Day 145

2 Samuel 15–16 | 1 Corinthians 4 | Psalm 61

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It was the most sacred object in all of Israel.

A golden chest that held the Ten Commandments.

The mercy seat where God’s presence once rested in fire and smoke.

The symbol of victory, judgment, holiness, and favor.

So David sends it away.

Not out of disrespect.

But out of faith.

Because when everything in his world was unraveling—his throne, his city, his son—David let go of the one thing that might’ve guaranteed him a return.

“Carry the ark of God back into the city.” (2 Samuel 15:25)

It’s one of those overlooked moments in Scripture.

And one of the most important for those of us who struggle with control.

Because the ark wasn’t his to cling to.

It never was.

The Test of Surrender Isn’t Always the Crown

The context is brutal.

Absalom has staged a coup.

David is barefoot and weeping, fleeing Jerusalem with a scattered band of servants and loyalists.

And Zadok the priest shows up—carrying the ark.

It’s a tempting moment.

The ark represented God’s power.

It marched ahead in battle.

It brought down walls.

It parted rivers.

If anything could secure David’s restoration—it was this.

But he refuses to use it.

“If I find favor in the eyes of the Lord, he will bring me back… but if not, let him do to me what seems good to him.” (v. 25–26)

That’s not resignation.

That’s reverence.

David won’t treat the presence of God like a bargaining chip.

He doesn’t weaponize the sacred.

He doesn’t leverage the holy to protect himself.

He just lets go.

Faith Doesn’t Clutch Symbols

That moment haunted me in the best way today.

Because I know what it’s like to want to keep the ark close.

To wrap my fingers around something sacred—influence, a calling, a title, a friendship—and assume that God’s presence depends on my proximity to it.

But sometimes faith isn’t holding on.

It’s handing off.

It’s trusting that God’s work isn’t bound by my access to it.

That’s where I’m living right now.

In a season of letting go.

Of stepping back.

Of watching sacred things I once stewarded get carried forward by someone else.

And I want to be okay with that.

I want to believe that the ark doesn’t need me beside it to keep moving.

Because it’s not mine.

It never was.

Stewards, Not Saviors

Paul echoes the same posture in 1 Corinthians 4.

The Corinthians are fighting over who has the better teacher, the stronger leader, the flashier gifts.

And Paul says this:

“This is how one should regard us, as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God.” (v. 1)

Not owners.

Not celebrities.

Not architects.

Stewards.

People who carry something holy for a time.

Who nurture what they didn’t build.

Who plant seeds they’ll never harvest.

Who let the ark go when the King says, It’s time.

Because faithfulness isn’t clinging to what God once gave you.

It’s releasing it when He says the assignment’s done.

And the measure of your leadership is not how many things stay in your hands.

It’s how many things continue to flourish when they leave them.

The Rock That’s Higher

That’s what Psalm 61 reminded me of, too.

David is praying again—likely still on the run.

But he doesn’t ask for the ark.

Or the city.

Or the crown.

He asks for this:

“Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” (v. 2)

That’s the posture of someone who knows they don’t need to be in control.

They just need to be in Christ.

The rock doesn’t move.

The rock doesn’t depend on your authority, your visibility, or your success.

The rock stands—when your ministry shifts, your platform shrinks, or your season closes.

What You Might Be Called to Let Go

Maybe today it’s not an ark.

Maybe it’s a role.

A job.

A dream.

A way of being needed that used to make you feel alive.

But God doesn’t give you sacred things to prove yourself.

He gives them so you can point to Him.

And sometimes the most holy thing you can do… is let someone else carry the ark.

Because the presence of God was never tied to your hands.

And the kingdom of God doesn’t collapse when your role shifts.

So walk barefoot if you have to.

Weep if you must.

But trust the One who sees beyond this moment.

The One who will do what seems good to Him.

And who leads you, still, to the Rock that is higher.

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Lord, thank You for the sacred things You’ve entrusted to me—and forgive me when I grip them too tightly. Teach me to lead like David—open-handed, reverent, unafraid to release what I cannot keep. Teach me to serve like Paul—faithful, invisible, content to be called a steward. Let me measure fruitfulness not by control but by trust. And when I feel forgotten or sidelined or unsure of what’s next—lead me to the Rock. Higher than my understanding. Stronger than my title. Wiser than my instincts. Let me follow You—barefoot if I must—into whatever wilderness You’ve called me to. Because You are still the King. And I am still Yours. Amen.