Day 26—Thursday, March 19

Isaiah 40:10–11

See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.

There are seasons when God feels impossibly far away. A devastating diagnosis. A grief that presses the air from your lungs. In that silence, you may find yourself asking what the ancient exiles once asked: How are we to go on living?

Isaiah spoke to people who knew that question in their bones. Judah had been dragged into exile in Babylon. Their temple, their city, their entire way of life—destroyed. Their grief became a refrain: “There is none to comfort me.”

Into that darkness, Isaiah offers not easy answers but two truths that together form an unshakeable hope.

First, God comes with might—the God who carved out the moon and stars and holds the oceans in the hollow of a hand. Whatever has shaken your world has not shaken God.

But power alone is not comfort. So Isaiah gives us a second truth: this same almighty

God is a shepherd. God gathers the lambs—the smallest, most vulnerable ones—and holds them close against the chest. God gently leads those who are weary, watching carefully over the yet unborn. This is one of the most tender images of divine love in all of scripture: the Creator of the universe, cradling the fragile and the frightened.

The hand that holds the universe is the same hand that reaches for you. Maybe you are in a season where God’s absence feels more real than God’s presence. If so, hear this: your Shepherd is coming. God is mighty enough to rescue you and tender enough to carry you home. Because infinite power and infinite compassion are united in our God, we have a hope that nothing—no exile, no loss, no darkness—can destroy.

Prayer: Holy God, mighty Shepherd, there are days when your silence feels louder than your promises. Today we choose to trust that you come with might and with tenderness. Gather us in your arms. Remind us that no exile lasts forever in your care. Our hope rests not in our circumstances but in you—strong enough to save, gentle enough to hold us close. Amen.

-Becky Rhodes