Taking Ground | Week 5
DAY 5
“The Lord caused a strong east wind to blow all that night, making the sea dry land.” -Exodus 14:21
There are moments in life when everything feels pressed together.
The past is close behind.
The future feels blocked.
And the present feels unbearably tense.
That is exactly where the Israelites found themselves at the edge of the Red Sea. Behind them was Egypt—the sound of chariots, the memory of slavery, the fear of being overtaken. In front of them was water—deep, wide, and impossible to cross. On either side stood uncertainty.
From a human perspective, this was the end.
Scripture doesn’t soften that moment. The people were afraid. They panicked. They questioned Moses. They wondered aloud if freedom had been a mistake. Fear has a way of rewriting our memory, and suddenly Egypt didn’t seem so bad compared to the terror of standing still.
And then the Bible says something easy to overlook: “The Lord made it dark.”
Darkness removes reference points. It strips away certainty. It forces us to feel rather than see. And for the Israelites, darkness came at the exact moment when they most wanted clarity.
But the darkness was not abandonment. It was concealment.
God did not want the enemy to see what He was doing.
While fear filled the camp, God was working. Scripture says a strong east wind began to blow—and it blew all night long. Not for a moment. Not instantly. Hour after hour, unseen by human eyes, God was reshaping the impossible.
This is where faith is often stretched the most: when God is active but silent, present but hidden, powerful but unseen.
The storm did not feel like deliverance. It felt like chaos. The wind roared. The night dragged on. Nothing about that moment looked like victory. And yet, the storm was doing holy work.
The wind did two things.
First, it parted the waters—creating a way forward where none existed.
Second, it dried the seabed—so the people wouldn’t walk out carrying the residue of their past.
God wasn’t just interested in escape. He was interested in transition.
He didn’t want them dragging mud from Egypt into the future He was leading them toward. He didn’t want their next season contaminated by their previous one.
This is often how God works in our lives.
We assume storms mean danger. But throughout Scripture, storms are frequently instruments of transformation. They disrupt, but they also prepare. They unsettle, but they also reshape.
Sometimes the very thing we are asking God to stop is the thing He is using to make the way forward possible.
If you are in a season that feels loud, confusing, or dark—don’t assume God is absent. He may be working overnight. He may be drying ground you’ll soon walk on. He may be doing more than you can currently interpret.
The night before the breakthrough often feels nothing like a miracle.
But morning is coming.
