Welcome to Pomoja Ministry. There is something
about divine intervention that we often misunderstand
because when we ask God to intervene, we usually
already have an idea of what His intervention
should look like. If there is a Red Sea in front
of us, we expect Him to divide it. If there is
an enemy pursuing us, we expect Him to defeat
that enemy. If there is a closed door, we expect
Him to open it. If there is a storm, We expect
Him to calm it. If there is a sickness, we pray
for healing. If there is a battle, we pray for
victory. If there is a mountain, we ask God to
move it. And there is nothing wrong with any
of those prayers, because throughout Scripture,
God reveals himself as the God who opens doors,
divides, sees, defeats armies, heals diseases,
calms storms, moves mountains, breaks chains,
and makes a way where there seems to be no way.
But there is another dimension of divine intervention
that we do not talk about enough. Sometimes God
does not remove what you are facing. Sometimes
he does not immediately change the environment
around you. Sometimes the sea remains deep. Sometimes
the wilderness remains long. Sometimes the valley
remains dark. Sometimes the fire remains hot.
Sometimes the storm continues blowing. Sometimes
the prison door does not immediately open. And
yet... God has intervened because divine intervention
is not only God changing what is happening around
you. Sometimes divine intervention is God sustaining
you through what he has not yet changed. And
perhaps that is one of the greatest mysteries
of our journey with God. There are moments when
God delivers you from something and there are
moments when God carries you through something.
Those are not the same kind of miracle. When
God delivers you from something, you can often
point toward the moment when everything changed.
The door opened. The diagnosis changed. The enemy
disappeared. The answer arrived. The battle ended.
But when God carries you through something, the
miracle can be much harder to recognize because
the circumstances may look almost exactly the
same. The fire is still there. The water is still
rising. The wilderness is still stretching before
you. The night is still dark. And yet somehow,
you are still here. Somehow, what should have
destroyed you did not destroy you. What should
have broken you did not finish you. What should
have swallowed you did not swallow you. What
should have caused you to abandon your faith
somehow drove your roots deeper into God. And
when you look backward, You cannot fully explain
how you made it. Maybe that is because there
are seasons of life that were never survived
by your strength. You were carried. Part One
There are miracles we only recognize afterward.
One of the difficulties with divine intervention
is that we often expect to recognize it while
it is happening. We expect something dramatic,
something unmistakable. something that announces
God has arrived. But scripture repeatedly shows
us that some of God's greatest interventions
are only understood when people look backward.
Joseph did not understand the pit while he was
inside it. He did not understand slavery while
he was serving in Potiphar's house. He did not
understand the prison while the door remained
locked. There was no visible throne in the prison.
There was no royal robe hanging outside his cell.
There was no announcement saying, Joseph, do
not worry. This prison is actually a corridor
leading toward Pharaoh's palace. All Joseph could
see was the season he was living, but God could
see where he was carrying him. And years later,
Joseph could look backward and say to the brothers
who had sold him, you intended to harm me, but
God intended it for good. Notice when Joseph
understood it. Not in the pit. Not while being
sold. Not in Potiphar's house. Not while falsely
accused. Not necessarily during those long nights
in prison. He understood it from the other side.
And there are things about your life that may
only make sense from the other side. There are
places where you are asking God for explanations
while God is giving you preservation. There are
seasons where you are asking God, why am I here?
while heaven is saying, just keep trusting me
because where you are is not where your story
ends. This is why we must be careful about interpreting
God's presence according to our circumstances
because difficulty does not mean abandonment,
silence does not mean absence, delay does not
mean denial, and suffering does not automatically
mean that God has stepped away. Sometimes God
is closer than you realize precisely because
the road has become harder. Isaiah 43 gives us
one of the clearest pictures of this mystery.
God says, When you pass through the waters, I
will be with you. And when you pass through the
rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you
walk through the fire, you will not be burned.
There is something extraordinary about those
words. God does not say there will be no waters.
He does not say there will be no rivers. He does
not say there will be no fire. He promises something
deeper. I will be with you. We often want the
promise to read, when you approach the waters,
I will remove them. But sometimes the promise
is, when you pass through the waters, I will
be with you. We want, when you see the fire,
I will extinguish it. But sometimes God says,
When you walk through the fire, you will not
be burned. That means the miracle is not always
the disappearance of the fire. Sometimes the
miracle is that the fire cannot destroy what
God has decided to preserve. Shadrach, Meshach,
and Abednego discovered this. God could have
prevented Nebuchadnezzar from throwing them into
the furnace. He could have changed the king's
heart. He could have extinguished the furnace.
He could have sent rain. He could have caused
the soldiers to drop them before reaching the
flames. God had unlimited possibilities available
to him, but he allowed them to enter the furnace.
And then something happened that nobody expected.
Nebuchadnezzar looked into the fire and asked,
weren't there three men that we tied up and threw
into the fire? They answered him, certainly your
majesty. And then the king said something astonishing.
I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound
and unharmed. Do you see the mystery? God did
not keep them from the fire. God met them in
the fire. The environment did not have to change
for God's presence to become real. And somebody
needs to understand this distinction. You may
have been praying, God get me out. And perhaps
God is saying, I am going to get you through.
You have been measuring divine intervention by
whether the furnace disappears while heaven may
be measuring the miracle by whether the furnace
can destroy you. You have been waiting for God
to remove the water while God has been giving
you supernatural strength to cross it. You have
been asking why the wilderness has not ended
while God has been giving you manna every morning.
You've been asking why the valley is still dark
while the shepherd has never stopped walking
with you and this brings us to Psalm 23 David
does not say though I see the valley of the shadow
of death God will give me another road He says
even though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death I will fear no evil and then
he gives the reason for you are with me not because
the valley disappeared Not because David suddenly
understood everything. Not because there were
no enemies. Not because there was no shadow.
But because presence changed the meaning of the
valley. A valley without God is terrifying. A
valley with the shepherd becomes a passage. Fire
without God consumes. Fire with God becomes testimony.
Deep waters without God can overwhelm you. But
waters with God become something you pass through.
The wilderness without God feels like abandonment,
but the wilderness with God can become the place
where you discover that man does not live by
bread alone, but by every word that proceeds
from the mouth of God. And perhaps this is why
there are seasons where God does not immediately
change your surroundings. Because there is something
you can learn about God while being carried that
you could never learn if every difficult road
disappeared before your feet touched it. There
is a revelation of God that belongs to the valley.
There is a revelation of God that belongs to
the wilderness. There is a revelation of God
that belongs to the fire. There is a revelation
of God that belongs to deep waters, and there
is a revelation of God that only becomes visible
when your own strength is no longer enough. Because
as long as you can explain your survival by your
intelligence, your resources, your connections,
your experience, your strength or your ability,
you may never recognize the hands underneath
you. But eventually, life can bring you somewhere
where you know I could not have carried myself
through this. And that is where another mystery
of divine intervention begins. Because sometimes
God does not simply walk beside you, sometimes
God carries you. Part two, the footprints you
misunderstood. And that brings me to a story
that came back to my heart recently. It is a
story many of us may have heard in one form or
another. But this time, I did not hear it merely
as a beautiful story. I heard a revelation inside
it. Imagine with me for a moment. A man is walking
with God. At the beginning of the journey, the
road is beautiful. The sun is shining. The path
is visible. The ground beneath his feet is firm.
And whenever the man looks behind him, he sees
something that gives him tremendous comfort.
Two sets of footprints. One belongs to Him. The
other belongs to God. And those footprints become
evidence to Him that the promise is true. God
is with me. God is walking beside me. God has
not abandoned me. But as the journey continues,
the landscape begins to change. The beautiful
road slowly disappears, and before Him rises
a wilderness. The wilderness is dry. The path
becomes uncertain. The distances become longer.
There are days when the man does not know how
much farther he must travel, but he continues
walking because he remembers the promise. God
is with me. Then the wilderness leads him toward
a valley. The mountains rise around him. The
light begins to disappear. The shadows become
longer. The valley becomes darker. And suddenly
the words of David are no longer something he
merely reads in Psalm 23. He understands them.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death, now he knows what a valley feels like.
There are places where you can no longer see
very far ahead. Places where yesterday's confidence
is not enough for today's road. Places where
you know God made a promise. But everything surrounding
you seems to contradict what God said. Still,
the man keeps walking, then the valley leads
him into water. At first, the water reaches his
ankles, then his knees, then his waist, then
his chest. The current becomes stronger, every
step becomes more difficult, and the words of
Isaiah suddenly become personal. When you pass
through the waters, I will be with you." So he
continues, but after the waters come mud. Heavy
mud. The kind of ground that does not simply
make the journey difficult, but seems determined
to hold your feet where they are. Every step
requires strength. Every movement becomes a battle.
And then, beyond the mud, he sees something he
never expected. Fire. Now the journey is no longer
merely uncomfortable. It is frightening. The
heat becomes unbearable. The smoke obscures his
vision. Everything inside him wants to turn around.
But there is nowhere to go except forward. So
he walks through the fire, through the wilderness,
through the valley, through the waters, through
the mud, through the darkness, and eventually
exhausted, wounded. Confused and barely understanding
how he has survived, the man stops. He looks
backward. And that is when he notices something,
something that troubles him deeply. At the beginning
of his journey, there were two sets of footprints,
his and God's. But somewhere along the wilderness,
there is only one. Through the valley, one. Through
the water, one. Through the mud, one. Through
the fire, one. And suddenly, his exhaustion becomes
disappointment. Because the evidence seems obvious.
When the journey was easy, God was there. But
when the journey became unbearable, God's footprints
disappeared. And perhaps, this is where the story
becomes more than a story. Because there are
seasons when we do exactly the same thing. We
look backward at our lives and begin interpreting
God through what we can see. God, when everything
was going well, I could feel you. When my prayers
would be an answer quickly, I could recognize
you. When the doors were opening, I knew you
were there. When the promise seemed close, I
could see your hand. But when everything changed,
where were you? Where were you when the night
became long? Where were you when I cried and
nothing changed? Where were you when people walked
away? Where were you when the door closed? Where
were you when I did everything I knew to do and
still found myself in the valley? Where were
you when I prayed and the fire became hotter?
Where were you when I obeyed you and still ended
up in deep waters? Where were you when I could
no longer understand what you were doing? And
the man finally turns toward God and asks the
question that has been growing inside him throughout
the journey. Lord, you told me you would never
leave me. You told me you would never forsake
me. You told me that when I pass through the
waters, you would be with me. You told me that
when I walk through the fire, I would not be
burned. You told me that even in the valley of
the shadow of death, I should fear no evil, because
you would be with me. And at the beginning, I
believed you, because I could see both sets of
footprints. But look, Lord, when the wilderness
became difficult, yours disappeared. When the
valley became dark, yours disappeared. When the
waters became deep, yours disappeared. When the
mud became heavy, Yours disappeared. When the
fire became unbearable, yours disappeared. Why?
Why did you leave me exactly when I needed you
the most? And God answered, My child, look again.
The man looked backward. The footprints had not
changed. There was still only one set. And God
said, You are right. There is only one set of
footprints. But you have misunderstood what you
are looking at. Those footprints are not yours.
They are mine. When the road was easy enough
for you to walk, I walked beside you. When you
had strength, I strengthened you. When you could
see the road, I guided you. But when the wilderness
exhausted you, when the valley became too dark
for you to navigate, when the waters became too
deep for your feet, When the mud became too heavy
for your strength and when the fire became too
hot for you to endure I did not disappear. I
picked you up The reason you cannot see your
footprints is because your feet were no longer
touching the ground You were in my arms You thought
the single footprints were evidence that I had
abandoned you They were evidence that I had carried
you You thought you crossed those waters. I carried
you. You thought you survived that fire. I carried
you. You thought you found your way through that
valley. I knew the way. You thought you somehow
endured the wilderness. I sustained you. Enduring
those nights when you wondered how you would
make it until morning. I carried you. During
those mornings when you woke up without enough
strength for another day, I carried you. When
your faith became weak, but somehow did not disappear,
I carried you. When you could no longer pray
the way you used to pray, but something inside
you still whispered the name of Jesus, I carried
you. When you could not understand my plan, but
somehow could not walk away from me, I carried
you. You were looking for my footsteps beside
yours while you were already resting in my arms.
And church, there is a revelation here that I
do not want us to miss. Sometimes what looks
like the absence of God is actually a form of
divine intervention you have not yet learned
to recognize. We think intervention must always
change the scenery, but sometimes intervention
changes nothing about the scenery. and everything
about whether the scenery is able to destroy
you. The wilderness remains, the valley remains,
the water remains, the fire remains, but you
remain too. And perhaps somebody listening to
me right now has been asking the wrong question.
You have been asking, God, why haven't you removed
this? But perhaps tonight, heaven is asking you
another question. How do you think you are still
here? How did you survive something you were
certain would destroy you? How did you continue
believing after what happened? How did you get
back up after losing the strength to stand? How
did your mind survive that season? How did your
family survive it? How did your faith survive
it? How did your calling survive it? How did
the enemy throw everything he could against you
and yet something inside you refused to die?
Maybe you have been calling it survival. Heaven
calls it grace. Maybe you have been calling it
resilience. Heaven calls it sustaining power.
Maybe you have been saying, I don't know how
I made it. And God is answering, because you
didn't make it by yourself. And this is not merely
poetry, this is scripture. Because Moses looked
back at Israel's wilderness journey and said
in Deuteronomy 1 .31, the Lord your God carried
you, as a father carries his son. All the way
you went until you reached this place. Listen
carefully to those words. Until you reached this
place, there were places Israel walked. There
were battles Israel fought. There were mornings
Israel gathered manna. There were nights Israel
slept beneath the wilderness sky. There were
days when they complained. Days when they doubted.
Days when they became afraid. Days when they
wondered whether Egypt had been better than the
uncertainty ahead of them. But when Moses looked
backward over the entire journey, he gave them
another interpretation of their history. You
thought you crossed the wilderness. God carried
you through it. And maybe one day, when you reach
the place God promised you, you will look backward
at the season you are living right now. and finally
understand something you cannot understand today.
You will see the fire. You will see the water.
You will see the valley. You will see the wilderness.
You will see the nights you cried. You will remember
the prayers that seemed unanswered. You will
remember the moments when you almost gave up.
And then you will see those footprints, only
one set. And you will finally understand. Those
were not the days God abandoned you. Those were
the days God carried you. And perhaps the greatest
evidence of divine intervention in some seasons
of your life is not that the fire disappeared.
It is that after everything you have been through,
you are still here. When God carries you, and
perhaps this is where we need to stop for today,
Not because we have exhausted this revelation.
Actually, we have barely begun. Because once
I started looking deeper into scripture, I discovered
that the language of God carrying his people
appears again and again. Moses looked backward
over 40 years of wilderness and told Israel,
the Lord your God carried you as a father carries
his son. Isaiah speaks of a God who says, I have
upheld you since your birth. I have carried you
since you were born. Even to your old age and
gray hairs I am he. I have made you and I will
carry you. I will sustain you and I will rescue
you. And then Jesus gives us the picture of a
shepherd who discovers that one sheep is missing,
leaves the 99, searches until he finds it. And
when he finds it, he does not simply point toward
the road. and tell the exhausted sheep to find
its own way home. He places it on his shoulders,
and he carries it. There is something much deeper
here that we need to explore, because perhaps
being carried by God is not merely an emergency
response to human weakness. Perhaps it reveals
something about the very nature of our relationship
with Him. Perhaps God carries us not simply because
we have become weak, but because we belong to
Him. And that is where our next conversation
must begin. Because there are still questions
we have not answered. What does it actually mean
for God to carry a person? How does God carry
us when we cannot physically see His arms? Does
He carry us through His Spirit? Through His Word?
Through supernatural strength? Through people
He sends into our lives? Through doors He closes
without explaining why? Through dangers he prevents
us from ever seeing, through grace that keeps
our minds together when circumstances should
have broken us, through prayers being prayed
for us when we do not even have enough strength
to pray for ourselves, and what happens when
God carries you through something but does not
tell you where he is taking you. Because there
is another dimension to being carried. When someone
carries you, you are no longer controlling every
step. You have surrendered the road. You have
surrendered the pace. You have surrendered the
direction. You have surrendered the timing. And
now you must trust the one whose arms are holding
you. Maybe that is why some seasons are so uncomfortable.
We are asking God to explain the road. While
God is asking us to trust his arms, we want to
know where this is going. God says, trust me.
We want to know when it will end. God says, trust
me. We want to know why he allowed it. God says,
trust me. We want to know what waits beyond the
mountain. God says, you do not have to see where
I am taking you in order to know who is carrying
you. And maybe that is the word somebody needs
tonight. You do not know where this road ends.
You do not know how this situation will turn
around. You do not know when the answer will
come. You do not know when the wilderness will
become a promised land. You do not know when
the night will finally become morning. But perhaps
God has not asked you to know. Perhaps he has
asked you to trust. Because a child being carried
by his father does not need to understand the
geography. He only needs to recognize the father.
And if you recognize the one carrying you, you
can rest even while the landscape is changing.
You can rest while passing through the valley.
You can rest while crossing the waters. You can
rest while walking through territory you have
never seen before. Because your security is no
longer in understanding the road. Your security
is in knowing the one holding you. So tonight,
before we close this conversation, I want you
to look backward. Look at the valleys you survived.
Look at the fires that did not consume you. Look
at the waters that did not sweep you away. Look
at the doors that closed and somehow redirected
your life. Look at the nights you thought would
never end. Look at the moments when you were
certain you could not continue. And then ask
yourself one question. If I truly had no strength
left, who carried me? Maybe those footprints
you have been looking at all these years were
never yours. Maybe the evidence you interpreted
as abandonment was actually evidence of intimacy.
Maybe the season where you felt God the least
was the season where his arms were holding you
the closest. And maybe the testimony is not simply,
I made it. Maybe the testimony is, he carried
me. He carried me when I could not understand.
He carried me when I could not see. He carried
me when I could barely pray. He carried me when
the fire became hot. He carried me when the waters
became deep. He carried me through the valley.
He carried me through the wilderness. He carried
me through the night. And if I am standing here
today, it is not because I was strong enough
to survive everything that came against me. It
is because the God who promised never to leave
me was faithful enough to carry me. And we are
not finished. In conversation four of the mystery
of divine intervention, we are going to continue
this revelation and go deeper into what scripture
means when God says, I will carry you. We are
going to explore the father who carries his children.
The shepherd who places the lost sheep upon his
shoulders. The God who sustains us from birth
to old age. And the mysterious ways divine intervention
can be operating in our lives even when we cannot
recognize it. Because sometimes God changes the
battle. Sometimes God changes what is coming
against you. Sometimes God opens the sea. Sometimes
God closes the mouth of the lion. Sometimes God
steps into the furnace. And sometimes, God does
something far more intimate. He picks you up.
So until our next conversation, if the road becomes
difficult, if the valley becomes dark, if the
waters become deep, and if you look backward
and suddenly see only one set of footprints,
do not immediately assume God disappeared. Look
again. Those footprints may not be yours. You
may have reached the part of your story where
God started carrying you. This is Pomoja Ministry.
One conversation, one story, one revelation at
a time. And I will meet you again in our next
conversation as we continue exploring the mystery
of divine intervention.