Hagar's Encounter with God at Beer Lahai Roi

Naming What Must Die

In every season of life, there comes a moment where something must end for something new to begin. For me, leaving my career to embrace my vocation as a stay-at-home mom was one of those moments. It was a death of an identity I had built through years of hard work, but it was necessary for the new life God was calling me to.

Hagar, the Egyptian servant of Sarai, faced a similar kind of death in the wilderness of Beer Lahai Roi. Her story is one of the most tender reminders in Scripture that God sees us even in our lowest moments. Genesis 16:7-14 tells us how Hagar, pregnant and alone, fled from Sarai's harsh treatment. In that wilderness, she encountered the Angel of the Lord who called her by name, asking, "Hagar, servant of Sarai, where have you come from and where are you going?" (Genesis 16:8).

In that question, much like in my own life, Hagar was confronted with the reality of her situation and the death of what she had known. She had to face the painful truth of her status as a slave, the brokenness of her relationship with Sarai, and the uncertainty of her future. To move forward, Hagar had to let go of the life she had lived, the identities imposed upon her by others, and the security of Sarai's household.

What must die in our lives can be as simple as relinquishing control over our perfectly planned days, or as profound as surrendering our dreams. It could be the need for approval, the pursuit of perfection, or the fear of being unseen. For Hagar, it was her flight—a symbolic burial of her old life and the beginning of her journey towards something greater, led by the God who sees.

The Descent into Death

Then comes the dying: the painful process of letting go. In the wilderness, Hagar found herself stripped of everything she had known. This barren place became a crucible where her faith was tested and refined. Her Gethsemane moment, much like ours, was marked by the struggle between despair and hope, between clinging to the past and stepping into the unknown.

As I navigated the shift from a bustling office to the humbling chaos of home life, I felt the echo of Hagar's struggle. The kitchen table became an altar where I laid down my plans, my ambitions, and even my sense of self-worth. Between diaper changes and dishes, I wrestled with the ego death of being "just a mom," wondering if God saw me in the midst of the ordinary.

Hagar's descent was not without resistance. The wilderness can be a lonely place, filled with echoes of doubt and fear. Yet, in the midst of her tears, the Angel of the Lord spoke words of promise and hope, assuring her, "I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count" (Genesis 16:10). Her descent into death was not the end, but a passage into a promise.

It is in these moments of vulnerability that we encounter the God who meets us in our need. Surrendering what must die may feel like a loss, but it is the necessary step to make room for new life. Just as Hagar found solace in the wilderness, we too can find grace in letting go, trusting that God sees and provides.

Holy Saturday Waiting

In the darkness: the in-between space, the Holy Saturday of our lives where we wait in silence for resurrection. Hagar's time in the wilderness represents this liminal space—a place of waiting, where the promise has been spoken but not yet realized.

In my own life, the waiting often feels like the longest journey. It's the Saturday when the kids' nap times stretch endlessly, the moments between the dying of my old self and the birth of new habits, new ways of being. It's like waiting for the first light of dawn, holding onto the hope that the sun will rise again.

For Hagar, the wilderness was a place of waiting with a promise. She returned to Sarai, not because her circumstances had changed, but because her heart had encountered the living God who saw her. It was in this waiting that she learned to trust in God's timing and provision.

The waiting is sacred. It is the quiet anticipation, the holding of breath before the first notes of a symphony. It is in this space that faith grows, where trust is deepened, and where we learn to see with eyes of hope. Psalm 139:7-12 reassures us that even in the depths, God's presence is with us, never leaving us alone in our Saturday moments.

The Unexpected Morning

But Sunday is coming: the morning when light breaks through the darkness and new life emerges. Hagar's story at Beer Lahai Roi culminates in Genesis 21:14-21 when, once again in the wilderness, she faces the despair of running out of water.

In her desperation, God opens her eyes to see a well of water, a tangible sign of His provision. This unexpected morning was a reminder that God had not forgotten her or the promises He had made. Her tears turned to