Today I read the story of the Widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17. She was a woman who had prepared herself and her son for death until she got her last-minute miracle from God, through Elijah. However, sometime later, this same woman loses her son. In her grief, she turns to Elijah and says, “Man of God, why did you do this to me? Did you come here to remind God of my sins and so cause my son’s death?”
It is funny how a woman who was once ready to die could receive a miracle that saved her family, only to turn around and accuse the very person through whom hope came into her life. This mirrors how people sometimes respond to help by saying, “but I never asked for your help”.
The master naggers, the Israelites, did something similar. They groaned in Egypt, and when God heard them, he delivered them and even punished the Egyptians for their sakes. One would think they would be eternally grateful. Yet, when the journey got rough, these same people longed for the meat and even the tombs of Egypt.
It is easy to forget the faithfulness of God when we are stuck in the middle of a storm or when the answers to prayers we once groaned for become the very source of our troubles. How do you hold on to the God who split the Red Sea when you’re stuck in a barren land?
A pastor once said that miracles are sources of joy in the present and reminders of God’s faithfulness in the future. Like many, I tend to overlook the little everyday miracles around me. The breath I inhale and exhale, the near accidents I escape, the last-minute decisions that avert life-altering consequences, and the privilege of working toward a life I desire. Many times, we wait for jaw-dropping miracles before we pause to thank God, forgetting the quiet battles He fights on our behalf every minute.
These little or not-so-little miracles deserve more than a fleeting celebration. They should be held close, stored in the heart, and revisited when the road gets bumpy. They remind us that the God of yesterday is still the God of today. He is the same, and He cannot change.
As we embrace this year, let us practice the act of raising altars as a form of worship. Let us be deliberate about pausing, reflecting and acknowledging the hand of God in every moment, even when it feels more like a brush than a grasp. Refuse overfamiliarity with the silent wonders of God. Bask in the awareness of his every move in your life, and right there and then, you build an altar.
Altars remind us of God’s faithfulness. We name them as acts of worship for what God has done and imprint them on our hearts so we carry them wherever we go.
In the desert, we remember Jehovah Jireh- The God who Provides.
In the darkness, we remember El-Roi — The God who Sees us.
In sickness and pain, we remember Jehovah Rapha — The God who heals us.
Amid the storm, we remember Jehovah Shalom — The God who is our Peace.
When faced with battles, we remember Jehovah Nissi — The God who is our Banner.
When loneliness wraps its arm around us, we remember Jehovah Shammah — The God who is with us.
In everything, we remember the God who sat with us when silence was all we needed; the One who carried us when our feet gave way; the One who held our hands when we couldn’t take the first step; the One who wrapped us in his arms when all we could do was groan. The God who heard us from miles away and answered swiftly — because he was never distant.
He was present
Within us. An ever-abiding help in times of need.
As you go about your days, carry these reminders with you. Hold close the moments where God showed up — loudly or quietly — and let them anchor you when the road feels uncertain. Faith is often sustained not by what we are waiting for, but by what we remember. And while you walk this journey with God, know that you do not walk it alone.
Always remember, on those lonely days, your online family is here for you. Never feel shy to reach out to us here-https://www.justhummingbird.com/contact-me/