Scripture Stories for Little Saints

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.
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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.


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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.
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.


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


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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.
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