It was Rachel’s birthday the day the world came undone.
She turned nine that morning, smiled shyly behind a candle-lit plate of waffles, and ran outside with her little brother to chase butterflies that danced in the sun. But by nightfall, the town was under sirens. A tremor had taken down half the park. Phones buzzed with warnings. No one really knew what was happening.
Her father called it "the beginning of hard things." He always spoke gently, like he feared even the truth might hurt more than silence. As helicopters circled overhead and store shelves emptied below, Rachel asked why. Why would things get this bad?
We’ve all asked that question. Maybe not aloud, but somewhere in the cracked corners of our hope. Why the wars? Why the fires? Why the quiet dread that hums beneath the news alerts?
Jesus said, “For then there will be great tribulation, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, no, and never will be” (Matthew 24:21, ESV). It’s a chilling verse to read, especially when your world already feels fragile.
The Bible speaks of a time called the Great Tribulation—a stretch of suffering more intense than anything the world has known. Some believe it lasts seven years, a timeline drawn from Daniel 9:27, where a “covenant is made for one week” and then broken, unleashing ruin. Others see it symbolically. Some expect believers to be taken away before it begins; others believe God’s people will endure its darkest hours with Him.
But here’s the heart that pulses underneath the prophecy: this isn’t about terror. It’s about truth. The truth that judgment is real. That evil doesn’t win. That grace is urgent. That God sees every injustice—and will not let them go unanswered.
In Revelation 7:14, we meet a huge crowd—too many to count—robed in white and washed in glory. They “came out of the great tribulation,” it says. Not folded in fear, not destroyed, but delivered. Their robes are made clean in the blood of the Lamb. Cleansed not by escape, but by faith that endures.
Maybe you’ve felt like you were in your own tribulation lately. Maybe the bills pile higher than the answers. Maybe your prayers feel trapped beneath the ceiling. Or you’re carrying grief that no one sees and hoping for a Lord who seems silent.
I’ve tasted that too.
But look again. Those who had nothing—no name, no power, no plan—are now standing before a throne, radiant and redeemed. God didn’t abandon them in crisis; He drew near in covenant.
Some think God will rescue us before the storm. Others think He’ll walk with us through it. Either way, His presence is the safest place we can be.
That’s the miracle, isn’t it? That even when the world breaks, God doesn’t. His promises hold. His love is stronger than plagues, stronger than pain, stronger than anything this troubled earth can hurl against us. The Great Tribulation isn’t a story to scare us. It’s a reality armed with warning—and sealed with hope.
Because Jesus Himself said, “Take heart. I have overcome the world.”
Rachel doesn’t understand world events, but at night she clutches a flashlight her father gave her. She sleeps with it under her pillow, in case the lights go out. “Light always wins,” he said. And she believed him.
Maybe that’s what God is whispering to us in all of this. That no matter how long the night stretches, His light still wins.
It was Rachel’s birthday the day the world came undone.
She turned nine that morning, smiled shyly behind a candle-lit plate of waffles, and ran outside with her little brother to chase butterflies that danced in the sun. But by nightfall, the town was under sirens. A tremor had taken down half the park. Phones buzzed with warnings. No one really knew what was happening.
Her father called it "the beginning of hard things." He always spoke gently, like he feared even the truth might hurt more than silence. As helicopters circled overhead and store shelves emptied below, Rachel asked why. Why would things get this bad?
We’ve all asked that question. Maybe not aloud, but somewhere in the cracked corners of our hope. Why the wars? Why the fires? Why the quiet dread that hums beneath the news alerts?
Jesus said, “For then there will be great tribulation, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, no, and never will be” (Matthew 24:21, ESV). It’s a chilling verse to read, especially when your world already feels fragile.
The Bible speaks of a time called the Great Tribulation—a stretch of suffering more intense than anything the world has known. Some believe it lasts seven years, a timeline drawn from Daniel 9:27, where a “covenant is made for one week” and then broken, unleashing ruin. Others see it symbolically. Some expect believers to be taken away before it begins; others believe God’s people will endure its darkest hours with Him.
But here’s the heart that pulses underneath the prophecy: this isn’t about terror. It’s about truth. The truth that judgment is real. That evil doesn’t win. That grace is urgent. That God sees every injustice—and will not let them go unanswered.
In Revelation 7:14, we meet a huge crowd—too many to count—robed in white and washed in glory. They “came out of the great tribulation,” it says. Not folded in fear, not destroyed, but delivered. Their robes are made clean in the blood of the Lamb. Cleansed not by escape, but by faith that endures.
Maybe you’ve felt like you were in your own tribulation lately. Maybe the bills pile higher than the answers. Maybe your prayers feel trapped beneath the ceiling. Or you’re carrying grief that no one sees and hoping for a Lord who seems silent.
I’ve tasted that too.
But look again. Those who had nothing—no name, no power, no plan—are now standing before a throne, radiant and redeemed. God didn’t abandon them in crisis; He drew near in covenant.
Some think God will rescue us before the storm. Others think He’ll walk with us through it. Either way, His presence is the safest place we can be.
That’s the miracle, isn’t it? That even when the world breaks, God doesn’t. His promises hold. His love is stronger than plagues, stronger than pain, stronger than anything this troubled earth can hurl against us. The Great Tribulation isn’t a story to scare us. It’s a reality armed with warning—and sealed with hope.
Because Jesus Himself said, “Take heart. I have overcome the world.”
Rachel doesn’t understand world events, but at night she clutches a flashlight her father gave her. She sleeps with it under her pillow, in case the lights go out. “Light always wins,” he said. And she believed him.
Maybe that’s what God is whispering to us in all of this. That no matter how long the night stretches, His light still wins.
