1 Samuel 9:16 About this time tomorrow I will send you a man from the land of Benjamin. Anoint him to be the leader of my people, Israel. He will rescue them from the Philistines, for I have looked down on my people in mercy and have heard their cry. (NLT)

More than 300 years had come and gone, and still the family of Jacob had not been able to build God’s perfect city. They had tried a lot of times and failed just as many. So after 300 years of this, nobody could agree on what would actually work. And so the family of Jacob decided to just let everyone try their very best to do what they thought was right. And they hoped that by trusting each other to do and be good, they’d create more and more goodness. And the goodness they fostered in each of their hearts would spread like a beautiful disease. And eventually, there would be no poverty or crime or hatred. And then the perfect city would just pop into existence.

It seemed like a good idea, but it didn’t work. Instead of getting better…

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Ruth 1:16 And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. (KJV)

By now, I’ve told you a lot about heroes, leaders, prophets, patriarchs, matriarchs, and people with big, important jobs doing big, important things. But this story is different. This story is about a little, unimportant family too poor to buy food. They were part of the family of Jacob living in a place called Bethlehem. But because of their poverty, they made the hard decision to move to a foreign land called Moab, hoping to find work, food, and a chance to start again.

But things were about to go from bad to worse. Just months after arriving in a new city, the father became ill and died, leaving his wife to raise the two boys alone in a country she hardly knew with people who didn’t know her. But she was resilient. And she struggled and fought and worked for years and years and years to provide for her two precious boys.

And her boys grew into men, and she rejoiced when they fell in love with girls from the city and got married. And for a moment, she thought she’d done it. Her family’s future was secure. They’d have friends, money, and everything they needed.

But that is not what happened. Because a disease swept through the land and killed both of her newly married boys. And the mother had to bury her sons in a land that was not their homeland, and she was left trying to survive, all by herself, all over again. And that’s really where this story begins.

Because this is a story about a mother. She was a widow named Naomi. She’d lost her money, her home, her husband, and both of her beautiful children. And so there she stands over the graves of her family, with a suitcase in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. She falls to her knees to say one final goodbye before returning to Bethlehem, hoping to find someone there who might take pity on her. Maybe an aunt or uncle, maybe a niece or nephew. Someone to give her food and a place to sleep for the last few years of her life.

She was just starting her journey back home when she heard a voice. “Wait!” It was her daughter-in-law, the widow of Naomi’s oldest son, a woman named Ruth. “Wait for me. I will go with you,” Ruth said.

“No,” said Naomi, “I must return to my people, and you must go back to yours. No one will take care of you in my homeland. I don’t know if they will even take care of me. And if they do, I don’t know if they will have food to give me anyway. But they won’t have food to give you. Because you are a Moabite.”

And Ruth understood exactly what Naomi was saying. But you might not, because I have not told you that story. There once was a time when the family of Jacob was in the wilderness, and they were weak with hunger and thirst. But instead of coming out and helping, the Moabites shut their gates and shouted at the family of Jacob to go away. And the family of Jacob never forgot how they’d been treated. And they told their children stories about how cruel, and mean, and bad the Moabites were.

But Moabite or not, generational feuds aside, Ruth was not going to let her aging mother-in-law travel alone. And so she looked steadily at Naomi and said, “I’m coming with you.” And when Naomi raised her hand to protest, Ruth continued, “Wherever you go, I want to go. Wherever you live, I want to live. Whoever are your people, I want them to be my people. Whoever your God is will also be my God.”

And this made Naomi cry because deep down, she didn’t want to go alone. As impractical as it seemed, she wanted Ruth to stay with her. It was hard to admit this and even harder to accept Ruth’s offer. But it was more than an offer. Ruth insisted. And so Naomi let down her hand and the two women embraced and cried and fell to the earth laughing for joy. Joy, because after all they had lost, after all they had given up, at least they had each other. And they kept laughing until Ruth finally stood up and said, “Hand me that bag, mother,” and they started walking.

The two women walked across rivers and through the wilderness until they arrived back at Bethlehem. And when they arrived, there was no one to welcome them. Naomi was a penniless widow, and Ruth was a Moabite stranger, so the people drew back from them in the streets, diverted their eyes, and tried to avoid contact.

But Naomi walked proudly. She had endured much worse than this. And she was never going to be embarrassed to have Ruth beside her. She was too grateful. And together the women found an affordable room next to a goat pen. There, Naomi lay down to rest while Ruth went to the plowed fields to gather some barley that had been left behind after the harvest. Day after day, she gathered stalks and tied them in bundles, then carried them home to Naomi, who was too old and frail to gather the food herself. It was hard work, but Ruth knew how to work hard.

And there was something about how she worked so desperately, so intently, that caught the eye of the owner of the field, a man named Boaz. He could tell she was someone with a purpose. She didn’t stop to snack or drink water like the rest. She didn’t take breaks in the shade. He’d seen this before. Someone on a mission. They weren’t gathering food for themselves, but for someone else. Children, maybe? An injured husband? Boaz wondered.

“Who is that woman?” he asked his workers.

“That’s Ruth,” they told him, and then they added in a whisper, “She’s a Moabite.”

“How’d she end up here?” Boaz asked.

“She is Naomi’s daughter-in-law. Do you remember Naomi? She was your brother’s wife’s cousin. Ruth is taking care of her.”

Boaz was a little surprised. “A Moabite, really?” he thought. “Taking care of an elderly member of my own family.” That didn’t sound like the Moabites he’d heard of.

“Do you want us to send her away?” his worker asked.

Boaz raised his eyebrows but shook his head. “No, she can stay for as long as she likes. In fact, leave extra barley for her. And give her some water and some extra food when you take a break. I owe her that much. She is taking care of my relative.”

So the workers brought Ruth food and water, and Ruth looked up to see Boaz, who quickly looked away. But for a moment, she saw them — transparent and undeniably beautiful eyes. They were brown eyes. Brown just like hers. They were kind, too.

And so Ruth decided to try and marry Boaz. Then she’d have more than enough food and money to take care of Naomi. But Ruth was not cunning, or sneaky, or particularly clever. She didn’t know how to be mysterious or subtle. She didn’t know how to play hard-to-get or how to flirt or seduce. Instead, she went straight to his home and asked to marry him.

“We need someone to save us,” she said. “We need someone to claim us. We need someone like you. And so here I am, and there you are. Will you marry me?”

It was pitiable, and surprising, and perplexing, and unromantic, and inconvenient. And at that moment, Boaz had two clear options. He could say no, and Ruth and Naomi would continue living off the extra crops on his field. He could say yes, and he would have to marry a Moabite woman, which was a very, very unpopular thing to do. It could cause problems for him. It could cause problems for his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

But Ruth was not at all like what Boaz had thought the Moabites were like. She was not cruel or self-interested. She was not manipulative or shallow. She was generous, honest, and bold. She had helped her mother-in-law across the wilderness, made a home with her, and worked tirelessly to find food to keep her alive. She prayed with her, cried with her, and loved her. Wasn’t this exactly the sort of person Boaz wanted in his family? Wasn’t this exactly the sort of person he wanted to marry?

And so Boaz looked straight into Ruth’s tired, hungry, desperate eyes and said, “Yes.”

And Boaz married Ruth in front of the whole city of Bethlehem. And they had a baby boy named Obed. And the city had to decide what to do with Obed. Would they accept him as one of their own, or reject him like the Moabites had rejected the family of Jacob? And the city decided to welcome Obed. And Obed had a son named Jesse, and Jesse’s son David would become their king. And someday, David’s great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson would be born in a stable in the city of Bethlehem under a new star. And the family of Ruth, Boaz, and Naomi would grow even larger. Everyone in the whole world would be welcomed in — Jew and Gentile, Israelite and Moabite, Russian and American, Chinese and Korean, new friends and old enemies.

Remember that this Christmas when you talk about Bethlehem. Remember Ruth, who took a mother there, and Boaz, who took a wife. And try to be like Boaz, who was not ashamed of goodness. Be like Naomi, who wasn’t too embarrassed to accept help. And be like Ruth. And if you are blessed to be able to help another person like she was, don’t walk away. Say, “I will go with you.” And do whatever it takes.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

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Judges 16:28 And Samson called unto the Lord, and said, O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and strengthen me, I pray thee, only this once. (KJV)

The family of Jacob had arrived at the Promised Land, but there was a problem. People were already living here, and not just giants. Normal people like you and me. And so the family of Jacob set out on a conquest. They were going to capture all the land God had promised them. With the first city, they walked around it, blew some trumpets, and the walls just fell down. “This is going to be even easier than we thought,” they said.

And so they went to the next town. It was smaller and looked even easier to conquer. But the city came out to fight and absolutely whooped the family of Jacob. That was confusing. They thought God was going to keep knocking walls down and simply defeat all of their opponents. But that isn’t what happened.

Sometimes the family of Jacob won battles without fighting, and other times they lost even when they sent their be…

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Deuteronomy 30:19-20 I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying his voice and holding fast to him. (KJV)

It had been forty years since Moses had led the family of Jacob out of Egypt and into the desert. That’s almost half a lifetime. In forty years, the family of Jacob had traveled all around the wilderness. They had endured plagues and poison. They had birthed babies and buried their dead. They walked and worked and wandered until their feet were calloused and their skin was salty with sweat. And now, after all of that, they were right back to where they had been forty years prior. They stood on this side of the River Jordan with their faces towards the Promised Land — the land with grapes and honey and milk and giants.

All the children in Egypt were now parents and had children of their own. The parents were grandparents. And the grandparents were dead and gone. Except for Moses. Moses was the oldest of them all. He’d never plant a garden or dig a well on the other side of the river. No, this was as far as he would ever go. His legs were feeble, his ears dull, his throat tired, his lungs weak. But he had one last adventure in him.

And so one morning, he set off to climb to the top of a nearby mountain and look out over the river, and see the miles and miles of Promised Land. And there it was. Trees and bushes, antelope and cattle, olive orchards and tomato gardens, grape vines and sumac, rivers and tributaries. It was better than he’d remembered. And now, they were back at the river. But this time, they were ready to cross over. It was the finale, the final frontier, the last battle.

No more wandering under the stars. No more living in tents or camping in deserts. This is where they would stay, planted like a seed that would grow into a forest called home. And it was not just their home. It was going to be the city of God. Moses’ family and friends, his nieces and nephews, would become priests and priestesses, kings and judges, heroes and legends here, in this place, just beyond the river.

The longer Moses looked, the further he saw. And God expanded his vision so that as he looked into the distance, he was looking across time as well. He could see now that crossing the river and beating the giants was not the final hurdle at all. It would not bring the end of their suffering. And building the city of God was no sure thing. There would be battles, and failures, fear and doubt, jealousy and anger, pride and disappointment.

All their struggles were only going to continue. And their victories weren’t going to last. Their cities would burn and crumble in pieces. And the family of Jacob would sit down by new rivers and weep.

“No!” Moses cried, “It can’t be!”

What was the point of all their struggle, of all their seeking and wandering, of their snake bites and starvation, their faith and hopes? They had come all this way, suffered so much: death, pain, homelessness, poverty, thirst, sickness, tragedy. And for what?

But maybe there was still hope. Maybe there was still a chance. And so Moses ran down the mountain. It had been a long time since he’d moved this fast, but he felt a new urgency and a new energy entering his bones. He had to warn the people. He’d tell them what he’d seen. And maybe that would be enough to change the future. Maybe they’d succeed in building God’s city after all.

When Moses arrived at the base of the hill, the people had already gathered to hear what he had to say. And between deep breaths, he told them that there were much scarier things than giants awaiting them on the other side of the river. There was work, and peril, and failure. And no matter how hard they tried, no matter how much they wanted it, there was a very real possibility that the family would be defeated and scattered. And everything they had built would be destroyed. They had called this place the Promised Land, yet nothing was guaranteed.

“But,” Moses said, “ we must not give up. Not here at the beginning of everything. God has already given us what we need. The laws, the commandments, they are more than just rules. They are the key to unlock the door of God’s kingdom on earth. Because the Promised Land is not just a place. It is a way of living. And so hold fast to the law of God, and we will yet succeed!”

And so Moses re-taught everyone the law of God. He explained that the law was more than a list of things not to do. It was more than not killing, or lying, or swearing or complaining. It was even more than a list of things to do, like going to church or offering sacrifices or honoring parents or respecting authority. The law could not be written on two stones or a million pieces of paper. It was too big and complex, but it was also plain and simple, like an angel on their shoulders, or a whisper in their ears.

The law was justice, truth, and mercy. But it was more than that. And someday, God would walk beside them, and only then would they begin to understand that it was him the whole time. Because the law radiated from him like light from the sun. And living with God is to have his law beating upon your face. And there is no sunscreen, there is only grace. And you must apply it daily, slather it on, or you will burn up. And you must love God with your whole heart, only then will you be able to stand in his presence and say, “Oh what a truly marvelous day.”

“And so,” Moses said, “it all comes down to this. Can you love God more than anything else? Can you love him with your heart, and mind, and whole soul? Because if not, you won’t survive the other side of the river.”

This was a lot to take in, and for a moment, the people were quiet. They looked behind them at the wilderness, then forward to the Promised Land. And it seemed like they might turn back. But then something amazing happened. All at once, the people stood and cheered. Even knowing they’d likely fail, they were still going to cross the river. They would face giants and their own inadequacies and cling to the law with everything they had. No matter what, they were going to try to build God’s city. They were going to try to live in his light. And that is incredible. Because trying really hard to do something even when you know you will probably fail takes real courage.

And they were able to be so brave because their parents and grandparents had been brave before them. They had packed up their lives, walked out of Egypt, across a sea, and through the desert forty years earlier. They had spent decades walking and trying and failing and preparing to bring their children to this place at this moment. And while they would not cross the river themselves, they had brought their children this far. And they had not brought their children this far for them to stop at the water’s edge.

And so the family of Jacob packed up their campground one last time. They were bound for the Promised Land. They were going to do it. And the grandparents, who were too weak to cross the river, gave their children their coats and walking sticks and packed snacks in baskets for the grandchildren. They kissed their faces and cried and said how proud they were. And then they stood back with Moses by the mountain. They watched as their children and grandchildren walked into the distance. Joshua was leading them. And when they reached the river, it parted, just as it had for Moses. And the people walked into the Promised Land on dry ground.

And the grandparents shouted and waved, “Go on, we’re cheering for you. You’re doing it. You’re doing it. Remember what I taught you about brick making and grape management. Don’t forget to drink plenty of water. And when you build your home and start your farm, if you remember, put my picture on the mantle.”

And the children walked on, propelled by the faith and failures of their ancestors. They were across the river now. God’s Promised Land was underfoot. Giants lay before them. But they were the family of Jacob, descended from those who had built an ark, bargained with God, and wrestled with angels. They’d try to make God’s city no matter what. And they’d plant God’s temple right in the middle of it, and invite him to live with them. And they’d stand in the blinding light of his law and his love. And they’d try their very best not to not burn up.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

Numbers 11:29 But Moses replied, “Are you jealous for my sake? I wish that all the LORD’s people were prophets and that the LORD would put his Spirit on them!” (NIV)

In the last story, when Moses needed help, seventy people came and helped him. And they began to pray to God just like Moses had. And God spoke to them like he had spoken to Moses. And so Moses was no longer the only person talking to God. And soon enough, other people started to pray to God, and God started to talk with them too!

Now that all sounds pretty amazing, the whole family praying and talking to God. But this can also be concerning. And it was particularly concerning to a man named Joshua. Everyone used to follow Moses because he was the only one who could talk to God. But if anyone could talk to God, why would anyone follow Moses anymore? People could just ask their own questions and get their own answers.

What worried Joshua was what might happen if people started praying and getting different answers? It would b…

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Numbers 11:17 And I will come down and speak with you there, and I will take some of the Spirit that is on you and put that Spirit on them. They will help you bear the burden of the people, so that you do not have to bear it by yourself. (Berean Standard Bible)

Camping in the desert is not easy. Sometimes the wind blows sand in your eyes. Other times poisonous snakes bite you. But mostly, it’s just really hot. And so the family of Jacob always anxiously awaited the weather report and prayed for cloudy days. Because when there are clouds, the sun doesn’t beat so tirelessly against your skin, and sweat doesn’t pour so profusely from your forehead.

But ever since building the tabernacle, every day was partly cloudy. Because even on sunny days, one cloud always remained. It hovered directly over God’s tent. So when people went to worship God, they didn’t have to do it in the sun. And that was nice.

You might think that if the days were so terribly hot, that the nights would be warm or even a little pleasant. Nope. At night, temperatures could drop like a bowling ball on your toes. And the people had to wrap themselves in blankets to stay warm. But at the temple, God kept a fire that burned all night, every night. Which helped the people stay warm.

Then in the morning, God scattered bread on the ground like dew, and the people would gather it so they’d have food to eat. And that’s how the people lived. Fed by God in the morning, shaded by God in the day, and warmed by him in the night. Until one day, the cloud started to move. “Wait!” the people yelled. “Come back, cloud! Where are you going?” But the cloud kept floating away, moving on across the wilderness. It was leading them to a mysterious Somewhere, a place they called the Promised Land. The time had come. The camping trip was almost over.

The people collapsed their tents, rolled up their mattresses, stuffed their sleeping bags, took apart their stoves, filled their water bottles, packed their bags, and buried their ashes. And finally, the trumpets were blown and the whole family of Jacob began their hike to a new home, a place they just knew would be full of fruit trees, rose gardens, water, honey, and meat.

Oh yes, they imagined a lake next to a small hill with a charcoal grill on top. They’d cook some hamburgers and hot dogs and cut up tomatoes and onions. And on the side they’d have watermelon split into wedges, dripping with juice. They could see it already, almost smell it. It was a perfect summer barbeque. And so while they walked, they salivated.

And they walked and walked and walked and drooled and drooled and drooled and got hungrier and hungrier and hungrier. It’s true, God was still sending them bread, but they didn’t want bread anymore. “We want meat,” they told Moses. “Our bodies need meat. It contains crucial proteins, macronutrients, and vitamins!”

Moses couldn’t deny that meat sounded delicious. But how would he ever secure meat for all of these people? And so he shrugged. “We just have to keep enjoying the bread God is sending us.” And the people tried. They took out forks and knives and cut the bread like it was a steak, and chewed it slowly and smacked their lips and said, “Deee-licious!” But they couldn’t trick their own bellies.

And at night they dreamt of grills and spits and charcoal pits. They wanted it. They needed it. Without meat, they grew weak and dizzy and sick. And then the sickness moved from their minds into their bodies, and people started to feel weak. And the hungrier they got, the grumpier they became. And soon enough, they were not just hungry and grumpy, they were angry. And they were angry with Moses. They yelled at him and said he should never have brought them into the wilderness if he didn’t have plans for how he was going to feed everyone. What good is freedom without survival? Slavery is better than starvation.

And Moses began to wonder if the people were right about him. He was their prophet. He had brought them here. He was the one who told them when to walk, how far to go, and where to camp. He was responsible for keeping all these thousands of people alive. Most of them he barely knew. And yet here he was, leading them.

And it was worse than that. He wasn’t just in charge of keeping them alive. He was supposed to be liberating them from slavery. And yet things had gotten so bad that they wanted to put their chains back on. Because at least in Egypt, they had enough food to eat.

And it was even worse than that. Moses wasn’t just supposed to liberate them from slavery. They weren’t just supposed to be free. They were supposed to be God’s people. They were on their way to build God’s city in God’s own Promised Land. And yet here they were, hating God’s bread and complaining about God’s plan. It seemed like everything was falling apart before it had even begun. And Moses felt like a failure.

Failure, a definition:

A failure is someone who has given up because they think they can’t succeed, even if they try. And it’s easy to be a failure. Because it often feels like the whole world is against you. And nobody wins in a fight against the entire world. But in reality, the world is not fighting against you. On the contrary, the world is giving you food and water and sunshine and air and friends and family and everything that is good and necessary and beautiful. Most of the time, if you look around, you will find that the world is blessing you so much more than it is hurting you. And do you know what I think? I think the world wants you to succeed. And so when you feel like a failure, turn to the world, turn to your friends and family, and turn to God and ask for help. And help will come.

Asking for help is exactly what Moses did. And do you know what happened? The world came to his aid. People came running. “Moses,” they all said, “you are not alone. You do not have to do this by yourself.” And it wasn’t just one or two people, or a small group, or a few friends. Seventy people came, rolled up their sleeves, and said, “How can we help?”

And Moses accepted their help. There was a lot to do, from leading to organizing to praying. And they prayed together, and God answered all of their prayers and sent a huge flock of migrating birds right over the family of Jacob’s caravan. And they captured the birds and lit fires, and started rotisseries and imagined they were already in the Promised Land. And in a way, they were. “This is the life,” the people said, filling their mouths with perfectly tender meat. And they could feel the nutrients dissolve, the vitamins distribute, and the fats and proteins fill their bodies. And they rejoiced and prayed and thanked the earth and God and Moses for providing the exact thing they needed when they needed it. And Moses thanked all the people who had come to help.

And the people picnicked together under the shade of God’s cloud, fed by God’s bread and birds, looking forward to God’s own Promised Land. And for the first time in a long time, they felt full.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

Leviticus 26:11-12 I’ll set up my residence in your neighborhood; I won’t avoid or shun you; I’ll stroll through your streets. I’ll be your God; you’ll be my people. (MSG)

The people were camping down in a valley. And God was leading them from up on top of a mountain. And so whenever the people had questions or needed help or directions from God, Moses had to climb all the way up the mountain to talk with God, and then all the way back down to tell the people what God had said. And he hoped the people didn’t have follow-up questions, because climbing a mountain is very hard work.

And then one day God asked Moses to do something most unexpected. He wanted the family of Jacob to set up a special tent so that God could come down out of the mountain and live with the people in the valley. The tent was going to be called “tabernacle.” This was great news for Moses’ knees. But while having God move into town sounded exciting, it also felt a little scary. Imagine if God were your next-door ne…

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Exodus 19:5-6 Now therefore, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is mine; and you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. (KJV)

The family of Jacob had escaped from Pharoah and were now totally free to do as they pleased. Right? Wrong. The family of Jacob had escaped one king, but they were just getting to know their new king.

This ruler did not hide in palaces or pyramids. He did not build monuments to himself or empires. He did not raise armies or have slaves. Instead, this ruler stood on mountain tops and in fiery pillars. He built the world and made everyone in it. He raised winds and waves. The sun and the stars did his bidding. This king was not called Pharaoh. He was called God.

And the family of Jacob were pretty excited to have God as their new leader. They had already seen how powerful he could be. “This is great news,” they said to themselves. “We don’t need to be scared of anyone. If God is on our side, we can do anything.” And so they followed their new leader into the desert where they camped and waited for their new leader to lead them to their new home.

At first, camping can be lots of fun. You get to cook hot dogs and marshmallows and see so, so, so many stars at night. But try camping for two weeks. Then five weeks. Then six months. Then seven years. Eventually, you will be very tired of camping. You will want bathrooms and air conditioning and running water and grocery stores and restaurants. And so we should not be surprised that it didn’t take many months before the family of Jacob grew tired of camping and started to complain to their leader.

“God,” they cried out, “aren’t you ever going to give us our new home?”

“Little children,” God replied, “I am preparing you a home, but before that I am preparing you for the home. I need you to learn how to make a city. My city. The city of God.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” the people responded. “If there’s one thing we learned in Egypt, it’s construction. We already know all about building cities. Just tell us when and where, and we will get started.”

“Not so, little children,” laughed God. “I don’t mean building with bricks and mud and sand. I’m talking about building hearts, minds, and souls. That’s the strongest, best, and most precious material that you can build with. And it’s the foundation of any city of mine.”

And so God decided to give Moses some instructions on how to build the foundations of this city, which was the City of God. It was a ten-step plan. He called the steps commandments, and he wrote them out on stone tablets so Moses wouldn’t forget them.

“Commandment number one, two, three, and four,” said God, “Don’t worship any other God or any other person other than me. And definitely don’t worship yourself or the things you make. Respect me. Worship me.”

The first four steps for building this foundation seemed simple enough. The people just had to remember what they were doing. They were not following a pharaoh, or a celebrity, or a billionaire, or a politician, or an idea, or their own ambition, or anything or anyone other than God.

“Commandments number five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” God continued, “Honor your parents. Don’t kill. Keep your word. Don’t steal. Don’t lie. Don’t be jealous.”

These rules also seemed pretty obvious. In short, God was saying, “Follow me, and treat each other well.” If they could master that, they’d have a home in no time.

“Oh, great,” said Moses. “This will be no problem.” And he took this blueprint for the foundation of God’s city and brought it to the people. And the people smiled widely, because they, too, thought it would be so simple.

But the problem was, while the commandments seemed very easy, they were actually surprisingly difficult. And they are difficult because none of us are quite as good as we should be. We all want to be better than we actually are. We make mistakes. We’re mean, or untruthful, or say bad things — even though we don’t want to and wish we hadn’t. Even though we know we shouldn’t. Even though we know other people shouldn’t. Still, we hurt people we love. Even when we try really hard not to. We say things that are rude and bad and ugly for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes because we’re tired. Sometimes because we’re hungry. And always because we’re human.

And the family of Jacob was just like us. They were imperfect. They tried to worship God, but they would get distracted by things like gold or money or food or other people, and they would forget all about him. So then they tried to be kind and honest to other people, but they failed at that, too. They were mean to each other. They forgot about God all of the time and followed other people, other leaders, and their own ambitions. They stole, and lied, and were jealous. Children screamed at their parents when they didn’t want to leave the playground. Parents lost their tempers. People even fought and killed each other. Before long, they had messed up all ten of the commandments. And everyone was so embarrassed to be so bad at keeping such simple rules.

And maybe that was what God was trying to show the family of Jacob: they were not as good as they ought to be. They had a lot to learn. But when they failed, God did not give up. Instead, he gave Moses some new laws for his city. But these laws were very different from the first ten. Instead of being obvious but hard to do, these new laws were not obvious at all and were much easier to do.

God told the people to plant food, but then not harvest all of it. They had to leave some food behind so others could pick it for themselves, even though these people hadn’t planted it or paid for it. If they wanted it, they could get it for free.

And this was very confusing. Why give food away? Who will buy food if they can get it for free? “God,” they said, “you are going to make us all poor!”

Then God told them that every seven years they should stop planting food and just let the ground grow whatever it wanted. And they should forgive all debts, anything anyone owed them. But if the land grew whatever it wanted, it would grow weeds! No one wants to eat weeds. And who will pay a debt if they can just wait a few years to have it forgiven?

Then God told them to return any land they had bought every fifty years. “God,” the people cried again, “Enough! This is a very crazy economic system! We will never be able to make a living if we are always giving our food away, or giving our land back, or not even planting any food on it. We have no doubt that you are great and powerful, but maybe you don’t know very much about farming. How about you leave the farming to us.”

But God had created the dirt and the seeds. And he was telling the people that the world does not work the way they imagine. Gold will not save you. Crops will not always grow. The dirt is not your servant. The poor deserve food. All people are free. And everyone should be treated like a friend, even if they aren’t from around here. Because everyone in the world is your neighbor. Even if they live far away. Nothing is quite as it seems.

And even though they were strange, illogical, bizarre laws with scary implications, the people found that they could follow these laws much easier than the first ten. And as they lived the laws, they began to see the world differently. And they began to see each other differently, not as competitors, but as sisters and brothers. They were a family. And the only way for a family to succeed is to help each other.

It was different and scary to see the world this way. But it gave them a glimpse of a possibility. Maybe if they followed these laws long enough, they would be ready to try the first ten commandments again. And maybe this time, they’d do it. The people would be less tired and less hungry and lose their tempers less often and respect their parents more and remember God always. Because maybe, just maybe, they were better than they feared. And they could be a little less human if the world they lived in were a little more divine.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

Exodus 12:51 And on that very day the LORD brought the people of Israel out of the land of Egypt. (ESV)

Moses was on a mission from God to save the family of Jacob from slavery, but he was not alone. His brother Aaron stood by his side. They were going to try and intimidate Pharaoh into submission by marching right up to him and puffing out their chests and saying with all the power they could muster, “Let our people go! Or else…”

But Pharaoh wasn’t impressed. And so he simply replied, “No, I prefer not to.”

That was disappointing. And so Moses and Aaron tried to trick Pharaoh. “When we said let our people go, we just meant let us go on a little retreat in the desert. I think we’ve worked long and hard enough over the last couple of hundred years that we’re due for a vacation. What do you say?”

Of course, Moses didn’t plan to bring the people back after their long weekend. They were just going to keep on going, and run away, and never come back. But Pharaoh must have guessed what they wer…

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Exodus 3:11 But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?”

Things were working out pretty well for Moses. While the family of Jacob continued to work as slaves, mixing straw and mud into clay and drying the clay into bricks and stacking the bricks into buildings, Moses was living in a castle as part of the royal family with lots of money, food, power, and privilege.

But privilege and power can be like fire. A fire is powerful, but only temporarily. It feeds off of sticks and wood and twigs, consuming their energy. And when they are gone, so is the fire. And Moses’ privilege was like that fire. It was about to flame out.

Moses knew that his home had been built by slaves, and his life was sustained by their labor. And this was all the more awkward because the slaves were his own family members. Because while Moses was raised in a royal Egyptian family and wore Egyptian clothes and ate Egyptian food, he still was not actually Egyptian. He was the son of Jochebed, a member of the family of Jacob, a child the princess had saved from the Nile.

And sometimes, Moses would sneak away from the castle and see how his people worked and suffered and laughed and sang. They were enslaved, but they were more than slaves. They had traditions and culture and games and food and lives and stories. And sometimes he felt a little guilty for the life he lived and food he ate and the baths he took while the rest of his family worked. And he felt worse and worse about it until one day, when he saw a soldier whipping a slave for not working hard enough, Moses snapped.

“Leave him alone,” he shouted. “You want to fight, fight me.” And Moses shoved the soldier. The soldier stumbled, then stood and shoved Moses back. So Moses pushed him again, harder this time. And they fought, and Moses hit the soldier on the head, and the soldier fell to the ground dead. When Moses realized what he’d done, he covered his face and screamed.

Pharaoh already had every reason to doubt Moses’ loyalty. After all, he wasn’t really one of them. And murdering an Egyptian soldier to protect a slave would confirm all of Pharaoh’s worst fears. Moses had just given up his room in the palace. He’d surrendered his power and privilege in a single moment of passion. There was nothing for him to do but run for his life.

And so he ran straight out of Egypt and into the desert. And when his legs gave out and he could not run anymore, he walked. He walked further into the desert until he was too hot and thirsty to walk any longer. And then he crawled and crawled until he came to a place called Midian. There, he collapsed by a well and drank the most delicious water he’d ever tasted.

And like Isaac and Jacob, Moses found a new family at the well. They plucked him from the water hole like Pharaoh’s daughter had plucked him from the Nile, and they took him to their home. But this time, it wasn’t a palace or a comfy bed or a powerful family that Moses was carried into. There was hunger, hard work, and suffering. But there was also love, kindness and so much joy.

And there, Moses began a new, small, unimportant, unremarkable life. He was a nobody. He had no palace, no guards or courtiers, no waiters or servants. He was just a shepherd, but he was free. And even though he got sunburned from watching sheep in the hot bright sun, and his feet grew blistered and calloused, Moses loved his new life. He liked the work and the simplicity of it. And he liked the people. He even fell in love, got married, and started a family. And that could have been the end of Moses’ story, living the rest of his life as a shepherd in Midian.

But one day, Moses was watching sheep in a quiet valley by a normal, dusty mountain when he saw a light right above him in the foothills. The plants were on fire! He ran to put it out, but when he reached it, he saw the fire was different from any fire he had ever seen. It was bright and warm just like a normal fire, but the bush didn’t burn up. It was shining, radiating, beaming with flames, but it was also whole, and green, and bursting with life.

“Moses.” A voice echoed around the mountain, and Moses jumped. Who was here? How did they know his name? “Moses!” the voice called again, louder this time, singing out from the very sap of the bush.

“H-h-here I am,” he responded, trembling.

“Moses,” the voice thundered, “I am the God you heard about in the stories of Jacob and Isaac and Abraham. I am your father’s God, and your God. Wherever I breathe, the world becomes bright and holy.”

When Moses heard that, he threw off his shoes, covered his face, and hid in a corner behind some rocks. He thought God had come to destroy him. But he was wrong. God was mighty and powerful, but God did not hurt the bush, and he did not hurt Moses.

“Moses,” the voice said, a little more gently this time, “I have seen how the family of Jacob is suffering. They are miserable. How could they not be? But I am going to rescue them. The babies born today will never remember what it is like to be a slave. And Moses, you are going to help me.”

If Moses had been frightened before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

“Pardon me?” said Moses. “You must be mistaken. I’m not anybody anymore. I’m not powerful or important. The Pharaoh will not listen to me. I am an outcast. Beyond that, I’m not very charming or good-looking. I get nervous in front of people and mix up all my words. Nobody would follow me anywhere. I’m more of a back-row-helper kind of guy, not a lead-all-the-family-of-Jacob-out-of-bondage type of person.”

“What are you holding in your hand?” God asked.

Moses looked down. He held a gnarled bit of wood. It was his walking stick. He used it sometimes to prod the sheep in the right direction. “It’s just a stick,” he said.

“Throw it on the ground.”

Moses threw his stick on the ground, and it turned into a snake. Moses screamed and ran back into the corner.

“Pick up the snake by the tail,” said God.

Very carefully, Moses reached out and grabbed the snake’s tail, and it became a stick again. Moses rubbed his eyes.

“Child,” God said, “you are right. You are little, plain, and unimpressive. You are not powerful. And you were never powerful, not really. Neither is Pharaoh. But I am. And if I can turn a dusty old stick into a snake, then I can make you into a leader. I am already doing it. I have made your eyes and your mouth. I created your ears and your hands. I know every bit of you, and I know what you are capable of.”

But Moses shook his head. “Please, send someone else.”

“I am sending YOU,” God said. “Now, go already!”

And the bush burned brighter than ever, and Moses ran out of the cave and down the mountain and back to the camp and across the desert and all the way back to Egypt. He would become the deliverer of his people. But not alone. Never alone. He had been helped along from the moment he was born. His mother. The midwives. His sister. Pharaoh’s daughter. His wife. Her father. And just now, God was sending Moses’ brother to help him out. Help always seemed to come for Moses.

And Moses, who had grown up in the most privileged position in the most powerful empire in the world, had never felt as powerful as he did now. He was learning what true privilege was. It was not strength or money or fame, but family and friends. And he learned that true power is a different kind of fire. A fire that does not consume or eat up or burn away. And this fire is inside of every stick and bush and person. And when we see it, it is brighter and more marvelous than the sun. And nothing and no one is ordinary or plain or useless. And the world burns still with the power that created it, the power that sustains it from one second to the next, the power that is in all things and everyone. The same power that was in a bush, and in Moses, and in his stick, is also in you. And nothing can ever blow it out.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

Exodus 2:10 And she called his name Moses: and she said, Because I drew him out of the water. (KJV)

You no doubt remember from the last story how the family of Jacob had become slaves to the Pharaoh. And they worked really hard because the Egyptians made them work really hard. Because the Egyptians were angry. And they thought that if they made the family of Jacob work really hard, and pushed them around, and beat them up, that it would make things better. That it would somehow make up for all the things they’d lost when they sold everything to Joseph for food. But that is not how the world works. Evil is not made right with more evil. Evil always creates problems.

And here was the Egyptians’ problem: people don’t want to be slaves. They don’t like being slaves. In fact, they hate being slaves. And so keeping people enslaved is like rowing a boat upstream. It’s against the natural flow. And if you insist on enslaving people, you will always have a hard time. Because slaves will always f…

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Genesis 47:20-21 So Joseph bought all the land of Egypt for Pharaoh. All the Egyptians sold him their fields because the famine was so severe, and soon all the land belonged to Pharaoh. As for the people, he made them all slaves, from one end of Egypt to the other. (NLT)

It was not by chance that Joseph had food to sell in Egypt, because the famine happened in Egypt too. The only reason they had food was because they had loads of food storage. And the only reason they had saved up so much food storage was because Pharaoh had a dream. It was a nightmare. And Joseph, who at this time was just a prisoner in Pharaoh’s dungeon, was the only person who understood why Pharaoh was having nightmares. It was a sign from God. And God helped Joseph understand what it meant. It meant that in seven years there would be a famine, and so the Pharaoh needed to save up food. So much food. Seven years of food.

And because Joseph could read the Pharaoh’s dreams, the Pharaoh took Joseph out of his dungeon and put him in charge of gathering all the food storage. Soon Joseph had a building full of corn. And then another with beef jerky. And then more and more and more buildings full of lentils and chickpeas and dates and figs and garlic and onions and so on. And after the buildings were full, they started putting their food storage under tables and beds. They even put some under Pharaoh’s throne.

They had enough food to feed a whole city for years and years. And just when they were running out of places to put the food, the famine started. Everyone’s crops withered and turned brown and started to rot. And soon enough, there was nothing to eat but the food storage.

Before long, there was a line of people outside the pharaoh’s palace. Joseph would let the families in one by one. And the families would come to him and ask, “Please sir, can I have some food?” And every day, he’d sell them the food they desperately needed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” they’d say. “Without this food, we’d all die. You’re our hero. How can we ever thank you enough?”

But Joseph would not accept their compliments. “This is food from God,” he’d say. “God is the one who warned us about this famine. So if you’re going to praise someone, praise God.”

And this is how Joseph saved the entire country and his own long-lost family as well. And that’s a pretty remarkable accomplishment. But sometimes when we are doing good things, we end up doing some bad things along the way. Such is the case with Joseph, as you will soon see.

At first, Joseph was selling one head of corn for just 69 cents or two for a dollar. But as more and more people came, Joseph had to raise the prices. Soon it was five dollars a head, then ten, then twenty, and still the grocery prices climbed higher and higher.

Eventually, the people were paying fifty dollars for just a single loaf of bread. When they were out of cash, they started trading large bags of gold. Because what good is money or gold if you starve to death?

And Joseph put all that money and gold into Pharaoh’s storehouses. And soon the storehouses were being filled with treasure as fast as they were being emptied of food. And on it went until Joseph had collected all the money in Egypt. There was nothing left. And still the famine continued, and still Joseph had food to sell, and the people needed to eat.

“But we don’t have any money?” the people said. “We have already given it all to you. You are richer than rich! But what good is it to be rich if everyone else starves? You won’t be able to buy anything from anyone if we’re all dead. There won’t be any bakers or chair makers. No teachers or preachers, no artists or florists, no painters or dancers, no musicians or magicians, no chefs or refs. It would just be you. And money is worthless without other people around to spend it on.”

This made a lot of sense, and so instead of taking money, Joseph allowed the people to start trading in all of their other things. Any and everything they owned. They gave away their cattle and horses and flocks and donkeys. They gave their games, toys, books, and art. They gave their silverware, and pottery, and toilet paper. But as you might have guessed, they quickly ran out of things to give. And still the famine continued, and still the people were hungry. And so the people returned to Joseph and said, “We have nothing left but our land and our own selves. Should we sell that too?

And Joseph said, “Sure, why not.” And so the people sold their land and their own freedom, just so they could get food.

And this was too bad because Joseph should have known better. Joseph, himself, had been taken and sold into slavery. He’d felt what it was like to move from being your father’s son to a stranger’s property. He knew what it was like to not own your own home, or camel, or future, or freedom. It was empty, hollow, desperate, depressing.

Joseph knew all this, but he forgot. And while his brothers had sold him into slavery to help themselves, Joseph sold all of Egypt into slavery to help the Pharaoh. And that was a very big mistake, and all of his family would pay the price. And here’s how it happened.

During the famine, everyone was grateful for Joseph. He was a hero, a visionary, a business celebrity. They hung his picture on their living room walls and named buildings and roads in his honor. And when his family arrived in Egypt, they welcomed his brothers and sisters and parents, too. “Welcome,” they said. “A friend of Joseph is a friend of ours.” And they brought housewarming presents like cacti, candles, and gift baskets.

But as the years passed, the famine ended, and everything changed. The Egyptians were all working for the Pharaoh now. They plowed his fields, raised his cows, and paid his taxes. They were entangled in a system that was extracting more than their resources. Slowly, it was stripping away their dignity.

They had once been farmers, but now they were sharecroppers, hired hands, slaves. They wanted their old lives back. They wanted to be who they were before the famine. They wanted to own their own land, to be their own person. And when they thought of Joseph, they didn’t remember him as a hero. Instead, he was more like a tyrant. At their hour of distress, when they were desperately in need of help, he’d taken advantage of the opportunity and enslaved them all.

And while the Egyptians were reduced to slaves, the family of Jacob was building large homes, buying up land, and having new babies. There were more and more of them all the time. And so the Egyptians began to resent the family of Jacob. And their resentment festered. Then the Pharaoh died, and a new Pharaoh was in charge. And together the new Pharaoh and the Egyptians began to hate the family of Jacob. And the more they hated, the more they hated. And it wasn’t very long before the Egyptians hated the family of Jacob enough to do something terrible.

They chased the family of Jacob out of their new land and new homes, and then gathered them all up. And they turned each and every one of them into slaves. Pharaoh’s slaves. “How do you like that?” they said. “Try a taste of your own medicine.”

And that is how Joseph saved all of Egypt but enslaved his own family. But Joseph wasn’t the first to make a huge, terrible mistake, and he won’t be the last. Because we all mess up. We try to do great things, and while we are doing it, we do something bad. Sometimes people will cheer your name and think you’re extraordinary, and other times they will call you names and say they hate you. And it can be easy to believe what you hear. But when you are raised up, when people are telling you how awesome you are, when the world is your oyster, remember that the world is not an oyster. And people are more precious than pearls.

Remember what Joseph forgot. Remember that no matter how great you seem or how high you’ve reached or how far you’ve come, you are just another person. No one is your property. No one is your slave. Prisoners read dreams. Foreigners save countries. Pharaohs die. Heroes fall. Circumstances change. But one thing remains true: every person on the planet is just as important and loved as you.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

Genesis 45:4 And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come near to me, I pray you. And they came near. And he said, I am Joseph your brother. (KJV)

Rachel was gone, and Jacob missed her more than he could imagine. So he cared for her children with a special love because they reminded him of her. He called them Joseph and Benjamin, because Benoni was too sad to name a child. He gave them special presents and new clothes, and watched them more carefully than the rest. He didn’t want Rachel’s children to run too fast or climb too high or play too hard. They had to stay healthy. They had to survive. They were all he had left of their mother.

At dinner, Jacob would arrange Joseph and Benjamin’s fruit into silly faces on their plates, and at bedtime, Jacob would sing Rachel’s sons extra songs while the other children watched. And their hearts hurt. Because Jacob ignored them like he had ignored their mother. They had inherited hurt. It began with Abel and Cain. It continued with Isaac and Ishmael, …

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Genesis 30:22-24 Then God remembered Rachel; he listened to her and enabled her to conceive. She became pregnant and gave birth to a son and said, “God has taken away my disgrace.” She named him Joseph, and said, “May the Lord add to me another son.” (NIV)

Jacob and Esau were friends again. And that was wonderful. But there was still one other rivalry in the family.

Rivalry, a definition:

A rivalry is when you are always looking sideways at someone else. You look over to see how fast they run so you can run faster. You look over to see what food they make so the food you cook will be tastier. You look over to see what books they are reading so the books you read will be longer and have bigger words. And because you are always looking sideways, you miss what is right in front of you — the beautiful world and all the glorious things God has given you. And so it is impossible to win a rivalry. You can only step out of it or let it balloon. And if a rivalry continues for months and years and decades, it will rot the happiness right out of you until you are like a hollow log, empty all the way through.

Leah and Rachel were rivals. But that wasn’t always true. Before they were rivals, they were sisters. And when they were little, they played together as sisters, and braided each other’s hair, and sang and jumped rope together, and did chores together, and shared inside jokes. But everything changed when Jacob appeared at the well.

I have told you how much Jacob loved Rachel, and how sad he was when he was tricked into marrying Leah instead. But Leah was also sad to be married to someone who didn’t love her. And she was even sadder when Jacob married Rachel, too. And this is where the rivalry began.

Now, we need to pause here, because it probably seems very strange to you that Jacob was married to two people at the same time. And you’d be right to feel that way, because it is strange. It’s called polygamy, and polygamy has a very complicated history. But what is very clear in this family (like most families in the Bible who tried polygamy) is that polygamy created a lot of problems.

Because when Jacob married Rachel after already marrying Leah, it became hard for the sisters to be sisters while also being wives to the same person. So instead, they became rivals, looking sideways at each other. Leah looked over and saw how Jacob always wanted to sit with Rachel at the table, and how he liked her food best of all, and shared jokes with her. And Rachel looked over and saw how Leah was pregnant while Rachel’s stomach stayed perfectly flat and completely empty.

When Leah had her baby, she was excited, but not just because it was her own precious little child. She thought that by having a baby, she would become Jacob’s favorite wife. So she named her first baby Ruben, which means, “See, a son!” (which is pretty much like saying to Rachel, “nah nah, nah nah boo boo. I had a baby before you.”) Leah announced the baby’s name, then looked over and saw how Rachel turned all red in the face, and how her hand brushed over her own empty abdomen, then balled into a fist. And when Rachel ran out of the tent crying, Leah felt a little bad, but she was a little bit glad because she thought she had won the rivalry.

But then Jacob went running out of the tent after Rachel, leaving Leah all alone in her bloody sheets with the baby. Leah’s face turned red, too. She hadn’t won after all. So she made a plan. She would have as many babies as she could so that Jacob would like her the best, because who doesn’t like armfuls of babies?

And that’s exactly what she did. Leah had another baby, and she named him Simeon, which means “one who hears,” because, she said, “God heard that I am not loved, so he gave me this baby.” And she looked over at Rachel, but she saw that Jacob still liked Rachel’s food more, and sat by her at dinner, and held her hand during evening walks. So she had another baby, and she named him Levi, which means “attached,” because, she said, “Now my husband will be attached to me.” But when she looked over, she saw that Jacob still loved Rachel the most. So she decided to have another baby, and she named him Judah, which means something like “praise,” because, she said, “I will praise the Lord for giving me so many children.” But still, Jacob loved Rachel more. And Leah’s happiness was rotting right out of her.

But Rachel was just as miserable. She saw how Leah’s four boys’ cheeks pushed their eyes into the sweetest squints when they smiled at their mother, and how they played and wrestled and laughed, and how they loved their mother more than anyone else in the world. And she turned to Jacob and shouted, “My life isn’t worth anything unless I have a baby. Give me children or I will die!”

And then Rachel did something very sad. She gave Jacob her maid and said, “Make her have a baby, and I’ll say the baby is mine.” And Jacob, like his grandfather before him, said, “Okay.” And the maid did have a baby, and then another one. And Rachel took the babies and said, “These are mine now.” And she called them Dan, which means “God has ended my curse!” and Naphtali, which means something like “I struggled with my sister and now I won!” And she held the babies like trophies.

When Leah saw what Rachel had done, she decided to send her own maid and told Jacob to make her pregnant, too. And her maid had two babies also, which Leah counted as her own. And then, Leah had a few more babies herself, just for good measure. Which is exactly what Rachel couldn’t do.

And so you see how the rivalry made the two sisters forget that they were sisters. Leah only saw how Jacob loved Rachel the most. And Rachel only saw how Leah was surrounded by beautiful, big-eyed children. “If only I could have one baby of my very own,” she thought, “then at last I can be happy.”

And Rachel finally got what she’d wanted. She became pregnant. She pushed the baby out of her body, and he came with ten perfect fingers and ten beautiful toes and pink cheeks and chubby thighs, and he was the most beautiful thing Rachel had ever seen. She gazed deeply into his perfect eyes for a moment, but then she looked over at Leah, sitting on the other side of the fire, surrounded by children. And Rachel said, “I will name him Joseph,” which means, “God, please give me another baby.”

And she got what she wanted and became pregnant again. And after the child came, she kept bleeding and bleeding until there was nothing left. Her body hollowed. Her skin grew white and her voice weak. She was dying. Rachel looked all around her. Jacob was there, and Joseph and, to her surprise, so was Leah. She had always been there. And Rachel realized for the first time how much their rivalry had taken from her. Her marriage. Her children. Her sister. And now her life. She touched the baby’s face with frail fingers. “Call him Benoni,” she said, which means “son of sorrow.”

A tear appeared in her eye as she faded away, like she were falling asleep. But she was not asleep. She was gone. Rachel died. But the rivalry lived on, passed from mother to child like a disease. And the children of Rachel and Leah entered the world through the veil of their mothers’ sorrow. And when they were born, they were born already in tribes. And they would fight and feud and fall apart. And Rachel died feeling the weight of this tragedy.

But that was only part of the children’s inheritance. Read the stories that come before this one, and you will find love, and generosity, and sacrifice, and bravery, and determination, and reconciliation. And you will find God also. And you will see that he has big plans for this family. They were going to build his city. And he was not going to simply let them fail. No matter how far apart they drifted, no matter where their jealousy and selfishness carried them, no matter the distance they were scattered, God would find a way to gather them back together in a place they could all call home.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.

Genesis 32:26 Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” (ESV)

The last story ended with Jacob and Esau back together again. But before they returned to each other, they lived apart for twenty years. And twenty years is a long time. And a lot happened. Jacob had left his home, his family, his loving mother and father. And he had to find a new place to live and a new way to survive.

Imagine that for a second. Imagine running away from home, walking out the front door, and down the street. What on earth would you do? Where would you go? How would you get food to eat or a bed to sleep on?

Jacob was on his own. And while it might seem daunting to us, he was used to doing hard things because he’d grown up wrestling against his bigger, stronger brother. So he wasn’t just used to wrestling, he was used to losing. He’d lost so many times that failure didn’t scare him anymore.

And so Jacob set off to find a place to live. And he …

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Genesis 33:3-4 He himself went on ahead and bowed down to the ground seven times as he approached his brother. But Esau ran to meet Jacob and embraced him; he threw his arms around his neck and kissed him. And they wept. (NIV)

Jacob and Esau were twins. And like most twins, they became best friends and invented words and games together. But they also competed and wrestled and fought.

And whenever they fought, Esau always won. He was just too fast, and athletic, and graceful, and strong. And so their playing often ended with Jacob crying. He’d have a bruise here or a bump there. And a bloody cut was not uncommon. But still, Jacob fought and lost and cried. And no matter how hard he struggled, no matter how desperate he wrestled, he never seemed to win. Esau was better at just about everything. And he kept getting better and better at more and more things.

As Esau became a man, he grew a beard, and hair bloomed across his chest. His biceps ballooned and his shoulders broadened. His strength and athleticism made him an excellent hunter. Every week, he would come home with an antelope over his shoulder like a hero, and people would cheer for the victorious hunter. And he learned to smoke the meat like his father liked it, low and slow, and the smell would fill the farm, and everyone would know Esau had done it again.

Jacob, on the other hand, was slender and wiry and could not grow a beard. He had thin arms and a narrow chest. And while Esau was beautiful to watch riding a horse, or running, or shooting a bow, Jacob was more stiff, gangly, and awkward. Where there was strength and elegance in Esau’s movements, there was just plain determination in Jacob’s.

And Rebekah never stopped worrying about her two children. She wanted them both to be successful and happy. And so she tried to teach Esau to be considerate of his slower, weaker brother. To look out for him and care for him. And she tried to teach Jacob that he could not rely on his muscles or stamina against Esau. Instead, he’d have to be clever. What he lacked in strength, he could make up for with intelligence. And so Rebekah taught Jacob how to plot, plan, and strategize.

She sent Esau out to hunt for antelope in the distant hills. And she packed him a lunch with only a single cracker, a tiny block of cheese, and a half-empty water bottle. She knew by the time he came back, he’d be starving. And she told Jacob what to do next.

When Esau came home, Jacob had a fresh batch of oatmeal stewing. Esau smelled the wet oats, brown sugar, and cinnamon, and his mouth began to water. “Can I have some of your oats?” he asked. “I’m so hungry!”

“Sure,” Jacob said. “As long as I get to inherit the farm.” This made Esau mad. Was his brother willing to take advantage of him like this? He’d spent the whole day hunting for the family. He’d worked for hours with almost no food or water, and now that he was almost ready to faint, his own brother would use that against him? It felt cruel.

“Fine,” Esau said. “You can have it. If the farm means that much to you, take it. What good is a farm if I starve to death?”

And so Rebekah’s plan had worked. And Jacob saw that a little manipulation could accomplish great things. And so Jacob and Rebekah hatched another scheme. They were going to steal Esau’s blessing.

Blessing, a definition:

A blessing is a gift from God to you. And it’s non-transferable. That means you can’t give it away. If God gives you kindness, or patience, or faith, or stubbornness, you can’t just decide to hold a garage sale and put your blessing on a rack for people to look through and purchase for themselves. You can’t trade it like trading cards. You can’t throw it in the trash. It’s just yours like a freckle on your face.

But Rebekah and Jacob didn’t know you can’t steal blessings. How could they? They were the first to try. This was their plan. The two boys were going to receive blessings from their father, Isaac. He was old and mostly blind and about to die. But before he went, he was going to place his hands on their heads one more time and bless them.

And when he did, Jacob would trick his father into thinking he was actually Esau. That way, his father would accidentally give Jacob Esau’s blessings. So Jacob put sheepskin on his arms so he was hairy, and tied rocks to his biceps so they felt strong, and put chunks of bark on his shoulders to make them seem broad and tough and manly. And Rebekah cooked some antelope and had Jacob bring it with him.

Before entering his father’s room, Jacob cleared his throat, lowered his voice and tried to imitate his brother’s tone. “Hello, nope, why hello there, yes, yes, better. Howdy, father of mine. No, too much,” He tried again. “I am Esau. Too weak. I AM ESAU. Better. I AM ESAU! Too much again.” It was now or never. He opened the door and went in. “Hi Dad. I brought you your favorite meat.” And it worked.

Isaac was fooled, so he put his hands on Jacob’s head and gave him all of Esau’s blessings. And Esau had a lot of blessings — strength, inheritance, and popularity. He was everyone’s favorite, he was next in line, and he was in charge.

As he left, Jacob jumped in the air and cheered. It worked. He could feel the blessing already pouring into his body. He threw off the rocks from his biceps and the bark from his shoulders. No need for those anymore. The blessing would make him just like his brother, only better. He watched. It was about to happen. Look there, at his arm. It’s…it’s…exactly the same as before. Wait, had it worked? Jacob felt his biceps. No difference. He measured his shoulders. Still narrow. But these things take time. He’d start growing his beard right away.

But the muscles and hair never came. Instead, the whole plan backfired. When Esau found out what Jacob had done, he was angry. “First the farm, and now this!” he yelled. How could his own brother betray him? Sure, they’d wrestled, sure they’d fought, but they’d also had fun. They’d shared socks and made up riddles and imagined saving the world together. They were twins. They were best friends. They spoke a language no one else knew. How had it come to this?

And so Esau asked his father to just give him the same blessing he’d given Jacob. But Issac wasn’t sure if he could. No one really knew how these things worked. And he thought he’d already given Esau’s blessing away. So Isaac gave Esau what he thought was Jacob’s blessing. And that made Esau furious.

Rebekah saw Esau returning to the kitchen, angrier than she’d ever seen him. “Run,” she shouted at Jacob. “Your brother is coming, and he’s going to kill you!” And so Jacob had to run from the farm. He hopped on a horse, took off into the wilderness, and found a new place to live hundreds of miles away.

And the twins that had been formed in the same belly, that had spent every day of their lives together, that had shared food and jokes and secrets, split apart. Rebekah cried. Isaac worried it had all been his fault. But Esau was glad that Jacob was gone — at least for a while.

But then twenty years passed. The boys grew into adults and married and had kids and jobs and responsibilities. And as Esau grew older, he became a little weaker but also a little wiser. And as Jacob labored in a distant land to survive, he grew stronger and learned what it was like to be tricked by a family member. And they both felt like something was missing in their lives. Like they’d left a part of themselves behind.

And they remembered now the times when they were just boys, crawling on the furniture, yelling nonsense words into the wind, and laughing. They remembered running over hills and pretending to fight bad guys. They were inseparable then. And when they remembered, they longed for the brother they’d lost.

And so Jacob decided to return to the family farm and face his brother. As he approached, he was very nervous. What would Esau do? Would he still be angry? But when Jacob arrived, Esau ran out to meet Jacob. “I have missed you,” he cried, picking Jacob up off the ground and pulling him into his chest. And Jacob hugged back with all his strength.

That night, Esau made his famous smoked antelope, and he waited the tables and even did the dishes while Jacob watched in tears. There was Esau, Jacob’s big, strong, beautiful, athletic, wonderful brother. The piece of himself that had been missing all these years. And for Esau to serve Jacob like this, after what Jacob had done, it didn’t make sense.

“I don’t deserve this,” Jacob said. “I should be serving you.”

“No, I am the one who chased you away. I will never forgive myself. We will never get back the years we lost. But I’m going to make the most of whatever is left.” And Esau served his brother Jacob for the rest of their lives.

And at some point, they must have realized that God was not tricked by Jacob’s costume. The blessings Isaac gave Jacob and Esau were exactly what God had promised Rebekah before they were even born: the strong would serve the weak.

It was not a curse. It was not an accident. It was a mission. A non-transferable blessing straight from God, unknowingly sealed upon their heads by their father. They had spent decades fighting and running away from each other. And when they ran away from each other, they were also running away from their blessings. But they were home now, and very blessed.

They were complete and happy together, and they had food, water, and wealth to spare. And they realized their biggest blessing wasn’t the farm, or speed, or strength, or money, or talents, or power, or anything like that. The blessing had been given to them at the very beginning by their mother. The blessing was a brother.

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Genesis 25:23 And he told her, “The sons in your womb shall become two rival nations. One will be stronger than the other; and the older shall be a servant of the younger!” (TLB)

Abraham died and was buried. And after his father’s death, Isaac took over the farm. And while the farm was a lot of work, it was also a blessing because it gave them food and money and water and shelter. Isaac and Rebekah worked the farm, planted seeds, and sheared sheep. And they were happy together.

They had a house, food, water, and money. Everything seemed like it was going to work out for these newlyweds. But as the months turned into years, Rebekah remained un-pregnant. And so Isaac prayed to God and said, “Please, not again. Don’t make her suffer like my mother. Just let her get pregnant. And maybe don’t wait until she’s 90!” And Isaac’s prayer was answered, and Rebekah became pregnant. “Hallelujah!” they cheered in relief.

They celebrated by killing an antelope and cooking the meat low and slow over a f…

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Genesis 24:18-19 “Yes, my lord,” she answered, “have a drink.” And she quickly lowered her jug from her shoulder and gave him a drink. When she had given him a drink, she said, “I’ll draw water for your camels, too, until they have had enough to drink.” (NLT)

Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac grew older. Sarah’s hips grew wider, and her knees became weaker. Abraham’s face wrinkled, and his skin grew thin. He slept longer in the mornings and fell asleep earlier in the evenings. Then Sarah died. And Abraham, the old man, was lonely, for he had lost a wife. But Isaac was even sadder because he had lost his mother.

And Abraham saw the sorrow in his son’s eyes, which only multiplied his grief. What could he do for his son? How could he be a father, a mother, and an old man all at the same time? And he went to the river to think. He picked up smooth rocks and skipped them across the water, watching the ripples spread and be displaced by the current. And then he had an idea.

He called one of his servants over. And Abraham told his servant to find his son a wife. But not from anywhere around here. The servant was supposed to find Isaac a wife in the town where Abraham was born. This was no small request, and the servant felt overwhelmed. How would he find a girl willing to leave her home and move far away to marry a boy she’d never met? And agreeing to be married was just the beginning. Finding someone to marry was not like finding a skipping rock.

But while he didn’t know how to find a wife for another man, he had already found a wife for himself. And so he knew something about romance, aging, arguments, living together, sharing space, food, stories, names, children, and life. And so he knew that more important than good looks or good humor or good breath or anything else was kindness.

Because life was hard. People mess up and get tired, hungry, bored, and sad. And they need lots of second chances. Lots of “I’m sorry” and “thank you,” and “it’s alright” and “I understand.” And so a good partner must be kind. And the biggest giveaway of kindness is generosity. And so the servant came up with a kindness test.

This is how he’d find the right girl for Isaac. He would take some camels with him. And they’d travel to Abrahams’ birthplace and go to the local wells and ask the girls there for some water. And a girl who gave him water would be kind. But the girl who didn’t just give him water but also got water for the camels would be extra kind. And if the girl is extra kind to a stranger and some camels, she would probably be kind enough to partner with, and live with, and love with, and forgive with, and trust with, and build with, and risk with, and try with, and have kids with. And if she was kind enough for all that, then she was kind enough.

In the end, the servant decided to bring along 10 camels. He would arrive like an inconvenience and see who responded. He traveled over hills, through mountain passes, and along winding ridges, and traveled and traveled and traveled until he could finally see Abraham’s homeland in the distance.

As he approached the city, he wondered if his scheme would work. And he wondered how long it might take. And he worried that if he loitered too long at the wells talking to all the young women, people might get the wrong idea. So he prayed and asked for God’s help. And then he set off to perform his kindness test. And the first well he came to had a girl. And the very first girl he saw offered him water. And when he finished drinking, she took the bucket and drew more water for all his camels, too. And this took a lot of work, because camels drink a lot of water.

Was it possible? This was the first well, and the first girl. He watched as she drew bucket after bucket after bucket of cold, beautiful, sacred water from the well. Lowering the rope down and then raising it up again and again. Her arms were strong because they were practiced in kindness. Abraham’s servant was dumbstruck, surprised that his plan had worked so quickly. Amazed by a girl who showed kindness to a stranger — who even showed kindness to the stranger’s camels.

But why had it been so easy? Why such luck? Or was it not luck at all? Perhaps this is just how people are. Maybe most people want to help most of the time. You don’t always see it, like water under the earth, but it’s there anyway, rich and cold and pure. Maybe the world is actually overflowing with kindness and generosity. Maybe what was most remarkable was how unremarkable she was. And every time another bucket came up and another camel was fed, it felt like another baptism, like the world was being washed clean and made new. And with each bucket of water, the servant said, “Thank you,” “Thank you,” “Thank you.”

And while he said thank you, he imagined her future. She didn’t know what was about to happen. Because she was at this place at this moment and showed kindness, her life changed forever. She’d leave the land she knew and the parents she loved. She’d marry a lonely boy she’d never met. And she’d become as indispensable to his life as a mother. She would love and suffer and live for her family. And all this, simply because she was here. Simply because they bumped into each other. And that is how the world turns. People bumping into each other and choosing to be kind.

And after the camels were all watered, the man followed the girl home so he could talk to her parents. He told them all about Abraham and Isaac. And it turned out that the girl was not showing kindness to a stranger at all, but to a long-lost relative. She was the granddaughter of Abraham’s brother! And her name was Rebekah. And she agreed to marry Isaac. And off she went on one of the camels she’d helped to water. She was going to marry a man she didn’t know because he needed a wife, and she needed a husband, and he’d lost a mother, and she’d found a family.

And Abraham’s servant was amazed at the courage and craziness of it all. Of a girl who trusted a man she hardly knew and a man who’d leave his parents and take a wife. And all this only works because people, so often, are generous. And trust each other like the long-lost family they actually are. And because children are born and parents die and the world rolls on and on, like ripples across rivers or buckets and buckets and buckets of water, brimming full with hope, confidence, trust, and faith that mostly the world is good and people are kind.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

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Genesis 22:8 My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering. (KJV)

Before Sodom was ever destroyed, before the shiny angels showed up at Lot’s door, before that whole terrible story, the very same angels came to Abraham. And they told Abraham what was about to happen.

Up to that point, Abraham had learned to trust God. And after years of trusting and following God, Abraham had come to believe that God loved him and his family. God was blessing them, and teaching them, and leading them. And God always seemed to know what was best for everyone.

But when the angels told Abraham about Sodom, it didn’t make any sense. It didn’t seem like the God he knew. Why would God destroy a city? Didn’t God already try destroying the people of Noah? What about the rainbow?

Abraham tried to reason with the angels. “Even if the city of Sodom has lots of bad things, are there not also good things? Good things like people! There are all sorts of people there, and aren’t at least some of them wort…

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Genesis 19:12 And the men said unto Lot, Hast thou here any besides? son in law, and thy sons, and thy daughters, and whatsoever thou hast in the city, bring them out of this place:

Lot’s family built a wall. And they built a wall because they had moved into a city. The city. The big city. A city called Sodom. And while they liked the fireworks, parks, restaurants, and street performers, there were also things about the city they didn’t like. They didn’t like the crime or the drugs or some of the ideas people had or the ways some people acted. And Lot and his wife wanted to protect their family from negative influences.

But while walls can keep people and animals out, they can’t stop all the noise, smells, or bugs. And they are nothing against your imagination. It doesn’t matter how big or thick or strong a wall is; your imagination can walk right through to the other side. So Lot and his wife couldn’t keep their children completely safe behind even the thickest wall.

They had four daughters, and the daughters were growing. Before long, the two oldest were imagining adventure and life and love beyond the wall. And then they were sneaking out to parties, and going with friends to dances, or hanging out late at diners.

And their mother would see them missing and worry and worry and worry until they came home safe. Have you ever seen your mother worried? Maybe she paces the floor, or sits and fidgets. Maybe she scrubs the dishes extra hard or reads a book or maybe she cries. Well, the two youngest daughters saw their mother worry a lot.

And so they decided they were never going to sneak out or climb the wall like their older sisters had done. They never wanted their mother to have to worry. And so they were going to be obedient. And their commitment to obedience only became stronger when their older sisters announced they’d fallen in love. Soon enough, the oldest daughters were married, had children, and started their own lives in tiny apartments in Sodom City beyond the reach and safety of Lot’s walls.

They probably stayed in touch. Maybe they came over for Sunday dinners, and after their mother would have packed leftovers into Tupperware for them to take home. And Lot and his wife and their younger daughters would watch from the gate as the older sisters walked away with their families to their apartments. And then Lot and his wife and the younger daughters would retreat again behind their walls, where they could live safely. Or so they thought.

But one night, there was a knock at the door. It was two men. Only they weren’t men at all. Their skin shone and their faces beamed. They were beautiful. Were they angels?

“Make yourself at home,” Lot said. “Can I get you something to drink?” his wife asked. But the men had not come for pleasantries. They carried a message. A big, terrible, tragic, sad, horrible, unbelievable message. Sodom, the bustling city they lived in, was about to be destroyed. “Your walls will not protect you from this,” they explained. “Leave now and don’t look back.”

So Lot and his wife grabbed their two youngest daughters and a backpack with toothbrushes, water, and snacks, and headed out the door. But before they could go, they had to warn their oldest daughters, their son-in-laws, and their grandkids.

But the son-in-laws thought it was a joke, and the eldest daughters didn’t want to wake the children, and they didn’t even believe in angels anyway, and the whole story all felt a little ridiculous. It was probably just another trick to get them to come back inside the walls. But they were not going to be duped. They were not going to be scared. They were not going to leave. Yet Lot’s wife persisted. “If you’re not going to come with us now, promise us you’ll run at the first sign of danger. Don’t wait a second longer. Promise me, please. Promise me.”

And off Lot and his wife and their two youngest daughters went. They ran out beyond the city wall and down the road. They ran through the night and into the morning. As the sun was rising, Lot’s wife trailed behind the other three. Her run became a jog and then a walk. She looked ahead at her youngest daughters, who were moving swiftly away from danger. And then all at once, she looked back. She had to see if the rest of their family was following or if an army was coming or what terrible destruction might be approaching.

Maybe there was still something she could do for her eldest daughters. Maybe they’d see the danger in time. Maybe they’d still come running. Maybe she could help carry the children. But her youngest daughters also needed help. They weren’t safe yet. Plus, they were the ones who listened. But they were not in as much danger. And she didn’t know if she should help the people who needed it most or the people she was most able to help. And so she didn’t know if she should move forward or go back. She was stuck in paralysis.

Paralysis, a definition:

So often in life, we are stuck. Not between a rock and a hard place or in the mud or from a headlock. More often, we are stuck between two good choices. Do you want licorice or gummy bears? This toy or that one? To clean or to play? These are all good things, and sometimes you will get stuck picking between them. You won’t be able to decide whether to go north or south, left or right, up or down. You will want to pick the best option, but you won’t know how. And so you will be stuck trying to figure out what to do. This is paralysis.

Lot’s wife was in paralysis. She couldn’t decide to go forward or backwards. She stood frozen like a pillar halfway between them, her eyes looking back but her feet facing forward, not moving an inch either direction. But Lot and his daughters never turned back. On they went. They ran until their legs gave out, and they fell to the ground, exhausted, and slept on the naked earth. And when Lot woke in the heat of the day, his wife was missing. There was smoke in the air. Destruction had come, just like the angels predicted. And Lot cried, and he would continue to cry for weeks and months to come. He would never see his wife or home or city again.

And Lot decided that they would never go to another city or even a small town. He didn’t want his daughters to leave or marry or be exposed to all the cruelness and randomness and dangers of the world. So he took his children to the mountain where they lived like hermits. If walls hadn’t kept them safe, maybe a cave would.

But in a cave, there are no friends or schools. No one to play with or get in trouble with. No one to joke with or flirt with. And in the cave, the youngest daughters learned what it really meant to be alone. They had lost their mother, sisters, nieces, nephews, and friends, and even their father, who retreated further and further into his own mind.

But these were strong women. Women who would not give up. Women who would find hope and a way to continue. They would make a future and live on. They would leave the cave, and descend the mountain, and make a family. They knew the world was messy, complicated, gross, exhausting, impossible, unpredictable, terrifying, incomprehensible, and still they were going back to try again.

And they would raise their own families. They would build their own walls, have their own rules, teach their own beliefs, and do everything they could to protect their children. And some of their children would still choose Sodom. And some would still choose the cave. And sometimes these strong women would get stuck looking back, wondering what they could have done differently.

But then they’d move forward again as they had done before. They would find a way to continue, to push on, to trust that one way or another, their children would make it out of Sodom, down from the cave, through paralysis, and home again.

To purchase a hard copy of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, visit ForLittleSaints.com

To access the complete audiobook of The Bible Storybook: The Old Testament, become a Friend of Faith Matters by subscribing at FaithMatters.org/subscribe.