Feast with the father

We spend so much of our strength searching for the nearest exit—longing to flee the fire, to escape the storm, to be delivered from the battle. But what if the battle isn’t meant to be escaped? What if it’s the very place where heaven spreads a table?

In the shadow of our fiercest enemies,

when darkness presses close and the weight is unbearable— there, in that sacred tension,

the Father prepares a feast.

Not once we’ve outrun the war,

but right in the middle of it.

Sometimes, our greatest adversity

isn’t punishment or abandonment,

but a divine invitation—

a beckoning into deeper intimacy with the One who sees all, knows all,

and loves without measure.

He doesn’t always quiet the chaos,

but He will always join us in it.

He does not always part the sea,

but He walks beside us on the water.

Don’t be so quick to run from the fire

that you miss the glory in its midst.

Don’t despise the valley—

it’s where oil flows,

where cups run over,

where the Shepherd draws near.

Learn to feast with the Father in the fight.

Let His presence be your portion,

His voice your anchor,

His eyes your peace.

Even if the fight rages on,

even if the storm doesn’t cease—

you are not alone.

I would rather sit at His table in the valley,

than wander starving through fields of ease without Him.

Give me the feast in the fire,

if it means His nearness.

Let the battle come—

if it births deeper communion.

He is not just the God who delivers.

He is the God who dwells.

And where He is, there is fullness.

Even here.

Even now.

Even in the fight.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Psalms 23:5