Do you ever wish you could have walked with God in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the day? Or walked on dry ground with the Hebrews as they passed through the waters of the Red Sea? Or witnessed the battle between David and Goliath? Maybe you’ve wondered what it would feel like to have your blind eyes miraculously opened, suddenly beholding the face of Jesus. Perhaps you’ve thought about the rush you would experience as nerves reconnected and muscles swelled in legs that had been still for decades?
Stepping into Scripture brings it to life. Reading a scene multiple times and then viewing it in our mind’s eye from each character’s perspective offers valuable insight. It’s easy to overlook minor characters if we focus solely on the heroes. Yet, as in all of life, sometimes it’s those supporting roles, the bit players, or the cameos who become the real heroes in a story.
If we’re honest, we may sometimes feel unappreciated, overlooked, or lost in the crowd. If you feel that way, step into the story of Jochebed, Moses’ mother. Without her courage and faith, there might not have been a burning bush story, the parting of the sea, the 10 commandments, or the Torah. Sure, God could have used someone else, but with Jochebed’s heart resting in God’s faithfulness, she influenced the son who became a mighty hero. Heroes need support. Be a hero like Jochebed. Your life matters in God’s great story!
Now, imagine Jochebed’s story with me, allow Scripture to come alive, and be inspired to be an everyday hero:
Dots of dust slow-danced in the narrow streaks of early-morning light. They seemed to sense the specialness of the moment. Jochebed held her little man close, memorizing every rise and fall of his soft, sweet cheeks as he nursed. She didn’t want to forget a thing. The way his fingers playfully curled around hers. The way his eyes offered the most intoxicating smile she had ever seen, penetrating her very soul. Even the way his little chin quivered from the effort of nursing. These were the things she would cling to now that her time was up. She hoped he would someday remember her singing over him and how they both laughed at the silliest things. Her heart longed for him to remember how she tenderly stroked his eyebrows as he drifted in and out of sleep.
It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, another woman would hold him, love him, and call him her own. As hard as that was to bear, throwing him into the river after birth would have been unthinkable. This way, he would live and grow into the special one God had promised. Her own name meant “Yahweh’s glory,” so how could she not seek comfort and rest for her soul in her God?
It seemed only yesterday that she and her husband, Amram, enjoyed a brief moment of celebration as they realized they would once again be blessed with a child. Their joy melted into sorrow as they remembered Pharaoh’s edict. Because of the growing number of Hebrews and the predicted birth of a powerful leader, all newborn Hebrew boys were to be killed.
“Amram, if our child is a son, how can we protect him from such evil?” she asked her husband.
“My dear Jochebed, we must pray and ask God what we should do. We must ask Him to deliver us from those who seek to destroy us. We serve a powerful and merciful God. We must be faithful in prayer during our time of waiting. He will hear our prayers, and tell us what to do when and if the time comes.”
As Amram and Jochebed prayed, God listened and poured His compassion over them. Jochebed’s other two children took their time coming into the world, but with this pregnancy, sunrises seemed to run into each other. Before they knew it, cries of a new son pierced the air.
When the child could no longer be hidden, Jochebed knew what she had to do. God had listened to their prayers and spoken to her heart. As the baby slept peacefully, she coated a basket so it could float – one large enough to hold her little man. With every swipe of tar, she admired his face as he slept. If only there were another way. Swipe. If only they lived in another time. Swipe. Or another place. Swipe. Tears dripped into the tar as she finished the job. She made sure the inside of the basket was soft and comfortable, yet safe. The tar would be dry enough for transport when her little one’s naptime ended. She sat beside her sleeping child, rocking gently back and forth, hugging herself as she hummed the song she could no longer bear to sing out loud.
As little arms and legs beating against the air snapped her out of her daze, she knew it was time. She gathered the baby, the basket, and her understanding little daughter, Miriam, and headed to the river. They found the perfect spot among the reeds to place the basket, then Jochebed kissed her son, prayed for his protection, and placed him inside. His eyes smiled with that sweetness she had come to love. But now it was time to leave. Jochebed’s mother-heart couldn’t bear to stay. She knew a little girl playing along the water’s edge was a common sight and wouldn’t arouse suspicion, so she told Miriam to stay there and watch for what would happen.
Miriam sat on the bank watching the basket slowly sway among the foliage. The gentle rocking back and forth soothed the baby and put Miriam in a momentary trance until she heard voices.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like a basket.”
“Swim over there, get it, and let’s find out.”
Miriam couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Pharaoh’s daughter and her slave girls. The princess had a reputation for being assertive, so she didn’t think twice about ordering the servants to retrieve the basket for her.
“It is a basket,” the servant said as she got closer.
“Well, bring it to me,” ordered the princess. Miriam stayed out of sight until all the women gathered around the basket.
The princess could hardly believe what she was seeing. “There’s a baby in here!” she exclaimed.
With all the commotion, the baby began to cry, and with every whimper the princess’ heart grew softer and softer.
Miriam made her way to the basket and peered over the edge, seeming to be surprised by its contents. “Oh, what a beautiful little baby! Is he yours?”
“No, he’s not. But you’re right. He is beautiful.”
Miriam, sensing the Princess’ softened heart, declared, “I bet he’s one of the Hebrew babies.”
Pharaoh’s daughter then looked at Miriam for the first time and realized she probably knew what she was talking about. It had been a sad time for many Hebrew women, and this kind of thing had become all too common. Compassion rose up in the princess, and she fell in love with the idea of this most beautiful baby boy becoming hers. She admitted her desires to her servants, but then suddenly realized that she could not feed the baby.
Miriam quickly offered a solution, “I know a Hebrew woman who would be happy to nurse the baby for you.”
“Yes, that would be good. Go now, and bring her back immediately!” the princess ordered.
Miriam’s feet barely touched the ground as she raced back home. As she reached the front door, she grabbed one side of the doorframe, and her momentum propelled her into the house. Panting for breath, she cried, “Mother! Come quickly! Pharaoh’s daughter wants you to get Little Brother and nurse him!”
Jochebed grabbed Miriam by the shoulders, saying, “Child, what are you saying?”
Still trying to catch her breath, Miriam told her the whole story. Jochebed looked up to heaven, raised both arms, and said, “My God, you DO hear us when we call!”
Soon Amram and Jochebed had their baby back home until it came time to wean him. God had given them more time to prepare their hearts. More time to feel the hand of God upon them. But now, as the dots of dust danced in the rays of sunlight, Jochebed tucked her precious memories into a heart that confidently understood God’s providential care.
Stepping into Scripture brings it to life. Reading a scene multiple times and then viewing it in our mind’s eye from each character’s perspective offers valuable insight. It’s easy to overlook minor characters if we focus solely on the heroes. Yet, as in all of life, sometimes it’s those supporting roles, the bit players, or the cameos who become the real heroes in a story.
If we’re honest, we may sometimes feel unappreciated, overlooked, or lost in the crowd. If you feel that way, step into the story of Jochebed, Moses’ mother. Without her courage and faith, there might not have been a burning bush story, the parting of the sea, the 10 commandments, or the Torah. Sure, God could have used someone else, but with Jochebed’s heart resting in God’s faithfulness, she influenced the son who became a mighty hero. Heroes need support. Be a hero like Jochebed. Your life matters in God’s great story!
Now, imagine Jochebed’s story with me, allow Scripture to come alive, and be inspired to be an everyday hero:
Dots of dust slow-danced in the narrow streaks of early-morning light. They seemed to sense the specialness of the moment. Jochebed held her little man close, memorizing every rise and fall of his soft, sweet cheeks as he nursed. She didn’t want to forget a thing. The way his fingers playfully curled around hers. The way his eyes offered the most intoxicating smile she had ever seen, penetrating her very soul. Even the way his little chin quivered from the effort of nursing. These were the things she would cling to now that her time was up. She hoped he would someday remember her singing over him and how they both laughed at the silliest things. Her heart longed for him to remember how she tenderly stroked his eyebrows as he drifted in and out of sleep.
It wouldn’t be long now. Soon, another woman would hold him, love him, and call him her own. As hard as that was to bear, throwing him into the river after birth would have been unthinkable. This way, he would live and grow into the special one God had promised. Her own name meant “Yahweh’s glory,” so how could she not seek comfort and rest for her soul in her God?
It seemed only yesterday that she and her husband, Amram, enjoyed a brief moment of celebration as they realized they would once again be blessed with a child. Their joy melted into sorrow as they remembered Pharaoh’s edict. Because of the growing number of Hebrews and the predicted birth of a powerful leader, all newborn Hebrew boys were to be killed.
“Amram, if our child is a son, how can we protect him from such evil?” she asked her husband.
“My dear Jochebed, we must pray and ask God what we should do. We must ask Him to deliver us from those who seek to destroy us. We serve a powerful and merciful God. We must be faithful in prayer during our time of waiting. He will hear our prayers, and tell us what to do when and if the time comes.”
As Amram and Jochebed prayed, God listened and poured His compassion over them. Jochebed’s other two children took their time coming into the world, but with this pregnancy, sunrises seemed to run into each other. Before they knew it, cries of a new son pierced the air.
When the child could no longer be hidden, Jochebed knew what she had to do. God had listened to their prayers and spoken to her heart. As the baby slept peacefully, she coated a basket so it could float – one large enough to hold her little man. With every swipe of tar, she admired his face as he slept. If only there were another way. Swipe. If only they lived in another time. Swipe. Or another place. Swipe. Tears dripped into the tar as she finished the job. She made sure the inside of the basket was soft and comfortable, yet safe. The tar would be dry enough for transport when her little one’s naptime ended. She sat beside her sleeping child, rocking gently back and forth, hugging herself as she hummed the song she could no longer bear to sing out loud.
As little arms and legs beating against the air snapped her out of her daze, she knew it was time. She gathered the baby, the basket, and her understanding little daughter, Miriam, and headed to the river. They found the perfect spot among the reeds to place the basket, then Jochebed kissed her son, prayed for his protection, and placed him inside. His eyes smiled with that sweetness she had come to love. But now it was time to leave. Jochebed’s mother-heart couldn’t bear to stay. She knew a little girl playing along the water’s edge was a common sight and wouldn’t arouse suspicion, so she told Miriam to stay there and watch for what would happen.
Miriam sat on the bank watching the basket slowly sway among the foliage. The gentle rocking back and forth soothed the baby and put Miriam in a momentary trance until she heard voices.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like a basket.”
“Swim over there, get it, and let’s find out.”
Miriam couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Pharaoh’s daughter and her slave girls. The princess had a reputation for being assertive, so she didn’t think twice about ordering the servants to retrieve the basket for her.
“It is a basket,” the servant said as she got closer.
“Well, bring it to me,” ordered the princess. Miriam stayed out of sight until all the women gathered around the basket.
The princess could hardly believe what she was seeing. “There’s a baby in here!” she exclaimed.
With all the commotion, the baby began to cry, and with every whimper the princess’ heart grew softer and softer.
Miriam made her way to the basket and peered over the edge, seeming to be surprised by its contents. “Oh, what a beautiful little baby! Is he yours?”
“No, he’s not. But you’re right. He is beautiful.”
Miriam, sensing the Princess’ softened heart, declared, “I bet he’s one of the Hebrew babies.”
Pharaoh’s daughter then looked at Miriam for the first time and realized she probably knew what she was talking about. It had been a sad time for many Hebrew women, and this kind of thing had become all too common. Compassion rose up in the princess, and she fell in love with the idea of this most beautiful baby boy becoming hers. She admitted her desires to her servants, but then suddenly realized that she could not feed the baby.
Miriam quickly offered a solution, “I know a Hebrew woman who would be happy to nurse the baby for you.”
“Yes, that would be good. Go now, and bring her back immediately!” the princess ordered.
Miriam’s feet barely touched the ground as she raced back home. As she reached the front door, she grabbed one side of the doorframe, and her momentum propelled her into the house. Panting for breath, she cried, “Mother! Come quickly! Pharaoh’s daughter wants you to get Little Brother and nurse him!”
Jochebed grabbed Miriam by the shoulders, saying, “Child, what are you saying?”
Still trying to catch her breath, Miriam told her the whole story. Jochebed looked up to heaven, raised both arms, and said, “My God, you DO hear us when we call!”
Soon Amram and Jochebed had their baby back home until it came time to wean him. God had given them more time to prepare their hearts. More time to feel the hand of God upon them. But now, as the dots of dust danced in the rays of sunlight, Jochebed tucked her precious memories into a heart that confidently understood God’s providential care.
I’ll call nobodies and make them somebodies; I’ll call the unloved and make them beloved. In the place where they yelled out, “You’re nobody!” they’re calling you “God’s living children.”
(Romans 9:25-26, The Message)
