He Will Never Leave You Nor Forsake You

What Deuteronomy 31:6 meant then—and what I’m learning from it now.

“Be strong and courageous… for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Deuteronomy 31:6

I’ve heard this verse before.

It’s comforting. It looks pretty written in cursive. It’s one of those verses that’s easy to pull out when life gets hard.

But lately, I’m trying to do something different when Scripture catches my attention.

I want to know what was actually happening when those words were spoken.

Because “be strong and courageous” hits a little differently when you know what these people were being asked to be courageous about.

Forty. Whole. Years.

Israel had been wandering in the wilderness for 40 years.

Forty.

My little old self hasn’t even seen 40 years yet.

Can you imagine spending longer than my entire lifetime without a stable home? Wandering through the wilderness with critters and creatures of all sorts?

With no AC?

Yikes.

And now, after all those years, Israel was finally preparing to cross the Jordan and enter the land they’d been promised.

Except there was a pretty major problem.

Moses wasn’t going with them.

Moses had led these people out of slavery in Egypt. He had been their leader through events and miracles we can hardly fathom witnessing today.

But because of Moses’ own disobedience, there was a consequence: he would see the Promised Land, but he would not enter it with Israel.

The man who had led them this far was reaching the end of his journey.

Joshua would lead them forward.

New land.

New battles.

New leader.

I’d be intimidated too.

“Be Strong and Courageous” Wasn’t About an Awkward Tuesday

When Moses told Israel to be strong and courageous, he wasn’t talking about walking into the grocery store and realizing you might have to make eye contact with an actual human.

These people had legitimate reasons to be afraid.

And Moses didn’t tell them:

Don’t worry. I’m coming with you.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he pointed them toward the One who could:

“The LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”

Then Moses spoke directly to Joshua and told him:

“The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Deuteronomy 31:8

That stopped me.

Moses couldn’t go with them. God could.

People aren’t able to walk with us through every season of our lives.

Sometimes relationships change. People disappoint us. People leave. People die. Sometimes somebody desperately wants to be there for us and simply can’t.

But Moses was telling Israel that the presence they ultimately depended upon wasn’t his.

It was God’s.

“He Will Not Forsake You”

Think about how many times human beings have promised something like that.

I’m always here.

You can count on me.

I’ve got you.

And then, eventually, somebody doesn’t come through.

Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes because they’re human and simply couldn’t.

That isn’t the kind of promise Moses was describing.

God isn’t making a promise based upon whether everything goes according to my plan.

And I think that’s where I’ve struggled before.

Because there have been seasons when I wondered:

God, if You love me, why are You letting this happen?

My Childhood Wasn’t Exactly Hallmark

I’m not going into every detail because, honey, we’d be here awhile.

But let’s just say my childhood wasn’t exactly a Hallmark movie.

It was probably a little closer to Inside Edition.

Okay, maybe not that bad.

But if Hallmark was on one end of the line and Inside Edition was on the other, I know which direction we’d be scooting.

My parents were divorced by the time I was two. I was the younger sister to an older brother. My mom remarried, and things eventually went a little… awry.

My stepfather had experienced a childhood far harder than mine, and looking back as an adult, I believe he was doing the best he knew how with the knowledge and experiences he had.

That doesn’t mean everything was okay.

Words could be harsh. Discipline could be harsh. Situations could get twisted around until you wondered whether something was somehow your fault when it wasn’t.

As a child, I didn’t have grown-up words for any of that.

I just knew home didn’t always feel like home.

Then I’d look at other families.

I’d see cousins whose mom and dad were both home. Families going on vacations together. Holidays with grandparents. Homes where nobody seemed afraid to speak.

From the outside, their lives looked beautiful.

And it hurt.

Because I knew God loved me.

But sometimes I wondered:

If God loves me, why does my life look like this?

Years Later, I Can See Something I Couldn’t See Then

Today, I work in education.

And there are kids I understand differently because of where I’ve been.

Sometimes I notice the child trying desperately not to be noticed.

Sometimes it’s the opposite—the child working overtime to become the teacher’s favorite because one encouraging adult can mean everything when encouragement isn’t waiting at home.

Sometimes a parent’s phone call changes a child’s whole demeanor.

Sometimes there are signs that tell you home may be a little less home and a little more horror.

I know that feeling.

I wish younger me hadn’t needed to learn it.

But adult me can now sit beside a hurting kid with an empathy I didn’t get from a textbook.

And that’s one place where I’ve watched God bring something useful out of something painful.

It has affected my marriage, too.

Marriage can require uncomfortable conversations, apologies, forgiveness and nights when everything doesn’t magically feel better before bedtime.

But I know what family instability felt like as a child.

So when marriage gets uncomfortable, I remember what I’m building.

I want to fight for my marriage, not simply win the fight.

I want our child to know the security I once longed for.

Maybe That’s What I’m Learning

I want to be careful here.

I can’t tell you why every terrible thing happens.

I can’t promise you’ll eventually sit on your porch one afternoon, sip your sweet tea and suddenly say:

Ohhh. That’s why God let me go through that.

There are wounds in this life for which we may never receive a satisfying explanation.

And I don’t believe Deuteronomy 31:6 promises us an explanation.

It promises God’s presence.

That’s different.

Israel still had to cross the Jordan.

Joshua still had to lead.

There were still battles ahead.

“God will not forsake you” didn’t mean nothing painful would happen.

It meant they wouldn’t face what was ahead abandoned by Him.

And maybe somebody reading this is in a chapter they don’t understand.

Maybe it’s your marriage.

Your child.

Your family.

Your job.

Maybe you’re asking God a question and hearing nothing that feels like an answer.

I can’t tell you the why.

But I can tell you what I’m learning:

A painful chapter isn’t proof that God walked out of the story.

The enemy may tempt us to interpret pain as abandonment—to whisper that if God really loved us, things wouldn’t look like this.

But hardship and abandonment aren’t the same thing.

God knew what Israel was walking toward.

He knew what Joshua was being asked to carry.

And before they ever crossed that river, they were reminded:

He goes before you.
He is with you.
He will not leave you.
He will not forsake you.

Looking backward, I can see places in my own story where God brought purpose from pain.

There are other things I still don’t understand.

I reckon that’s where faith comes in.

Not pretending the hard things weren’t hard.

Not tying every wound up with a pretty little bow.

Just learning to trust that when I don’t understand the chapter, God hasn’t abandoned the story.

— Jane

Grace for the mess. Grit for the rest.