worded excuse. And your child’s learning, not just how to decline a request, but how to make deceit feel normal.

Multiply that by thousands of households, week after week, and what do we get? A society where truth becomes negotiable. Integrity optional. Why not be honest, and trust God to work out the relationship?

Genesis 12:10-20 recounts a more severe trail than a text message for help, Abram (later Abraham) faces a famine and is forced to seek refuge in Egypt. Fearing for his life, he tells his wife, Sarai, to pose as his sister. It’s a clever half-truth meant to protect them. But it backfires. Pharaoh takes Sarai into his harem, and Abram is powerless to stop it. His scheme works too well! He gains wealth but loses his wife and jeopardizes God’s promise. If Sarai becomes another man’s husband, how will she give birth to the son of promise (compare Genesis 12:1-3).

Have you ever eaten a stolen apple? It never tastes as sweet as you thought it would. You eat it in secret, and it sours in your stomach. But an apple handed to you by your father, picked with love, tastes sweet. You eat it out in the open, in the field.

Fear often drives us to schemes. But God calls us to faith, to trust in God. Jesus said, “Seek first the kingdom of God and is righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:33).

The good news? God doesn’t abandon us in our foolishness. He miraculously rescued Abram and Sarai, not because they were clever but because He is gracious. He saves their marriage and protects his promise.

God still rescues today, most significantly through his Son, Jesus Christ (John 3:16-17).

If you’ve been hiding behind a small deceit, or letting fear drive your choices, bring it into the light. Call it what it is. Repent. Trust that God’s ways are better than your own (Isaiah 55:9). He won’t let you down. He keeps His promises.

No scheme of ours can ever out-save God’s gracious plan.

Joy That Surpasses Circumstance: Deep Roots, Part 3

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Phillipians 4:1-9

Before offering practical techniques in Phillipians 4:1-9, the Apostle Paul urged his hearers to stand firm in the Lord. Now Paul will turn to what we might call practical techniques, by first commending his hearers to rejoice.

In a world that often equates happiness with comfort, success, or favorable circumstances, the Apostle Paul offers a radically different vision: “Rejoice in the Lord always.” This isn’t a suggestion, but a command. And it’s not rooted in naive optimism or denial of hardship. Paul writes these words not from a sunlit garden but a dank prison cell, chained for proclaiming the gospel. Yet his letter to the Philippians drips with joy, a word mentioned no fewer than sixteen times in just four short chapters.

This joy isn’t circumstantial. It’s relational. It flows not from what Paul has, but from who he knows. The Christianity we encounter in the New Testament is vibrant, radiant, and deeply rooted in Christ. It’s not the slow march of moral obligation, but the joyful dance of grace. When people meet Jesus in Scripture, they don’t become dour; they rejoice. Not because their problems vanish, but because they’ve met the One who walks with them through every storm.

Have you ever reconnected with an old friend and felt like no time had passed? That deep sense of belonging, of being known and loved? That’s the kind of joy Jesus offers, only deeper and ever constant. He’s not a distant deity with a packed calendar. He’s a present Savior, a faithful counselor, a friend who lifts burdens we cannot carry. He took our sin and sorrow and bore it to the cross, putting it to death so we could live free (Colossians 2:14).

Free from the exhausting chase for success. Free from the need to be accepted by everyone. Free from the illusion that life must go our way. We’re free to simply be loved, known, and secure in Christ. That’s where genuine joy lives.

So if your days feel heavy, if the clouds gather, remember Paul’s words. Rejoice, not because life is easy, but because Jesus is near. Joy isn’t a fleeting emotion. It’s a settled state of being, anchored in a relationship with the One who never fails.

Radiate that kind of joy. Not with plastic smiles or forced cheerfulness, but the deep, unshakable gladness that comes from knowing Jesus. That’s the kind of joy our world needs. And it’s ours in Christ.