Hello, reader! I think you’ll really enjoy the full message that inspired this blog post. Listen or watch here. Read on…
I thought a lot about this post. Wrote. Rethought. Wrote some more. Here we go…
Can I say something that might ruffle the cozy blanket of your spiritual comfort zone?
You are not done yet.
I know. You’re tired. You’ve served. You’ve been faithful. You’ve shown up in more ways than most people even know. And the temptation to just… quietly coast for a while? It’s real. Like, put-me-on-a-beach-with-my-Bible-and-an-iced-coffee real.
Maybe no one’s said this to you lately, but I will: I see you. I get it.
Like me, you’ve walked through hard seasons that no Instagram caption could ever explain. And sometimes the thought of stepping into “one more thing” with bold faith doesn’t inspire you—it exhausts you. You’re not ungrateful. You’re just spent. And honestly? That makes sense.
And here’s the thing: last week, I wrote a letter to you, tired friend. A letter of rest and release. And I meant every word of it. [read here]
But here’s the nuance we can’t ignore—both can be true. You can be tired and still have more in front of you. You can take a breath without laying down your calling. Rest doesn’t mean retirement. It means being refueled so you can finish well.
Can I nudge you a bit? Nudge you and hold your hand too, actually—and let’s walk into the Word and see something that really got me and I think (I know) will get you too…
There’s this man in Scripture who just will not let us go quietly into spiritual retirement. His name is Caleb. He’s 85 years old, and instead of leaning back in a rocking chair and reminiscing about the “good ol’ days of spying out Canaan,” he stands up, cracks his knuckles (probably), and says:
“Give me this hill country.” (Joshua 14:12)
Excuse me, what? THE hill country? The one still full of giants? Caleb, sir, you are giving us all a run for our excuses.
Here’s what gets me: Caleb wasn’t just feeling brave. He was standing on a promise. One God made decades earlier. He remembered, and he refused to forget.
“Faith to possess isn’t faith to coast—it’s faith to finish.”
Let’s pause here. This story? It’s not just about Caleb. It’s about us.
Some of us are tempted to settle into spiritual cruise control. Maybe you’ve led the groups. Raised the kids. Showed up early. Stayed late. But now? You’re worn down. Or disappointed. Or disillusioned. Or just plain done.
But friend—if you’re still breathing, there’s still a mountain with your name on it.
Faith doesn’t say, “I had my season.” Faith says, “If God said it, I’m stepping into it.”
Caleb’s mountain wasn’t quaint. It was crawling with giants. He wasn’t chasing ego or glory—he was claiming what God had already assigned to him.
That’s a huge shift: Caleb wasn’t grabbing for more. He was stepping into what had already been promised.
That’s what real faith does. It remembers. It returns. And it reclaims what fear or delay or discouragement tried to take.
And friend, if we want to hear those words we all long to hear—“Well done, good and faithful servant… come and share your master’s happiness” (Matthew 25:21)—then we don’t get to check out early. We finish. We show up. We carry it to the end.
What does that look like in our lives?
- Starting the thing you thought it was too late to start.
- Praying the prayer you almost gave up on.
- Mentoring when you feel like the world has passed you by.
- Choosing joy again after a long season of sorrow.
- Say yes. Do. Go. Share. Lead.
If God promised it, He’s still in it.
And He’s not just in the mountaintop moments. He’s in the assignments, the boundaries, the seemingly boring parts too.
In Joshua, we meet others who show us what this kind of faith looks like:
- Achsa, who asked boldly for springs of water in a dry land. No shame. Just wisdom and trust.
- The daughters of Zelophehad, who returned to claim their inheritance—not in entitlement, but in quiet courage.
- Ephraim, planted next to Shiloh, the sacred center of worship, because God places us where His presence can be known.
Your portion matters. And God isn’t done writing your story.
Even the maps and boundaries in Joshua carry weight. They show a God who assigns not just land, but identity. Not just geography, but legacy.
So maybe the question isn’t, “What’s next?” but…
What’s your hill country?
- What promise have you put on pause?
- What call have you buried under fear or fatigue?
- What dream have you labeled “too late”?
Let Caleb’s story stir your faith. Let it move you back to movement.
Because faith to possess is faith to move.
Faith to speak up.
Faith to remember that God’s promises weren’t just for back then—they’re for right now.
You are not finished.
Not because I say so. Because He does.
And maybe—just maybe—your bold step of obedience will open the door for someone else’s breakthrough.
Let’s make this personal:
What’s your hill country? What promise are you dusting off again? Leave a comment, share the post, or tell a friend who needs to hear this:
You’re not too old, too late, or too stuck. If God promised it, it’s not over.
If this stirred something in you (or lovingly poked at your spiritual snooze button), there’s more waiting in the full message: “Faith to Possess” (Joshua 18–20). Caleb. Achsa. Shiloh. Those fierce daughters of Zelophehad. It’s a whole map of God’s faithfulness.
Watch or listen to the full session here → “Faith to Possess”
Current Bible Study/Podcast Series: “Joshua: Strong & Courageous” – January-April, 2025
As always, I appreciate your thoughts and comments. Leave a note below and be sure to join the mailing list and stay in touch!
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