Reflection:
The number 40 in Scripture ain’t cute.
It’s never clean. Never easy.
It’s floodwaters swallowing the earth (Genesis 7:12).
It’s Moses on the mountain with no food but fire (Exodus 24:18).
It’s Israel walking in circles, blistered and bitter (Numbers 14:33-34).
It’s Jesus starving in the desert with Satan whispering (Matthew 4:2).
Forty means fire.
Forty means famine.
Forty means fight.
But it also means formation.
Forty is where slaves become free.
Where messes meet mercy.
Where hunger makes room for holy.
I didn’t hit Day 40 in a straight line.
I fell. Lied. Hid.
I got up bloated and broken more times than I can count.
But I’m here.
Not fixed.
Not glowing.
But present. Honest. Abstinent.
And finally learning how to stay in the wilderness
long enough to see the Promised Land ahead.
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Prayer:
God,
Thank You for not giving up
when I gave up on myself.
Thank You for every “Day 1”
that still somehow led here.
For the vomit-stained grace.
The bloody-knuckle mercy.
The whispers of hope You tucked
into the loudest shame.
I don’t want to go back.
But I know I could.
So hold me.
Strip me.
Guide me.
And teach me what to do
on Day 41.
⸻
Poem – Forty Ain’t Fancy
Forty ain’t fancy.
It’s not confetti.
It’s not a certificate.
It’s cracked lips and clenched fists
and a whisper: “Don’t you dare quit now.”
Forty is a mountain still rising.
A table cleared,
but not forgotten.
It’s manna, not cake.
A cloud by day,
fire by night,
and no damn map in sight.
But it’s also
victory.
One bite at a time.
One lie surrendered.
One miracle: I’m still here.
⸻
Still…
Still standing in the wilderness.
Still hungry for God, not food.
Still becoming who You made me to be.
