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A few months ago, I had the privilege of attending an entrepreneurs retreat in Ireland with my son Ethan. The organizer, Matthew, made a fascinating statement at the beginning of the weekend that has stayed with me ever since. He said, "We've planned this weekend, we've prayed for it, but stuff happens. Maybe the food doesn't arrive, maybe someone snores, maybe something goes wrong that's not according to your plan. And what we've learned to say when that happens is: 'This must be part of it.'"
That simple phrase—"This must be part of it"—is not just a motto for a weekend. It's a motto for life. It cuts right to one of the deepest questions we all face: We understand that God is in control, but why does he allow so much to happen that we wouldn't have planned? Why does he permit things we would never agree to if we had a choice?
This question has plagued every person who has ever lived. Woody Allen once joked about his inability to believe in God because he got his tongue caught in a typewriter roller. More seriously, C.S. Lewis, after his wife's death, wrote in A Grief Observed: "I feel like God has slammed a door in my face and turned the key despite my lifetime of following him."
But here's what I've learned: How you deal with life's deepest questions will set the trajectory of your life. Your response, your posture, how you frame these questions—this determines whether your life moves toward good or toward despair.
No one faced these questions more intensely than Moses. In Exodus 2, we see the first half of his life, and it is packed with profound truths about God's character.
Moses was born during a terrible time. The Egyptians had enslaved the Israelites for over 400 years. The Pharaoh, fearing a Hebrew uprising, ordered the slaughter of all newborn Hebrew boys. Moses' mother hid her son for three months, then placed him in a basket among the reeds of the river.
What happened next reveals God's hand at work: Pharaoh's daughter came to bathe at the river, discovered the basket, and saw the baby crying. She had compassion on him and realized he was a Hebrew child. Moses' sister, standing nearby, offered to find a Hebrew nurse for the child—and brought their own mother. Pharaoh's daughter agreed to pay the mother to nurse her own son. When Moses grew older, he was brought to Pharaoh's daughter, who adopted him and named him Moses, saying, "I drew him out of the water."
Then the story unfolds further. Moses grew up and witnessed an Egyptian beating a Hebrew. In his passion to defend his people, he killed the Egyptian and hid the body. When this deed was discovered, he fled to Midian, where he met Zipporah, the daughter of a priest. He married her and fathered a son named Gershom.
Years pass. The Pharaoh dies. The people of Israel groan under their slavery and cry out for help. And then we read these powerful words: "God heard the groaning... God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel and God knew."
From this chapter, three profound truths emerge:
First: God is sovereign over all.
Israel is in a horrendous situation. Pharaoh is murdering their children. Moses' mother must hide her son. Fear and panic surround them. Yet notice—God is working through it all. He works through Moses' mother, through his sister, through Pharaoh's daughter, through Zipporah, through Moses' father-in-law. One thread joins everything together: God is sovereign over all of it.
Yes, there is mystery here. We don't fully understand why God allows suffering. We don't understand why he permits Pharaoh's cruelty. But we see that God's plan unfolds even through the darkest circumstances.
I wrestled with this question intensely as a young Christian. After university, I prayed desperately for God to visit his people. He did—and he moved powerfully across the world. People encountered God everywhere. Every night, church meetings were packed. God was meeting with people, transforming lives.
Except I felt nothing. While everyone around me was encountering God's presence, I felt absolutely nothing. I was praying for people, and they were encountering God, but I experienced nothing. This went on for months.
One day, walking down Exeter High Street in a thunderstorm, I stopped and cried out to God: "What is wrong with you? I've been praying for this for years. Some of these people don't even want this, and they're encountering you. Why won't you touch me?"
Nothing happened except it started raining. I trudged home feeling very sorry for myself. But honestly, that moment became one of the pivotal spiritual turning points of my life. For the first time, I got real with God. I encountered him in that place of raw questioning.
A few months later, God said to me, "Simon, what's wrong with you? You've always felt overlooked." He used my circumstance to reveal what was in my heart. I had discovered something crucial: When you meet with God, suddenly the questions dry up. You realize who he is and who you are, and everything gets put into perspective.
Here's a truth that will set you free—and it will sting a little: God owes you nothing. You might ask, "How does that help me?" Because when you realize that God owes you nothing, you realize that everything he gives you is by grace. He doesn't give because he has to, but because he wants to. He's a good Father. Instead of coming to him demanding answers and shaking your fist, you approach him with open hands and say, "God, if you choose to give me something, I will receive it—because you are a good Father and you only give good gifts."
This completely changes your posture in life.
Philippians 4:6-7 says: "Don't be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
Notice the progression. When you come to prayer, anxiety and fear get flushed out. Deal with that first. Then come asking your requests—yes, you have real needs—but ask with thanksgiving. Why? Because you look back at what God has already done and thank him for it. That's the only healthy foundation for prayer.
Then something remarkable happens: You might think, "If I just had understanding, then I'd have peace." But listen—none of us could handle the understanding that God has. If you knew everything that was going to happen, everything everyone around you was thinking, everything that would occur to those you love—it would drive you insane. You cannot handle it. Only God can.
The demand for explanation before peace is a lie. God says, "I'll give you something far better than explanation: a peace that goes beyond understanding." That's far more valuable than understanding. It's a peace that positions us correctly—acknowledging that we are not God and he is.
Joseph, Moses' ancestor, experienced the worst of human evil. His own brothers sold him into slavery. Yet after years of suffering and injustice, when he met his brothers again, he said: "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives."
He didn't explain how it all worked, but he knew this: Your intention is evil, but God's intention is good, and he will accomplish it.
The Apostle Paul endured shipwrecks, near-drowning, stonings, and floggings. Yet he wrote to the Romans: "We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
I remember a story about George Müller, a man of faith who ran orphanages in England. One morning, there was no food for the 300 children in his care. He came downstairs and said to them: "Come, children, let's pray. Let's see what the Father will do."
A knock came. A baker stood at the door: "God woke me at 4 a.m. and told me you wouldn't have bread. Do you need some?" Minutes later, a milkman arrived with a broken cart full of milk he needed to offload.
I'd read that story many times, but what changed my life was that phrase: "Let's see what the Father will do."
When I face an obstacle, my first response is to shake my fist and ask, "Why me?" But Müller, facing an even more extreme situation, saw it as an opportunity to witness God's provision. He understood that God is a Father who provides, and that when we face hardships, it's an opportunity to see what the Father will do—to see his faithfulness and power in ways we could never predict.
Second: God works in all.
Moses grew up as a prince of Egypt, looking like an Egyptian, yet deep down knowing he was Hebrew. When he tried to live out his true identity too hastily, he killed someone—a terrible mistake. But his identity was real, even when his actions were wrong.
The same is true for us. When you came to Christ, your identity was totally transformed. Paul describes this in Ephesians 1-2 with an acronym—CHRIST:
Chosen: You were chosen in Christ before the world began. This hacks at the root of rejection. No matter what rejection you've faced from others, you are chosen by God himself.
Handiwork: You are God's masterpiece. There are things only you can do. This hacks at the spirit of comparison that tells you someone else is faster, smarter, richer, better. No—you are uniquely made for a purpose only you can fulfill.
Redeemed: Christ took your shame on the cross. Whatever you've done, whatever shame you carry, you've been redeemed. Christ bore that shame so you wouldn't have to.
Inheritance: You've been sealed by an inheritance that cannot be stolen. Even if earthly inheritances have been lost, you possess an eternal inheritance in Christ.
Seated: You were raised with Christ and seated with him in heavenly places. This means you don't have to strive to perform. Christ has done it all. You work from his favor, not for his favor.
Temple: You are the temple of the Holy Spirit. Wherever you go, you're never alone. This hacks at loneliness and isolation. You belong—not because of what you've done, but because of what Christ has done.
But here's the question: Are you living out of your identity? Are you the same person at home as you are at church? Are you living out your calling in your workplace, or are you just going through the motions? Some of you know God has shaped you for something you're not doing. You're spinning your wheels. I'm not saying quit your job tomorrow, but ask God, "How do I get to where I'm called to be?"
When I came to Christ during my first year of university, I had to make a decision. My roommates were all unbelievers. The first Sunday, I wanted to go to church, but I was terrified. "What will they think?" I chickened out. But by evening service, I felt the Holy Spirit saying, "If you don't go now, you'll slide back." So I went downstairs, and they asked where I was going at 6 p.m. on a Sunday.
"I'm going to church," I said.
They laughed. "No, seriously, where are you really going?"
"I'm going to church."
That moment defined something: I had to live out of my new identity. I had to say, "This is who I am now. I'm a follower of Jesus." That conversation opened up so many spiritual discussions with those men.
Third: God works through all.
Moses' wilderness—his loneliness, shame, and isolation—becomes the place where God shapes him. The people of Israel in their slavery, rejection, and brokenness are also in a wilderness. This wilderness is everywhere.
Wouldn't it be nice if God did his best work while you're on holiday by the pool with a cocktail? Sadly, that's not usually how it works. God does his best work in the wilderness. Why? Not because God enjoys our pain, but because the wilderness is where we become desperate, where we're ready for change, where we do the groundwork necessary for transformation.
Notice the powerful words at the end of Exodus 2: "God heard their groaning. God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel and God knew."
God heard. When you cry out, when you groan in desperate situations, know this: God hears your cry. He's not indifferent.
God remembered. He remembers his promises. Our best prayers are often when we remind God of what he's already said. His word will not return void.
God saw. He saw their suffering and had compassion. Jesus often "saw and had compassion."
God knew. He knew what he was about to do. He had a plan. Whatever you're facing, God knows and has a plan.
We don't know how it will all work out. Sometimes God reveals his hand in a moment, like Pharaoh's daughter discovering Moses. Sometimes it takes years, decades, or maybe even longer than this life. But God will work it out.
As Paul wrote: "In all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
As Joseph said: "The enemy intended it for evil, but God intended it for good."
I can't tell you how those truths match together in your specific situation. I can't solve the jigsaw puzzle of your pain. But I can tell you it's true.
God is sovereign over all. God works in all. And God works through all. Even in the wilderness, even in the waiting, even in the groaning, he is working.
So here's what I want to ask you: When difficulty comes, when something unexpected disrupts your plans, will you say, "This must be part of it. Let's see what the Father will do"?
Open your clenched fists. Let the "why me" questions drop away. Let the demand for answers fall away. Instead, open your hands and say, "God, I just need your peace. I receive your peace. You promised me peace, not answers."
Let God cement his calling on your life right now. You are his handiwork. There are good deeds prepared in advance for you to do. Don't live a purposeless life. Even if your mission comes out of the mess, comes out of the brokenness—there's a mission there.
This must be part of it. Let's see what the Father will do.
