Reflections

Reading from Genesis 17:9–14, I was struck by God's covenant with Abraham, especially the instruction on circumcision. After declaring His blessings and promises, God speaks of Abraham's part in the covenant: every male among them was to be circumcised. At first glance, this might seem like a peculiar choice. But the more I reflected on it and researched, the more I saw depth and significance in this act. Why circumcision? Why was this chosen as the outward sign of a holy covenant? There are many reasons, but what caught my attention was the role of pain or hurt in driving seriousness about the covenant. It Involved blood – this is what truly gripped me. The shedding of blood made it serious, binding, and sacred. It wasn’t to be taken lightly. And just as the old covenant was sealed with blood, so is the new covenant through Jesus' sacrifice. This act of circumcision brought me to a deeper meditation on the role of pain in change. Change, especially spiritual change, is not...

Today I was reading from Genesis 16, and one phrase captivated my heart: "You are the God who sees me." In this chapter, Hagar—an Egyptian servant, alone and pregnant in the wilderness—has a profound encounter with God. Sarai had dealt harshly with her, and in despair, Hagar fled. It was there, in her lowest and most vulnerable moment, that the Lord found her. What moved me deeply was how Hagar described the God she met. First, she obeys the Lord’s instruction to name her son Ishmael, which means “the Lord hears.” Then, in verse 13, she gives a name to the Lord Himself: El Roi, “the God who sees me.” She even names the place where she met Him after this attribute of God. And she adds something beautiful: “Have I truly seen the One who sees me?” or, in some translations, “Have I seen Him who looks after me ?” That phrase—“looks after me”—stopped me in my tracks. It isn’t just that God saw her from afar. It’s that He cared. She was pregnant, vulnerable, abandoned, and possibly ...

Today I was reading Genesis 16:7–9, a portion of Scripture that captures Hagar’s escape from Sarai. Verse 6 sets the stage: Sarai “dealt harshly” with her, and in response, Hagar ran away. Let’s just pause and imagine the scene for a moment. Hagar was pregnant. Perhaps she was nauseous, exhausted, emotionally drained. I don’t know what time of day she fled, or how much she carried with her—though I can’t imagine it was much. Her energy must have been low. She was probably weeping as she ran. And we need to remember—she was already in a foreign land. An Egyptian woman, likely brought into service when Abram and Sarai had visited Egypt, now escaping into the unknown wilderness. Eventually, she found a spring. Maybe she caught her breath there, rested in the shade, quenched her thirst. In that lonely, desperate place, the angel of the Lord found her. That phrase stuck with me—He found her. I wonder what that moment looked like. Did the angel appear in radiant glory? Maybe not, because unl...

Today’s reading from Genesis 16:1–6 really stirred something in me. It’s the story of Sarai, Hagar, and Abram—but at the heart of it, it’s a story about frustration, longing, and the dangerous pull of external validation. It had been ten years since Sarai and Abram left their homeland, following the promise of God. Ten years is a long time to wait. Still no child. No visible sign that God’s promise was unfolding. And in Sarai’s world, being childless wasn’t just heartbreaking—it was humiliating. Society had already cast its silent judgment, and she likely bore the brunt of it every single day. I can only imagine what that kind of pressure must have felt like. Sarai, carrying this shame, finally reached a point where she couldn’t take it anymore. So she did what many of us might do when we feel cornered—she acted. She came up with what must have seemed like a “reasonable” plan: she asked Abram to sleep with her Egyptian servant, Hagar, hoping the child born could be considered her own. ...