Faithfulness in the Eye of the Storm
The God of the Mountain is also the God of the Valley
There is an instructive moment in 1 Kings 20. After being defeated by Israel, the Syrians attempted to rationalize their loss. They concluded that Israel’s victory was possible only because their God was a “God of the mountains.” Their solution was simple: fight the next battle in the plains, the valley, where they assumed Israel’s God would be powerless.
God responded decisively. He declared that He would prove Himself not as a territorial deity, but as the Lord without limits. The victory that followed made one truth unmistakable: the God of Israel is not confined by geography, circumstance, or condition.
Our God knows no limits. Nothing restrains Him. Nothing is too hard or impossible for Him. He does not change. Because there is no one greater than Him, He swears by Himself, and His record of faithfulness remains unbroken. No test or trial has ever invalidated it, and none ever will.
The past year carried its share of dark and stormy seas. There were moments of deep strain, disappointment, and confusion, times when nothing seemed to work as expected. Prayer felt unanswered. Efforts appeared fruitless. Clarity dissolved, and questions surfaced where certainty once stood. It was not a gentle year. And yet, looking back, what stands out most is not the chaos, but the quiet consistency of God’s mercy.
Scripture never promises us ease. It never promises a walk in the park, a bed of roses, or a knife-through-butter kind of life. What it promises instead is presence:
“And the LORD, he it is that doth go before thee; he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.” (Deu 31:8)
The Lord acknowledges the tendency to be overwhelmed, but He wants us not to be dismayed.
Again, the scripture says:
“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me.” (Psalm 23:4)
The valley is acknowledged. The shadow is real. But abandonment is never part of the story.
One of the quieter realisations that emerged for me this year was this: while God’s hand was clearly at work throughout the storm, it was not always noticed in the moment. My attention was drawn more naturally to the weight of difficulty, disappointment, and pain than to His abiding presence. Much of the energy during that season was directed toward escape, toward getting out of misery, according to my plan. That urgency narrowed perception.
It was not that God was absent. In fact, in several areas, things unfolded beyond expectation, marked unmistakably by His signature. Provision appeared where it should not have. Protection held where collapse seemed likely. These were clear evidence of His hand. Yet there were other areas, deeply personal, desperately prayed over, where intervention did not come in the expected form or timeframe. God did not respond according to my urgency or preference. He worked differently. Wisely. Purposefully. In ways that only became clear later.
This, too, is part of His faithfulness.
Often, recognition follows rescue. Not because God arrives late, but because pain has a way of narrowing vision. The absence of awareness does not mean the absence of God. Faithfulness is not measured by how closely outcomes align with our plans, but by the constancy of God’s presence through every stage.
God’s promise to never leave nor forsake us is a sacred oath He’ll never break. If we feel otherwise, especially when we feel otherwise, we ought to look again, for He certainly, without fail, will be there. We need to look again at the past year, especially its bleak, dark, and stormy moments, and to ask whether traces of God’s faithfulness might be found there too. Not always loudly. Not always immediately. But present nonetheless.
Hallelujah! He deserves all the glory and praise, for He is worthy and faithful!
Faithfulness does not always appear as rescue from the storm. Sometimes it appears as strength to endure it. At times, it is preservation when collapse seemed inevitable. Other times, as clarity that arrives only after the worst has passed. All these mercies are easy to overlook in real time, yet unmistakable in hindsight. In such moments, gratitude becomes an act of faith, almost forced.
As this year closes, we need to reflect and find and acknowledge God’s goodness and faithfulness. Not gratitude for pain itself, but gratitude for the ways God sustained, preserved, restrained harm, and carried unseen burdens. For some, that faithfulness may only now be coming into view. For others, it may still be unfolding. But it cannot be mistaken if we look closely enough.
If the past year has been marked by confusion, loss, or weariness, let this stand as encouragement: do not dismiss the possibility of God’s faithfulness simply because the storm was loud. Sometimes His goodness is found not in escape, but in survival. Not in clarity, but in preservation.
You are always seen, held, and unconditionally and deeply loved.
The God of the mountains is also the God of the valleys. He is with you even in the valley of the shadow of death.
God is good.
God is kind.
God is merciful.
God is faithful.