I was searching for a stray goat.
That’s how it started. Nothing remarkable. Just another hot, dusty afternoon in Midian, chasing after one of my uncle’s animals who thought the cliffs near Horeb were more interesting than staying with the herd. I was seventeen then, old enough to walk the valleys alone but not old enough to avoid chores. My name is Elias, and I had no idea I was about to witness a message that would change history.
That mountain made people whisper. Some of the older herdsmen said it was called the Mountain of God. I’d laughed at first, but as the rocks grew steeper, the air around me seemed unusually still—like it was holding its breath. That’s when I saw the fire.
At first, I thought it was just a brushfire licking up the side of the hill. But I blinked—and paused. Something was wrong. The bush was wrapped in flames—but it wasn’t turning to ash. The branches stayed green, the leaves didn’t curl or blacken. I took a step closer.
Then I saw him.
A man stood near the bush. Older. Weathered. His shoulders slumped like someone who’d carried too many regrets too long. I recognized him—Moses, the Egyptian-raised Hebrew who’d been hiding out in Midian for decades. I’d seen him once while watering goats near his camp. He barely spoke to anyone.
But now, he was barefoot, standing in the sand like a man who’d just heard thunder roll through his soul.
And then—
“Moses,” a voice rang out. Not loud. But it vibrated like it didn’t come from the air—but from underneath everything. “Moses!”
He answered with shaking hands. “Here I am.”
“Take off your sandals. The place you are standing is holy ground.”
My heart stopped. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t. The voice wasn’t cruel. It was strong—but wrapped in something I didn’t expect. Love. A perfect, burning, blinding kind of love.
I watched Moses fall to his knees, his face buried in his hands. The voice continued. “I have seen the misery of My people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out... and I have come down to rescue them.”
Egypt. Slavery. My father used to tell us stories—how our people had once been a mighty nation—but were now crushed under Pharaoh’s power. I never thought those stories meant anything for me. But now, I wasn’t so sure.
The voice gave Moses a task. “Go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring My people out of Egypt.”
Moses trembled. “Who am I to do this? They won’t believe me... they won’t listen... I don’t speak well... I’m not the right choice.”
I swallowed hard as I watched him argue with God. He looked terrified. But the fire didn’t flicker. The voice stayed steady.
“I will be with you.”
That promise echoed louder than any excuse.
I don’t remember how long I stayed crouched in those rocks. Long enough to feel like a stone in my chest had been cracked open. When the bush dimmed and Moses turned to go, he didn’t look younger—but he looked different. Not lighter, exactly. He still had a burden. But now, he wasn't carrying it alone.
And neither was I.
That day, I stopped believing God only speaks through storms and laws. I saw Him speak through a flame—gentle but unshaken—and He chose a man who was lost, broken, and afraid.
And then He sent him back to rescue the ones still hurting.
If God could use Moses... maybe He could use someone like me too.
I was searching for a stray goat.
That’s how it started. Nothing remarkable. Just another hot, dusty afternoon in Midian, chasing after one of my uncle’s animals who thought the cliffs near Horeb were more interesting than staying with the herd. I was seventeen then, old enough to walk the valleys alone but not old enough to avoid chores. My name is Elias, and I had no idea I was about to witness a message that would change history.
That mountain made people whisper. Some of the older herdsmen said it was called the Mountain of God. I’d laughed at first, but as the rocks grew steeper, the air around me seemed unusually still—like it was holding its breath. That’s when I saw the fire.
At first, I thought it was just a brushfire licking up the side of the hill. But I blinked—and paused. Something was wrong. The bush was wrapped in flames—but it wasn’t turning to ash. The branches stayed green, the leaves didn’t curl or blacken. I took a step closer.
Then I saw him.
A man stood near the bush. Older. Weathered. His shoulders slumped like someone who’d carried too many regrets too long. I recognized him—Moses, the Egyptian-raised Hebrew who’d been hiding out in Midian for decades. I’d seen him once while watering goats near his camp. He barely spoke to anyone.
But now, he was barefoot, standing in the sand like a man who’d just heard thunder roll through his soul.
And then—
“Moses,” a voice rang out. Not loud. But it vibrated like it didn’t come from the air—but from underneath everything. “Moses!”
He answered with shaking hands. “Here I am.”
“Take off your sandals. The place you are standing is holy ground.”
My heart stopped. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t. The voice wasn’t cruel. It was strong—but wrapped in something I didn’t expect. Love. A perfect, burning, blinding kind of love.
I watched Moses fall to his knees, his face buried in his hands. The voice continued. “I have seen the misery of My people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out... and I have come down to rescue them.”
Egypt. Slavery. My father used to tell us stories—how our people had once been a mighty nation—but were now crushed under Pharaoh’s power. I never thought those stories meant anything for me. But now, I wasn’t so sure.
The voice gave Moses a task. “Go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring My people out of Egypt.”
Moses trembled. “Who am I to do this? They won’t believe me... they won’t listen... I don’t speak well... I’m not the right choice.”
I swallowed hard as I watched him argue with God. He looked terrified. But the fire didn’t flicker. The voice stayed steady.
“I will be with you.”
That promise echoed louder than any excuse.
I don’t remember how long I stayed crouched in those rocks. Long enough to feel like a stone in my chest had been cracked open. When the bush dimmed and Moses turned to go, he didn’t look younger—but he looked different. Not lighter, exactly. He still had a burden. But now, he wasn't carrying it alone.
And neither was I.
That day, I stopped believing God only speaks through storms and laws. I saw Him speak through a flame—gentle but unshaken—and He chose a man who was lost, broken, and afraid.
And then He sent him back to rescue the ones still hurting.
If God could use Moses... maybe He could use someone like me too.
