I think I’ve been using God for His benefits package while claiming I’m in love with His character.
And I don’t particularly appreciate how ugly that sounds written down, but apparently, we’re being honest today.
Because I know God as my provider. Oh, I KNOW that one. Jehovah Jireh and I have history. I’ve seen Him make ways when the math wasn’t mathing, when the money wasn’t moneying, and when I couldn’t figure out how I was going to make it through another month. I can testify about His provision until somebody has to come get the microphone.
But Jehovah Rapha? The God who heals?
Why do I hesitate there?
Why can I believe God will provide something I need but struggle to believe He can restore something I’ve lost? Why do I trust Him with my finances more readily than my mind? Why am I confident He can open a door but uncertain about His ability to heal what happened behind the last one?
And that’s when I realized something about myself that I wish I hadn’t.
I’ve been treating God’s names like separate departments, and apparently, I only trust certain employees.
Jehovah Jireh, the Lord who provides. Jehovah Rapha, the Lord who heals. Jehovah Shalom, the Lord associated with peace. Jehovah Nissi, the Lord my banner. Jehovah Raah, the Lord my shepherd. El Roi, the God who sees me. And Yahweh, the covenant name of the God who has been faithful long before I ever learned how to pronounce any of these.
Different names and titles revealing the character of the SAME God.
Yet somehow I’ve managed to build a relationship around the parts of Him I understand while keeping the parts I struggle to trust at arm’s length.
And I had to ask myself whether I actually know His character or whether I’ve simply memorized His job descriptions.
Because apparently, I’ve been approaching God like I’m standing in Starbucks waiting for my order.
“Jehovah Jireh!”
Oh, that’s me! Right here! Grande financial breakthrough with extra provision, please!
“Jehovah Shalom!”
Also me! I’ll take a venti peace, no anxiety, light on the inconvenience.
“Jehovah Rapha!”
And suddenly I’m looking around the room like somebody must have ordered that under my name by mistake.
Ma’am.
How am I going to claim I know the Lord and then act surprised when He introduces Himself beyond the version I’ve become comfortable with?
And the worst part is that I didn’t even realize I was doing it.
In Matthew 9:27–30, two blind men follow Jesus, crying out for mercy and calling Him the Son of David. They recognize something about His identity before they ever receive the miracle they’re requesting.
Then Jesus asks them, “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” (Matthew 9:28, ESV)
Now, respectfully, Jesus.
These men are BLIND.
They have followed You, cried out to You, and somehow managed to make their way into the house where You are. I would have assumed their determination answered the question.
But that’s exactly why I’m not Jesus, because I would have confused desperation with faith.
And I do that in my own life more often than I’d like to admit.
I know how to pursue God when I need something. I know how to pray when my circumstances become uncomfortable. I know how to cry out when I’ve exhausted every other option.
But do I believe in who He is, or am I simply desperate for what He can do?
Because those aren’t necessarily the same thing.
The men called Him the Son of David, recognizing Him as the promised Messiah. They weren’t simply calling out to a man with a reputation for miracles. They were acknowledging His identity.
And I started wondering how often I’ve reduced God’s identity to whichever miracle I happen to need that week.
Which brings me to my next uncomfortable confession.
I think I’ve become a miracle snob.
I want the BIG one. The earth-shattering, jaw-dropping, somebody-call-the-praise-team kind of miracle. I want mountains moving, seas parting, doctors scratching their heads, and a testimony so outrageous that somebody in the back of the church starts running before I finish my first sentence.
I want the kind of miracle that makes everybody stop and say, “ONLY GOD!”
Meanwhile, God has been keeping my mind.
MY MIND.
The same mind that has carried more grief than I knew what to do with. The same mind that has wrestled with fear, anxiety, disappointment, and memories that still know how to find me when I least expect them. The mind that has sometimes made surviving a single day feel like an accomplishment nobody else could see.
And here I am.
Still waking up. Still laughing. Still praying. Still learning. Still finding pieces of myself I thought I’d lost somewhere along the way.
And somehow, I’ve had the audacity to wonder where the miracles are.
Girl.
I’ve been asking God to part the Red Sea while overlooking the fact that He’s been helping me keep my head above water.
And no, I’m not pretending that everything is healed simply because I’m still here. Some things still hurt. Some things still require help, treatment, time, and the courage to acknowledge that I’m not okay.
But I’m learning that God’s mercy doesn’t become less miraculous to me simply because it arrives quietly.
Sometimes the very thing I’ve been dismissing as ordinary is the thing I once begged God to help me survive.
And that realization brought me straight to The Hot Chick.
Because remember Jessica? Waking up in somebody else’s body, completely horrified, trying to convince everybody that she’s still herself? The entire movie she’s desperately trying to get back to the version of her life she recognizes.
“It’s me! Jessica!”
And while I was laughing at the comparison, I realized I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time doing something similar.
I’ve been standing before God asking Him to put everything back the way it was.
Give me back the version of myself who didn’t know this kind of pain. Give me back the life I thought I was supposed to have. Give me back the certainty, the confidence, the parts of myself that felt easier to carry.
And sometimes I’ve been so busy trying to get back to who I was that I haven’t recognized the person I’m becoming.
I’m not suggesting God caused my pain to teach me a lesson. But I am realizing I can encounter Him in places I never wanted to be.
And maybe restoration doesn’t always mean returning to the original version.
Because Jessica spent that movie trying to get her old body back, but along the way she had to confront things about herself that her old life allowed her to ignore.
And I wonder what I’ve been too busy trying to escape to actually examine.
Whew.
Then there’s Hezekiah in 2 Kings 20:1–7.
Isaiah tells him to get his house in order because he’s going to die. Hezekiah turns his face toward the wall and prays, weeping before God. And before Isaiah has even left the palace courtyard, God sends him back with another message.
God has heard Hezekiah’s prayer. He has seen his tears. And He promises to heal him and add fifteen years to his life.
I kept coming back to the fact that Isaiah was a prophet delivering a message from God, but that first message was not the end of Hezekiah’s story.
And I had to ask myself how many things I’ve allowed to have the final word over mine.
A diagnosis? A circumstance? Somebody’s opinion? My past? My own thoughts?
How many times have I accepted something as the end of my story simply because I couldn’t imagine anything beyond it?
Now, Hezekiah’s healing doesn’t mean every prayer gets answered the way I want. And the blind men’s healing doesn’t mean people who remain sick simply don’t believe enough.
But both passages confront the limitations I’ve quietly placed on my understanding of God.
Because when Jesus tells those blind men, “According to your faith be it done to you” in Matthew 9:29, I don’t believe He’s handing me a formula where enough faith guarantees my preferred outcome.
He’s confronting what they believe about His ability.
And I have to sit with that.
Not because I need to manufacture more faith to earn a miracle, but because I need to examine whether I’ve been allowing my experiences to determine which parts of God’s character I trust.
I’ve been so busy asking Him to show me what He can do that I haven’t always appreciated who He’s already been.
The provider when I didn’t know how things would work out. The shepherd when I couldn’t find my way. The God who sees when I felt forgotten. The source of peace when my circumstances were anything but peaceful.
And the healer, even while there are still places in me that need healing.
I think I’ve spent so much time looking for restoration in the physical that I’ve overlooked the ways God has been sustaining me mentally and spiritually.
And I don’t want to do that anymore.
I don’t want to only recognize Jehovah Jireh when the bills get paid. Or Jehovah Rapha when the healing is visible. Or Jehovah Shalom when everything around me finally gets quiet.
I want to know God beyond the evidence I can immediately see.
Because if I’m only willing to acknowledge His character when my circumstances confirm it, am I really walking by faith?
Or am I just walking by sight with a Bible in my hand?
Ouch.
I don’t have this mastered. Some mornings I still want the dramatic rescue, the instant restoration, and preferably a detailed explanation of why everything had to happen the way it did.
But I’m learning that I cannot keep claiming to know God while limiting my belief to the parts of Him that have already made sense to me.
I cannot keep asking Him to introduce Himself while ignoring the ways He’s been revealing His character all along.
And I certainly cannot keep standing at the counter waiting for Him to call out the name I ordered while pretending I don’t recognize the others.
So here’s where I’m landing this morning.
I’m not believing God for just the provision, just the healing, just the peace, or just the breakthrough. I’m not picking and choosing which parts of His character I trust based on which miracles I’ve personally experienced. I’m believing God for EVERYTHING HE IS, even when I haven’t seen everything He can do. Because I don’t serve a God whose identity changes with my circumstances, and I refuse to keep reducing the fullness of who He is to the limitations of what I’ve experienced. If He is my Provider, my Healer, my Peace, my Shepherd, my Banner, my Redeemer, and the God who sees me, THEN I’M BELIEVING HIM FOR ALL OF IT.
Not because I can guarantee what He will do next, but because I am finally learning that His name is not a menu of miracles I get to order from.
IT IS THE REVELATION OF THE GOD I’M LEARNING TO TRUST. AND BABY, I’M DONE PICKING FAVORITES. I’M PUTTING SOME RESPECT ON EVERY NAME HE’S REVEALED, BECAUSE I’M BELIEVING GOD FOR ALL THAT HE IS!