Day 78

Deuteronomy 3-4 | John 11:17-37

Moses begged.

“Please let me go over and see the good land beyond the Jordan.” (Deuteronomy 3:25)

But God said no.

Not because Moses wasn’t faithful. Not because God had abandoned him. But because in a moment of frustration, he failed to honor God as holy. And that had consequences.

And that’s a hard thing to accept.

Seeing, But Not Entering

I thought about Moses tonight as I stood in the kitchen, trying to chop an onion for the dinner Talacey and I were making together.

I gripped the knife in my right hand—the hand God spared. The hand that’s been through almost five months of rehab.

But as I pressed the blade down, the pieces were too big, too strong for my hand to slice through. My fingers couldn’t grip the knife the way it used to. The strength and dexterity to chop finely anymore was gone.

I sighed, set the knife down, and turned to Talacey. “Can you finish this for me?”

She took over, and I stood there watching—frustrated, helpless, and reminded again that no matter how much I want it, no matter how many times I’ve asked, my hand isn’t going back to normal.

And in that moment, standing in my own small frustration, I caught a glimpse of what Moses must have felt.

Not just disappointment.

Not just frustration.

But the ache of seeing what could have been—and knowing it won’t be.

What Do You Do When God Says No?

Moses had spent decades leading the Israelites to the land God had promised. He had endured their rebellion, their complaints, their failures. He had met with God on the mountain. He had interceded on their behalf over and over again.

But in the end, he wouldn’t get to step foot in the place he had spent his whole life moving toward.

I can’t imagine how that must have felt.

And yet, God wasn’t being cruel.

It wasn’t cruelty. But it was discipline.

Sometimes the “No” Is the Answer

God’s answer wasn’t just ‘no’—it was a lesson in trust.

“Go up to the top of Pisgah and lift up your eyes westward and northward and southward and eastward, and look at it with your eyes, for you shall not go over this Jordan.” (Deuteronomy 3:27)

He let Moses see the Promised Land.

He didn’t let him enter, but He didn’t leave him empty-handed either. He took him to the mountain, let him see the promise with his own eyes, and then placed the mission into Joshua’s hands.

And I wonder—if Moses had been so fixated on what he wanted, would he have missed the grace in what God gave him?

Because that’s my temptation.

To only see what I don’t have.

To only focus on what I wish God would change.

To let my heart get stuck on the thing I want instead of the thing God is actually doing.

The Gift in the No

I’ve asked God to restore my hand.

I’ve asked Him to give me back full function. To let me grip a knife, to lift a wheelbarrow without help, to clasp my hands in prayer the way I used to.

And for His own sovereign reason, His answer has been no.

But that no isn’t a sign of His absence.

It’s a reminder that His plan is bigger than mine.

Because this injury has forced me to depend on Him.

It has stripped away my pride.

It has softened my heart.

It has given me a story to tell of His faithfulness, His nearness, His grace.

And if I had gotten what I wanted, I wonder if I would have missed what I needed—to see Him in a way I never had before.

Trusting the God Who Sees the Whole Story

Moses didn’t enter the Promised Land.

But centuries later, he did stand in it—on the Mount of Transfiguration, talking with the One who is the ultimate Promised Land.

God’s no wasn’t the end of Moses’ story.

And it’s not the end of mine either.

So I can stand in the kitchen, watching my wife chop the onion I can’t.

I can sit across from my surgeon, hearing the news I didn’t want.

I can wake up every morning with scars that remind me of what I’ve lost.

And in all those moments, I can still trust that God knows what He’s doing.

Lord, help me trust Your no. When I only see the loss, help me see Your grace. When I want what’s comfortable, give me what’s good. You are the God who writes the story, and I don’t want to miss what You’re doing just because it doesn’t look like I hoped it would. Amen.