Finding Blessing in the Midst of Hardship

Life has a peculiar way of throwing challenges at us precisely when we think we've found our footing. Just when the rains should come, drought arrives. Just when we need stability, the ground shifts beneath our feet. Yet it's often in these very moments of difficulty that God positions us for His greatest work in our lives and through us to others.

The story of Isaac presents us with a jarring reality: hardship doesn't discriminate based on faithfulness. Here was a man from a praying family, a man who worshiped the Lord, a man doing everything right—and yet famine struck his land. Not just any famine, but a different one from what his father Abraham had faced. Sometimes our children walk through similar valleys we traversed, and we desperately wish we could shield them from every storm.
But here's the uncomfortable truth: because we live in a fallen world, hardship will find us. The question isn't whether difficulty will come, but how we'll respond when it does.

When the drought hit, Isaac faced a choice we all encounter: run to what seems safe and reliable, or trust God's direction even when it makes no sense. Egypt beckoned—a land where the Nile River prevented famines, where food was always available, where survival seemed guaranteed. Egypt has always represented the world's solutions to spiritual problems, the place we run when we forget who holds our future.

God's instruction was clear and counterintuitive: "Don't go to Egypt. Stay in the land I'm calling you to."

In that moment of potential panic, God didn't just give Isaac instructions—He reminded him of his identity and calling. "I will be with you. I will bless you. Through you, all nations will be blessed." The Lord essentially asked Isaac: "Do you remember who I am? Do you know who you're talking to?"

This is crucial for us. When hardship strikes, we tend to forget our calling. We want to grab control, to figure things out ourselves, to run to our "nuclear plan"—that place we've mentally designated as our escape hatch when everything falls apart.

But God invites us to remember: He is still Lord. His promises haven't changed. His calling on our lives remains intact, even when circumstances suggest otherwise.

Isaac obeyed God and settled in Gerar, in the land of the Philistines. Victory, right? Not quite. Because even when we're walking with the Lord, fear can grab hold of us and lead us into foolish decisions.

Fearing for his life because of his beautiful wife Rebekah, Isaac lied and called her his sister—the same deception his father Abraham had employed. It's a sobering reminder that the sins of our fathers can echo in our own lives, and that walking with God doesn't make us immune to fear-based decisions.

The apostle Paul warned us: "Let anyone who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall." When we think we've got everything under control, when we believe we can handle things in our own strength, that's precisely when we're most vulnerable to stumbling.

Interestingly, it was the pagan king Abimelech who called out Isaac's deception. Sometimes the world looks at Christians who respond out of fear rather than faith and asks, "Why did you do that?" It's a humbling moment when those outside the faith demonstrate more integrity than we do.

Once Isaac's sin was exposed and dealt with, God began to bless him abundantly. He planted crops and reaped a hundredfold return. He became wealthy beyond even his father Abraham's considerable riches. Flocks, herds, and servants multiplied.

But here's what often surprises us: blessing doesn't always lead to celebration from those around us. Sometimes it leads to envy.

The Philistines looked at Isaac's prosperity and their hearts grew bitter. They filled in all the wells Abraham had dug—a direct attack on his father's legacy and his current livelihood. Then they kicked him out, telling him he'd become too powerful for their comfort.

This is a pattern we see throughout history: when God blesses His people, opposition often intensifies. When ministry flourishes, envy can creep into unexpected places. When God opens His good treasury and pours out blessing, not everyone celebrates.

What Isaac did next reveals the heart of how God blesses nations through His people. Kicked out of the city, he moved to the outskirts and began digging wells again—the same wells the Philistines had filled with dirt.

He dug one well. The herdsmen of Gerar quarreled over it, claiming it as theirs. Isaac left it and dug another well. They quarreled over that one too. He left it and dug a third well. Finally, they didn't fight over it, and he called it Rehoboth, meaning "room," saying, "Now the Lord has made room for us."

Think about this: Isaac was blessing the very people who had envied him, kicked him out, and fought with him. Every well he abandoned became a source of life for those who opposed him. He didn't dig those wells thinking, "I'm blessing the nations." He was simply following God, and in his obedience, blessing flowed to others.

This is how the gospel has spread throughout history. Missionaries leave their homelands, face opposition, plant seeds, and sometimes die before seeing the harvest. Yet the work continues, and communities are transformed.

Then came the moment of truth. Abimelech returned with his advisors and army commanders, engaging in some serious revisionist history. "We sent you away in peace," he claimed (conveniently forgetting the whole kicking-out part). "Let's make a covenant because clearly the Lord is with you."

How would you respond? Most of us would want to hash out the past, to make sure they knew exactly how they'd wronged us, to get our say in. We want people to know they hurt us.

Isaac's response? He threw them a feast. They ate, drank, exchanged oaths, and departed in peace.

No rehashing. No score-settling. No holding grudges. Just blessing upon blessing, even to those who had caused hardship.

That same day, Isaac's servants came with news: they'd found more water. God continued blessing, and Isaac moved forward without dwelling on past wrongs.

When enemies become willing to make peace, when those who hurt us walk through the door seeking reconciliation, we face a choice. We can respond to evil with evil, or we can respond to evil with good.

We have more work to do than we have enemies to hold grudges against. The mission of blessing the nations—of being witnesses in our Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth—requires us to move beyond offense and into obedience.

Hardship will come. Drought will strike. People will envy God's blessing in our lives. Others will fill in the wells we've dug. But if we keep following God's direction, keep digging new wells, keep blessing even those who oppose us, we'll discover something remarkable: God makes room for us, and through us, He blesses the world.

The question isn't whether we'll face famine. It's whether, in the famine, we'll run to Egypt or trust the God who calls us to stay, dig, and bless.