When God Hears the Voice of the Forgotten

There's something deeply compelling about the "chosen one" narrative. We see it everywhere—in films, literature, and ancient myths. A master appears, points to an unsuspecting individual, and declares: "You are the chosen one." The crowd gasps. The journey begins. We love these stories because, if we're honest, we all want to be chosen. We want to be special, set apart, significant.

But what happens when we feel like we're always picked last? What happens when we open Scripture and it seems like God plays favorites—choosing Abel over Cain, Jacob over Esau, Isaac over Ishmael? The uncomfortable truth is that sometimes the Bible can make us feel like we're on the outside looking in, watching God's chosen ones receive blessing after blessing while we wonder if He even sees us.

The story of Abraham's family reveals something profound about God's character that challenges our assumptions about being "chosen." When God called Abraham, He made an extraordinary promise: Abraham would be blessed so abundantly that he would become a blessing to all nations. His descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky.
There was just one problem. Abraham had no children. And as the years stretched on—one year, five years, ten years, twenty-five years—that promise seemed increasingly impossible. Sarah, Abraham's wife, grew impatient. In a moment of faithlessness, she concocted a plan: Abraham would sleep with her servant Hagar, and perhaps the promise could come through that union.

Abraham agreed. Hagar conceived. And what should have been a moment of joy became a source of bitter conflict. Sarah, consumed by jealousy and regret over her own scheme, began to abuse Hagar relentlessly. The situation became so unbearable that Hagar fled into the wilderness, pregnant and alone.

But here's where the story takes an unexpected turn. God found Hagar in that wilderness. He saw her. He heard her. And He made her a promise—she would have a son who would become a great nation. Remarkably, He told her to return to Abraham's household, and she obeyed.

Eventually, just as God promised, Sarah conceived and bore Isaac. After twenty-five years of waiting, the child of promise had arrived. Abraham's response is striking—no wild celebration is recorded, just quiet obedience. He named his son and circumcised him as God commanded. He expressed his joy not through surprise, but through faithful obedience to what God had instructed.

Sarah's response was different. She laughed—but this time, her laughter had been transformed. Where once she had laughed in unbelief at God's promise, now she laughed in wonder at God's faithfulness. Her laughter had been redeemed.

Years passed. Isaac grew and was weaned—a significant milestone in that harsh nomadic life where many children didn't survive infancy. Abraham threw a great celebration. The mood was joyful. Life seemed perfect.

Until Sarah saw Ishmael laughing.

Whether it was mocking laughter or innocent joy, we can't be certain. But Sarah saw Hagar's son doing the very thing her own son was named for—laughing, "Isaac-ing." More than that, she recognized that as long as Ishmael remained, Isaac would always have to fight for his inheritance. Her past sin had created a present problem.

Her solution was brutal: "Cast out this slave woman with her son."

Abraham was furious. This was his firstborn, the son he had loved and raised for at least twelve years. How could Sarah suggest such a thing? Surely God would side with him and put Sarah in her place.

But God didn't. Instead, He told Abraham to listen to Sarah. The promise would come through Isaac, not Ishmael. Even so, God added something crucial: "I will make a nation of the son of the slave woman also, because he is your offspring."

Abraham rose early the next morning, his heart surely breaking. He gave Hagar bread and water—pitifully inadequate provisions for a journey into the wilderness—and sent them away. With every step, Hagar and Ishmael became more lost, wandering in that desolate place until the water ran out.

Hagar placed her dying son under a bush and sat a distance away, unable to watch him die. She lifted her voice and wept.

What words can possibly comfort such a scene? A mother who has endured injustice after injustice, now watching her only child die in the wilderness. Where is God in this moment?
Then God spoke: "What troubles you, Hagar?"

It might seem like an insulting question—isn't it obvious what's wrong? But God wasn't being sarcastic. He was being sincere. He called her by name, making it clear: "I see you. I know you. And didn't I already tell you what would happen?"

"Fear not, for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is."

That name—Ishmael—means "God hears." And God heard the voice of God Hears. He opened Hagar's eyes to see a well of water right there in the wilderness. She filled her skin, gave her son drink, and he lived.

What's remarkable is what happened next. No grand celebration is recorded. No hymn of worship. Instead, Hagar did what Abraham had done when Isaac was born—she obeyed. She held fast to her son. She walked with him as he grew. She found him a wife so that God's promise to make him a great nation could be fulfilled.

And throughout it all, Scripture tells us something astonishing: "God was with the boy."

This boy—the son of a slave woman, the one who wasn't part of the primary promise, the one whose name isn't even mentioned throughout much of the narrative—God was with him. God heard him. God didn't abandon him.

This is the heart of the story. It's not really about being "the chosen one" in the way we typically think of it. It's about something far more profound: God never abandons the people of His promise.

Perhaps you feel like Ishmael—the afterthought, the one on the outside, the person nobody notices. Perhaps you've never heard God speak your name directly or promise you something spectacular. Perhaps you feel like a no-name nobody who shouldn't even be here.

But if you belong to God, He has made you promises. He has promised never to leave you or forsake you. He has promised to complete the good work He began in you. He has promised that one day He will wipe away every tear, that suffering and pain will be no more, and that you will dwell with Him forever in the new Eden.

God hears your voice. He is with you. And He never, ever abandons the people of His promise.

You are not forgotten. You are not unseen. You are not unloved. The God who heard Ishmael in the wilderness hears you today. Take hold of His promises. They are yours.