When Empty Hands Become Holy Ground

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the power of choices and words—and how they become a gateway. A way of discerning what is simply swirling in our minds compared to what is anchored in the treasure and truth within our hearts (Luke 6:45). The way we respond in adversity and challenge reveals the groundwork beneath the foundation of our faith.

Scripture is clear: in this life, we are promised trials and tribulations (John 16:33). Suffering is not an exception; it is part of the framework of our walk as followers of Christ (1 Peter 4:12–13). Yet faced with this reality, how do we measure up to the standard set before us?

How do you respond when that job opportunity or relationship doesn’t turn out the way you hoped? When prayers seem unanswered? When God feels silent in your struggles? When a plan you worked hard for falls apart, or someone you love disappoints you? When hope feels distant or fear rises—where do you anchor your heart?

These questions have been close to me recently. I’ve felt tested in several areas of my life, and I’ve had to confront the truth that the Lord gives us free will to choose—how we respond, what we turn to for comfort, and where we anchor our peace (Deuteronomy 30:19). In those moments, our choices reveal much about our character and the maturity of our faith. This is not about shame. It’s an honest litmus test. An invitation to allow the Lord to reveal where He is still calling us higher, to heal, to grow, and to be set apart (Philippians 1:6; Romans 12:2).

Not long ago, an opportunity came my way that felt like it could only be from the Lord. It wasn’t something I sought out—it arrived unexpectedly, but seemed aligned with the purpose and prayers I had been bringing before Him. My heart began to open, hope began to rise, and I found myself surrendering again and again, choosing not to fill in the blanks with my own assumptions or desires from it. But when it became clear the opportunity was no longer a possibility for me, I was crushed. Why did it hurt so much? Why did I feel like I had to grieve for it?

My first response was painful. It stirred old memories of hope deferred (Proverbs 13:12), of things once felt “too good to be true.” I began to question myself, to analyze where I had gone wrong, and the interactions with others that culminated throughout. The reality is that vulnerability can leave you feeling trampled on— which is why guarding our hearts is so important. hen you’ve walked through repeated disappointments in life, even hope can start to feel like a test. And yet—while that was my human, natural response—I cannot deny what God revealed to me in the process.

Scripture continually calls us to remember what the Lord has done. To bring back to mind His deliverance, His promises, and His faithfulness in seasons past so that we are strengthened in the present storm (Deuteronomy 8:2; Psalm 77:11–12; Psalm 105:5; 1 Corinthians 11:24–25). This theme of remembrance appears hundreds of times throughout Scripture as a command, a pattern, and a safeguard. Why? Because remembrance anchors us when circumstances shake us.

The presence or absence of an opportunity does not change who I am (Romans 8:38–39). It does not redefine my identity (Ephesians 2:10). My affirmation—or lack thereof—from others doesn’t determine my value or worth, nor does it define the purpose God has placed within me. And this is where deeper faith takes root—not in the presence of open doors, but in the foundation beneath us when doors close. Challenges produce choices. Choices build character. Pressure tests faith.

Scripture says, “If you fail under pressure, your strength is too small” (Proverbs 24:10). Life’s challenges reveal what is really inside us—our reserves of patience, resilience, and faith (Matthew 25:1–13). They show us that our own strength—our planning, effort, or determination—is never enough to carry us through on its own. Even when our hearts are willing, our human limits often leave us weary or weak: “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matthew 26:41). These moments are meant to point us back to God, reminding us to rely on His power rather than ours.

Even in my grief, I was reminded through prayer and the encouragement of a few close voices that my hope is not built on circumstances. Jesus is Our Living Hope (1 Peter 1:3). He is the framework that sustains us in the storm (Hebrews 6:19).

Suffering is not random—it is part of God’s design, woven into His divine plan for our salvation through Christ’s sacrifice (Romans 8:17; Philippians 1:29). Just as Jesus suffered for our redemption, we too are called to share in His sufferings, knowing that no pain is wasted and that every trial has a purpose (1 Peter 4:13). Our struggles refine us, shape our character, and prepare us to reflect His glory in the world. When we endure with Christ, we are promised strength for the journey, hope in the midst of trials, and the assurance that He is working all things together for our good and according to His purpose (Romans 8:28; 2 Corinthians 1:5). No suffering is meaningless; it is all part of the journey that allows us to participate in sharing His glory.

As I prayed about what the Lord was teaching me, He led me to Luke 24:25–26, where Jesus spoke to the disciples on the road to Emmaus: “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” This conversation took place after His crucifixion, after His death and resurrection, and yet the disciples still needed this reminder. Even though prophecy had revealed the suffering and glory of the Messiah (Isaiah 53; Psalm 22), Jesus pointed them back to the truth in love—for their benefit—so they would understand the trials ahead and the purpose behind the suffering. Suffering was not a detour; it was a necessary part of God’s plan, the path through which resurrection power and redemption were revealed.

And so it is with us. Following Christ costs us something (Luke 9:23). Sometimes it looks like laying down dreams or identities we tried to build in opportunities, labels, or relationships. Sometimes it looks like surrendering pride or comfort for obedience (Galatians 2:20). Other times it means embracing endurance when the path feels long (Hebrews 10:36).

Moses knew what it was to feel inadequate. He had fled Egypt after killing an Egyptian in anger, wrestled with deep insecurity, and questioned whether God could really use him (Exodus 3–4). Yet in the midst of his doubt and hesitation, God didn’t give him grand solutions or extraordinary tools—He pointed to the simple staff in his hand, the ordinary thing he already carried. With it, God called Moses to lead His people out of slavery, showing that even what seems small or ordinary in our hands can become a powerful instrument for His glory and purpose.

If He could take the staff in Moses’ hand and use it to reveal His glory, He can take whatever is in ours—our ideas, our dreams, the desires of our hearts, even the hopes we think are too small or fragile—and bring purpose from them too. God can use the ordinary, the overlooked, or the seemingly insufficient to accomplish extraordinary things, inviting us to trust Him with what we already carry and to surrender it for His glory.

When life feels uncertain, we are invited to return to what is unshakably true about who God is. He is faithful (Lamentations 3:22–23), our provider (Philippians 4:19), and our refuge (Psalm 46:1). He is sovereign over all circumstances (Psalm 115:3), slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love (Psalm 103:8), and the One who promises that those who trust in Him will not be put to shame (Isaiah 49:23; Romans 10:11). He is our guide (Psalm 32:8), our strength in weakness (Isaiah 40:29), and the anchor for our hope (Hebrews 6:19). So we press on through life’s trials—with Him, leaning into the fullness of who He is, trusting that even when doors close or plans change, His character remains our constant and our ground.

And just as God’s glory was revealed through Moses—despite his doubts, failures, and mistakes—so too His glory can be revealed through our lives. Even when we stumble, face setbacks, or feel inadequate, God can use our ordinary actions, our small steps of faith, and even our mistakes to accomplish His purposes. Though disappointments may sting, with Christ we cannot ultimately fail—not if we continue to trust Him, remain obedient, and lean on His strength rather than our own.

Because in this race of faith, the only true failure… is quitting.