Deep cracks penetrated dusty soil and leaves on the olive trees fainted in desert heat. No crops, dwindling livestock, nothing to prove it was indeed, the land of promise.
Two dreams given to an Egyptian pharaoh foretold the drought. A young Hebrew, pulled out of one of his dungeons, interpreted those dreams.
Famine was coming. Unprecedented famine. Not a year without rain, but seven. Seven years that would deplete streams, rivers, lakes – any source of water, except underground springs. How long would they last?
Seasons, eras, epochs – and we’re in the middle of them. Carrying our bread and fish, doing what we do, sometimes wondering if it matters.
Move away from the land of promise? To Egypt?
What could that mean? Jacob, an Old Testament patriarch, had worked so hard, passed so many tests to get back home.
How could God be calling him out?
Here’s what I heard this morning.
When drought encompasses your promise, move forward. The Son is there, in a new place, waiting to embrace you.
The present may look bruised and battered. But the promise still beckons. It doesn’t look like what we expected. It requires wisdom to navigate.
Because the promised land is bigger than we knew. Larger than we imagined. Requiring more than we have right now.
And those loaves and fish that look so small? They need that new place to grow, where there’s room to multiply. A hungry crowd waits there for our arrival.
In an unexpected place, for a bigger purpose. Certain, in the midst of uncertainty.
He’s there. He’s prepared a place. He’ll help us find the way.
Shalom in the River,