When God Says “Go” Before He Shows You Where (A Genesis 12 reflection)

Genesis 12 stops me in my tracks.

Because when I read about Abram leaving everything familiar to go to a land God had not yet shown him, I don’t just see a Bible story anymore. I see a memory.

I see Cebu.

I see packed bags.

Two kids in tow.

A husband and wife holding hands tightly.

And hearts full of faith… mixed with fear.

When Leandro and I decided to move to Cebu to start SOVA, we didn’t have a blueprint. No relatives. No safety net. No guarantee that things would work out.

We only had a quiet conviction in our hearts that God was saying, “Go.”

And sometimes that one word from God feels both exciting and terrifying at the same time.

Because when God says go, He rarely gives the full plan.

He doesn’t show the timeline. He doesn’t reveal the outcome. He doesn’t hand you the map.

He gives the next step. And asks you to trust Him with the rest. So we stepped out in faith.

We left what was familiar and walked into the unknown with our children, holding onto one promise: God will not abandon us.

And slowly… step by step… we saw His hand.

People showed up at the right time. Doors opened we didn’t even know existed. Provision came in ways we never could have orchestrated ourselves.

That’s when we began to understand something deeply: God’s blessings are never meant to stop with us. They are meant to flow through us.

The students we met. The lives we encountered. The people who helped us start SOVA. God was blessing them too. His plans were always bigger than our comfort.

But here’s the part we don’t always talk about: obedience does not make the road easy. In fact, sometimes the tests come right after the calling.

Running a business stretched us in ways we never imagined. Marketing, finances, operations, sleepless nights, silent prayers whispered in the dark. Battles only we and God truly knew.

And then the whispers of fear started to creep in.

What if we fail?

What if we misunderstood God?

What if we are not safe here?

We say, “Lord, we trust You with our future.” But if we are honest, sometimes that trust becomes partial.

There came a moment when fear grew louder than faith. We chose to return to our hometown because it felt safer.

And that’s when Abram’s story became painfully real to me.

Abram left the Promised Land and went down to Egypt because of fear. He thought Egypt would be his security. He even lied about Sarai to protect himself.

The father of faith… ran.

The father of faith… feared.

The father of faith… failed.

And suddenly, I felt seen.

Because faith does not mean perfect courage. Faith does not mean perfect decisions. Faith means continuing even after fear and failure.

And this is the part of Genesis 12 that gives me so much hope:

Even when Abram ran, God protected him.

Even when Abram feared, God remained faithful.

Even when Abram failed, God did not cancel His plan.

Our failures do not cancel our calling.

Yes, there are consequences when we step out of God’s will. But grace is always bigger than our detours.

God escorted Abram and Sarai safely out of Egypt. And He continues to guide us back when we wander too.

Abram’s story didn’t begin with perfection. It began with a step of faith… and a whole lot of grace.

Maybe yours does too. 🤍

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What the Tower of Babel Taught Me About God’s Love

As I was reading Genesis 10–11, one word kept standing out to me: rebellion.

We read about a people who were united to build a tower—the Tower of Babel. I learned that Babel means “the gates of heaven.” Their unity, however, was not rooted in obedience to God but in rebellion. Because of this, God intervened and confused their language to the point that they could no longer understand one another.

As I reflected on this, I found myself convicted. I realized that I, too, have been rebellious. I have disobeyed God.

Yet this is what God gently taught me: in His mercy and love, He disciplines us when we rebel. God’s discipline is not born out of anger, but out of love. If God had not intervened in my life, I could have destroyed myself.

His discipline saved me from self-destruction. What I once thought was restriction was actually protection.

So how can God still love us despite our rebelliousness? The answer is simple—grace. Only by God’s grace am I still here. Without it, I would have ruined my own life.

Rebellion does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it shows up quietly—in gossip, anger, insecurity, jealousy, unforgiveness, and pride.

This message is so timely for me because God has lovingly exposed areas of my heart that I need to surrender. These unchecked thoughts and emotions will only hurt me further if I continue to hold on to them.

Please know this: God is a loving God. He is not waiting to punish us—He is waiting for us to surrender what has been burdening us.

And in that surrender, there is freedom, healing, and grace.

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Even the Righteous Can Fall

When I read Genesis 8, I was struck by how Noah is described—a righteous man. That word alone can feel heavy. Righteous. It sounds like someone who never gets it wrong, someone spiritually untouchable.

But the Bible doesn’t leave the story there.

Noah is called righteous not because he was perfect, but because he walked with God. That distinction matters. Righteousness, as Scripture shows us, is not about flawless behavior—it is about trust, obedience, and relationship.

And yet, if we’re honest, many of us still think righteousness means getting everything right.

God gently reminds us otherwise.

He doesn’t ask us for perfection. He invites us into relationship.

As I continue reading, Genesis 9 confronts me with a moment that feels uncomfortable. After everything Noah endured—the obedience, the waiting, the faith—he fell. He became drunk and lay uncovered in his tent.

It’s sobering.

But it’s also honest.

This part of Noah’s story reminds us of a powerful truth: being close to God does not remove our humanity. Even deeply faithful people can stumble. Failure does not cancel faith—it reveals our ongoing need for grace.

Sometimes we forget that.

We expect more from people we admire spiritually. And perhaps we expect too much from ourselves.

Often, the real danger isn’t an obvious fall—it’s the slow drift of the heart.

Scripture tells us in Proverbs 4:23 to guard our hearts above everything else. Why? Because pride doesn’t usually arrive loudly. It grows quietly. It hides in confidence, familiarity with Scripture, and being active in ministry.

We don’t notice it at first.

That’s why even seasoned believers must remain watchful. Spiritual growth should make us humbler, not harder.

So what happens when others fall?

Galatians 6:1 gives us a clear answer: restore gently.

It’s easy to judge from a distance. But Scripture calls us to grace. Grace does not excuse sin—but it creates space for healing, repentance, and restoration.

And this is the part we often forget: the same grace God gives us is the grace we are meant to extend to others.

In the end, spiritual maturity is not measured by how much we know, how visible our service is, or how long we’ve been walking with God.

Micah 6:8 reminds us that true maturity looks like humility—walking closely with God, aware of our weakness, and dependent on His mercy.

As long as we live in this world, we will fall short. But humility keeps our hearts soft. It keeps our faith real.

And perhaps that is the greatest lesson Noah’s story offers us.

Prayer:

Lord, thank You that You see my heart, not just my mistakes. Help me walk with You today. Remind me that I need Your grace today just as much as I did when I first believed. Search my heart. Keep me humble and teachable before You. Help me see others through Your eyes and respond with love. Keep me grounded in humility and grateful for Your grace every day.

In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.

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The Quiet Power of Obedience

I was reading Genesis 7 and 8, and what stood out to me was the quiet, steady obedience of Noah. God gave him very specific instructions—to build an ark, to prepare for something unseen and unimaginable—and Noah obeyed. There was no recorded hesitation, no bargaining, no delay. He simply did what God asked.

Scripture tells us that God chose Noah because He saw his heart. Noah was described as a righteous man—one who walked with God in a corrupt generation. Obedience flowed naturally from that relationship. His faith was not loud or dramatic; it was consistent, faithful, and rooted in trust.

As I sat with these chapters, my thoughts drifted toward my own life, and particularly toward my husband, Leandro. The Bible does not say much about Noah’s wife. We do not read of her complaints, her doubts, or her resistance. We simply know that she entered the ark with her husband and followed through with the calling God placed upon their family.

That silence speaks to me.

It reminds me of the quiet strength it takes to trust—not only God, but also the man God has placed beside you.

I am deeply grateful for my husband. He is not perfect, but he is intentional. He leads our family to church. He makes sure we read the Bible. He invites prayer into our daily life. And when he says, “This is what we are going to do,” my response is to surrender it to God—to pray that his decisions are guided by the Lord and aligned with His will.

That surrender is not weakness. It is faith.

It is choosing trust over fear, prayer over control, and unity over pride.

At the same time, I know how difficult obedience can be. By nature, we want to do things our own way. We want control. We want our own plans, our own timing, our own understanding. Even the call to be kind, to be generous, to be grateful, and to be thankful is not something we naturally feel all the time. There are days when obedience feels heavy and surrender feels costly.

That is why I ask the Lord daily to fill me. I know I cannot obey Him in my own strength. I need His grace, His Spirit, and His help. I desire to trust Him—not because it is easy, but because I know there is no other way to be truly happy in Jesus but to trust and obey, even when things do not make sense to me.

To those who are walking through a difficult marriage, or living with the pain of a broken relationship, my heart goes out to you. I pray that you will find courage and strength in the Lord. May God give you wisdom where there is confusion, peace where there is turmoil, and healing where there has been hurt. The Lord sees you, He hears your prayers, and He is near to the brokenhearted.

Ultimately, the story of Noah is not just about an ark or a flood—it is about obedience, trust, and walking with God even when the path is unclear. And sometimes, walking with God also means learning to trust Him through the people He places in our lives.

Prayer

Lord, teach us to trust You even when we do not fully understand. Help us to obey You with willing hearts, not out of fear, but out of love and faith. When obedience feels heavy and surrender feels hard, fill us with Your grace and strength. Quiet our desire for control and align our hearts with Your will.

For marriages that are weary, bring healing. For hearts that are tired, bring rest. For those who feel unseen or unheard, remind them that You are near. May we learn, like Noah, to walk faithfully with You—one step at a time—trusting that Your ways are always good.

We choose today to trust and obey You, knowing that true joy is found in You alone.

In Jesus' name we pray, amen.

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Walking With God in Ordinary Days: Finding Faithfulness in the Quiet Steps

 

What does it truly mean to walk with God?

In Genesis 5, we encounter a simple yet deeply moving statement about Enoch: “Enoch walked with God.” There is no long explanation, no list of achievements, no dramatic turning point. Yet this brief phrase carries profound weight. It describes a life marked by closeness, consistency, and quiet faithfulness.

To walk with God is to seek Him—not occasionally, but daily. It is to desire His presence and guidance, to obey Him with a surrendered heart. Walking with God means opening His Word, not merely to gain knowledge, but to know Him more intimately. It means praying, listening, and learning to commune with Him, not only in moments of devotion or crisis, but in the ordinary rhythm of everyday life.

Walking with God is, at its core, a relationship. It is inviting Him into our plans, decisions, struggles, and joys. It is acknowledging Him in both the visible milestones and the unseen moments. To walk with God is to make Him first—to enthrone Him as King and Lord of our hearts, not just in words, but in the way we live.

God is our Creator and our Master. We must return to this truth again and again: we did not make ourselves, and we do not belong to ourselves. In a world that celebrates self-rule and independence, Scripture gently reminds us that we were created to live in dependence upon God. True freedom is not found in becoming our own authority, but in submitting ourselves to the One who knows us fully and loves us perfectly.

There is no lasting happiness apart from walking with our Creator. Everything else this world offers—achievement, comfort, recognition, possessions—may bring temporary pleasure, but it cannot sustain the soul. We were not designed to find fulfillment apart from the One who made us. Our hearts were created to walk in step with God, and when we drift from Him, we may still function, but we will not be whole. Joy, peace, and true contentment are found only in a life aligned with Him.

As I read Genesis 5, I was struck by the careful recording of names—Adam, Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalalel, Jared, Enoch, Methuselah, Lamech, and Noah. At first glance, it appears to be a simple genealogy. Yet within these names is a testimony of God’s faithfulness across generations, ultimately pointing to the lineage through which Christ would come. These lives, though separated by time, were woven together by God’s sovereign plan.

Enoch stands out—not because of his longevity, influence, or accomplishments, but because of how he walked. His life reminds us that God is not primarily looking for impressive resumes, but for faithful hearts. What mattered most was not what Enoch achieved, but with whom he walked.

This passage offers a quiet but powerful invitation. To walk with God is to choose proximity over prominence, obedience over self-will, and communion over control. It is to live with the awareness that God is near, attentive, and involved in every step we take.

As I sit with this truth, my heart arrives at a simple confession: all I truly desire in this life is to be close to my Savior—nothing more, and nothing less. Not recognition, not success as the world defines it, not even comfort or certainty. Just closeness with Christ. When I walk with Him, my soul is at rest, and I lack nothing that truly matters.

In the end, walking with God is not about perfection, but about direction. It is a daily choice to turn our hearts toward Him, to keep in step with His Spirit, and to trust that the path we walk with God—however quiet or unseen—leads to life.

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Children Are a Gift from the Lord

Children are a gift from the Lord.

Adam and Eve had many sons and daughters, but in Genesis 4, two of their children are specifically mentioned—Cain and Abel. When Eve gave birth to Cain, she declared, “I have gotten a man with the help of the Lord.” Scripture does not explicitly say that Cain was the firstborn, but his birth is recorded first, and Eve’s words are filled with awe, gratitude, and hope.

At that moment, she did not know Cain’s future. She could not foresee his inner battles, the choices he would make, or the sorrow that would follow. Like many parents, she simply received her child as a gift from God—full of promise, unaware of what lay ahead.

The story that follows is heavy and tragic.

Cain became angry when his offering was not regarded by God. Instead of addressing his wounded heart, Cain allowed anger and jealousy to take root. That unchecked emotion led to violence, and Abel was killed by his own brother. Cain, once welcomed into the world with gratitude and hope, became a restless wanderer—a man marked by the consequences of his choices.

Genesis 4 carries many profound lessons about sin, responsibility, and God’s justice mingled with mercy. But this is what the Lord impressed upon my heart as I reflected on it.

As parents, we are called to raise our sons and daughters, but we must be careful with expectations. Our children are not guarantees of success, righteousness, or fulfillment. They are not reflections of our worth or failures. They are individuals—created in God’s image, yet shaped in a fallen world, capable of both beauty and brokenness.

Our role is not to control who they become, but to love them consistently, guide them faithfully, and walk with them patiently.

This realization has changed the way I see my own children.

There were times when I felt impatient—especially when my son misbehaved. I would feel frustration rise quickly, sometimes reacting before understanding. But now, I pause. I remind myself that growth takes time, that character is formed through grace, and that love—not anger—is what truly shapes the heart.

I want to be a calm, loving, and nurturing mother. Not perfect, but present. Not permissive, but anchored in grace. I want my children to know that my love does not fluctuate with their behavior, moods, or mistakes.

Because before they are learners,

before they are achievers,

before they are “well-behaved” children—

they are gifts.

My children are gifts from the Lord—entrusted to me not to be molded by fear or expectation, but to be nurtured with patience, wisdom, and humility. And every day, I ask God to help me steward that gift well.

Thank You, Lord, for reminding me.

Thank You for my children.

They are gifts. Truly, they are.

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Lessons from the Garden I Didn’t Expect: On seeing, longing, and the grace that meets us

 

I have read Genesis 3 many times. I thought I already understood it. But this time, I felt invited to sit with it more slowly, more honestly.

What stayed with me was a simple question: Why do we desire what we know is forbidden?

The garden was already full. Adam and Eve lacked nothing. God had provided everything they needed. And yet Eve saw that the fruit was pleasing to the eye.

“When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, that it was pleasant to the eyes…” (Genesis 3:6)

That detail lingered with me. Temptation did not begin with rebellion—it began with looking.

And as I reflected on that, I realized how familiar this pattern is.

There are moments in my own life where I clearly knew what God was asking of me—and still, I chose otherwise. Not because I didn’t know better, but because knowing and obeying are not always the same. Sometimes weakness speaks louder than conviction. Sometimes desire clouds discernment.

I carry regret for those moments. Not the kind that traps me in shame, but the kind that humbles me. The kind that makes me aware of how fragile obedience can be when the heart is not carefully guarded. Looking back, I see how small compromises can quietly form—how a glance, a thought, a longing can slowly pull the heart away.

And yet, woven into that regret is gratitude.

Gratitude that God’s grace met me there. Gratitude that He did not turn away when I fell short. He did not wait for me to fix myself before drawing near.

“But where sin increased, grace increased all the more.” (Romans 5:20)

Genesis 3 reminds me that sin often enters softly. Today, it feels even more present. We are surrounded by images everywhere—on our phones, on social media, in videos, in places we casually walk into. Desire is constantly being stirred, comparison quietly planted.

“For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father.” (1 John 2:16)

It is tiring to resist. Sometimes it feels painfully human.

That is why I am learning—slowly—to be more careful with what my eyes linger on. Because what we repeatedly look at does not remain external. It settles into the heart. And if left unchecked, it can grow into insecurity, jealousy, anger, restlessness—things that slowly steal joy.

“The eye is the lamp of the body.” (Matthew 6:22)

I still carry questions as I sit with this chapter.

Why was the serpent allowed in the garden? Was temptation always part of the human story? Did God allow the choice so that love and obedience could be real—not forced, but freely given?

I do not yet have all the answers. But I am learning that God is patient with our questions. He is not threatened by our wondering. He walks with us as we ask.

So for now, I remain here—reading, praying, learning to guard my heart and my eyes. Trusting that even when we fall short, grace still meets us. And that God, in His kindness, is more interested in drawing us closer than reminding us of how far we’ve strayed.

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10)

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