Taking Ground | Week 3
Day 5
“In the future, when your descendants ask their parents, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them, ‘Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground.’” - Joshua 4:21–22
The river had stopped, the people had crossed, and the impossible had just become reality. The ground that had been wet and wild was now dry beneath their feet. For the first time in forty years, Israel stood on the soil of promise. The air must have been filled with laughter, relief, maybe even disbelief.
But before anyone could move on, God gave Joshua one more instruction — something that seemed small compared to what had just happened. He told him to choose twelve men, one from each tribe, and have them pick up twelve stones from the middle of the riverbed where the priests had stood. Each man was to carry a stone on his shoulder and take it to their new camp at Gilgal. There, Joshua would set them up as a memorial — a physical reminder of what God had done.
It’s such a simple thing: stones from a riverbed. But God knew something we often forget — that human memory is short. We remember our pain easily, but we forget God’s power just as quickly. Miracles fade into normalcy faster than we’d like to admit.
Those stones were meant to fight forgetfulness. They were a visible declaration that said, “This is where God met us. This is where the impossible became possible. This is where faith carried us through.”
Joshua told the people that in the future, when their children would see those stones and ask, “What do these mean?” they were to tell the story — not just the facts, but the feelings. The fear they felt standing at the river’s edge. The sound of rushing water. The moment the priests’ feet touched the water. The way the current stopped. The way dry ground appeared underfoot. The awe that filled the air as an entire nation crossed safely.
The stones weren’t there for decoration; they were there for conversation. They were meant to spark stories of God’s faithfulness from one generation to the next.
We still need those reminders today. Not literal stones, maybe, but memorials that help us remember how far God has brought us. A journal entry. A photo. A song that reminds you of a season when God came through. A story you tell your kids about a time you didn’t know how things would work out, but somehow, they did.
Every believer needs their own “Gilgal” — a place in your heart where you’ve marked God’s faithfulness.
Because here’s the truth: life moves fast. We cross one river and immediately face the next. Challenges come, storms rise, and if we’re not careful, we’ll start to live as if the last miracle never happened. Gratitude fades into anxiety. Wonder gets replaced by worry.
That’s why God says, “Build something that helps you remember.”
When you intentionally pause to remember what God has done, you make space for faith to grow again. Memory becomes momentum. The story of God’s past faithfulness becomes fuel for today’s obedience.
Think about the stones Israel carried. They were heavy. Each man had to lift one onto his shoulder and carry it for miles. That’s a picture of the kind of remembering God calls us to — not passive nostalgia, but intentional gratitude. Sometimes remembering takes effort. It means choosing to dwell on what’s true instead of what’s missing, to rehearse His goodness instead of your fears.
The memorial at Gilgal wasn’t just for that moment — it became a landmark for generations. Years later, when Israel would return to that place, they would see those same stones and remember: God brought us through before. He can do it again.
What would your memorial stones be? What moments in your life remind you of God’s power, His provision, His patience? Maybe it was a prayer that got answered in an unexpected way. Maybe it was a season of loss where God held you steady. Maybe it was the quiet miracle of endurance — you didn’t quit when you could have, and somehow, grace carried you through.
Those are your stones. Don’t leave them in the river. Pick them up. Carry them with you. Tell the story.
Because the more you remember what God has done, the more you’ll trust Him for what He’s still doing. And when someone else comes along — your child, your friend, your coworker — asking how you’ve made it this far, you’ll have an answer ready. You can point to your own Gilgal and say, “Let me tell you what God did here.”
The stones don’t just tell a story about the past. They tell a story about the kind of God who still makes a way through impossible places.
So take time today to remember. Don’t rush past your victories. Don’t move on too quickly. Look back at where you’ve seen God’s hand in your life and let gratitude rise again. The same God who stopped the Jordan still works miracles in the everyday moments of your story.
And one day, when someone asks you, “What do these stones mean?” you’ll smile and say, “They remind me that God has never failed me yet.”
