“To each there comes in their lifetime a special moment when they are figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing, unique to them and fitted to their talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for that which could have been their finest hour.”
ACTS 5:1-16
JOURNAL
Mordecai’s quiet faithfulness in Esther 2:19–23 has always stood out to me. He doesn’t seek glory or recognition. He simply does the right thing—raising Esther as his own, guiding her with wisdom, and later uncovering a plot against the king. He doesn't act out of bitterness or wounded pride despite being in exile, despite enduring hardship because of others’ failures. Instead, he remains watchful, steady, and obedient. His actions, though seemingly small at the time, are later recorded in the royal annals—setting the stage for deliverance far greater than he could have imagined.
This makes me think of how God uses the overlooked and mundane moments of our lives for divine setups. Just like Mordecai, many of us don’t know that the faithfulness we practice in the shadows is preparing us for a moment that may shape destinies, perhaps not just ours, but those connected to us.
In Acts 5:12–16, we see another striking contrast. Peter, once the denier, is now the bold preacher. The same man who hid in fear is now so full of the Spirit that people bring the sick into the streets just to touch his shadow. That’s not just influence, that’s transformation. But it didn’t come from seeking recognition. It came from brokenness, repentance, and ultimately, submission. He was prepared in pain, shaped by failure, and empowered by grace.
Winston Churchill once wrote, “To each there comes in their lifetime a special moment when they are figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing... What a tragedy if that moment finds them unprepared...” That line resonates deeply with me now, especially as I look back on my own life, how much of it I spent chasing things to validate my worth. Titles, success, relationships, none of it could hold the weight of my identity. I see now that I was trying to earn what I already had: value, purpose, belovedness.
Hebrews 12:7–11 reminds me that hardship is not punishment but preparation. “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest...” It’s through the difficulty—through the stripping away of illusions, that God makes us ready. Not just for a moment of greatness, but for a life marked by quiet obedience and eternal impact.
I see now that much of what I once pursued, success, affirmation, status, was really a desperate attempt to find identity apart from God. And in doing so, I was always anxious, always striving, always performing. But identity grounded in Christ allows for a different kind of strength—the kind that can wait, endure, and serve in secret.
What I’ve learned over the years is this: preparation often looks like obscurity. And adversity, while painful, may be the very hand of God forming us for something greater. So, I choose today to lean into discipline, not as punishment, but as a Father’s love. I choose to believe that my finest hour is not something I must chase, but something I must be ready to receive.
And readiness begins now, in the quiet, in the faithfulness, in the humility to be molded.
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