Foolish Things, Wise God

When God flips the script

Beloved Friend,

Have you ever sat with the thought of how unconventional the Easter story is? Not just the death and resurrection of Jesus, but the method, the setting, the quiet surrender, and the seemingly powerless outcome that ended up shifting the entire course of eternity.

Scripture puts it this way:

“Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards… But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:26–27).

It’s such a sharp contrast to the way we’re wired. We want things to make sense. We analyze, project, forecast, and prefer the tried and tested. But Easter is not neat and predictable. It is messy, humiliating, and deeply offensive to common logic. That God would come down in the flesh, live quietly among us, then willingly die; and not just die, but be executed by the very ones He created, is nothing short of absurd to human reasoning.

And that’s the point.

God didn’t need to perform a celestial fireworks show or bring a host of angels to conquer death. Instead, He laid His life down. Quietly. Like a lamb led to the slaughter (Isaiah 53:7). The cross was both the most brutal and the most beautiful plot twist in history. A carpenter’s son, misunderstood and mocked, crushed for sins He didn’t commit. Yet by His death, many would be made righteous (Romans 5:19).

This is why it doesn’t make sense to approach the journey of faith armed with mere intellect and human strategy. God is not a logic puzzle to solve. He is not a project we can plan. And the moment we start trying to “figure Him out” before obeying, we forfeit the sweetness of surrender. He gave us intellect and wisdom, yes, but not so that we can rub shoulders with Him or re-engineer His plans to suit our projections.

A man wise in his own eyes cannot obey God.

It’s one thing to calculate risks and outcomes in life decisions, but with God, risk is not the language. Faith is. And faith doesn’t always appeal to reason. What’s reasonable about believing in a God you haven’t seen? Or trusting a voice you can’t trace with your physical senses? Or obeying when the instructions seem to go against everything you know?

I remember back in secondary school, when people would talk about their “five-year plan,” it always seemed to include marriage and children. It was like a chant; something everyone repeated. And if you said otherwise, you’d probably get side-eyes or be seen as unserious. So, even though I wasn’t really dreaming of that kind of timeline for myself, I found myself repeating it too. Not because I deeply desired it at the time, but because it was just what people said.

In truth, what I really pictured for myself was something different; I imagined being a young, working lady with her own apartment, no mom yelling about tasks left undone, my own car parked outside, a tastefully decorated space that reflected my personality, sleepovers with my friends on weekends, and walking into the office like a boss because, of course, I’d be calling the shots. That was my five-year plan.

I didn’t think I’d be where I am now; alternating between my sister’s house and my mum’s place, figuring things out as I go, oh Chim! But it’s not something I’m bitter about. Of course, there’s a hunger to grow and become more, but it’s not from a place of ingratitude. I’ve just had to keep learning that God’s version of “becoming” often comes with surrendered plans and detours I didn’t write in. I’ve just had to learn, again and again, that surrendering to God means letting go of my carefully arranged blueprints; even the aesthetically pleasing ones with Pinterest boards.

Sometimes we hear Him say something about our future, and we run ahead to build the steps by ourselves. He gives us a seed of prophecy, and before we know it, we’ve written a whole screenplay with characters, costumes, and final scenes. Then He comes and embarrasses the whole production, just to reveal the script He actually wrote, the one with eternal value. And yes, it’s a painful reroute when He does that. But what am I playing out if not His script? If I’ve accepted Him as my Lord and Saviour, then my life is His. It’s not just a sweet phrase: it’s a surrender. A living, breathing surrender.

Anything else is personal torture.

It’s good to plan. It’s good to be structured. Some of us even plan our meals for the month, our school timelines, our careers, wedding dates, how many children we’ll have, and what schools they’ll attend. It gives us a sense of control. And in a world constantly pushing us to “manifest your dream life,” it feels empowering. But what are we really manifesting, if not God’s word? We don’t even have the power in ourselves to bring to life the very things He has spoken. Yes, He needs our obedience, but it’s still His power that fulfills His purpose.

And sometimes, all it takes is one small divine shift and we’re undone. Suddenly, it’s, “Draw the curtains, I’m done, nothing good can come from this.” We fall into discouragement simply because God didn’t stick to our script. Some people are still grieving dreams that God never signed off on, or versions of their lives they thought would bring them joy. But a detour is not a denial. It’s often just a redirection; sometimes toward something we didn’t even know we needed.

Joseph had dreams from God: dreams of reigning, of leading, of being above his brothers. But what followed that vision wasn’t an immediate promotion. It was betrayal, slavery, false accusations, prison, and forgotten promises. God never told him all that in the beginning, but it didn’t change what God had said. Every step, even the most painful ones, were woven into the fulfillment of the word (Psalm 105:19).

And he’s not alone.

Think of Moses, who tried to deliver Israel his own way and ended up in the desert for 40 years. Or David, who was anointed as king but then went back to tending sheep and dodging Saul’s spears. Or even Mary, the mother of Jesus, a virgin told she would carry the Son of God. There was no blueprint handed to her, just an invitation to believe.

So today, on Easter Sunday, I invite you to do the opposite of what the world tells you. Let the cross remind you that God is both kind and sovereign. He doesn’t always owe us a breakdown of His plans. And even when we don’t understand, we can trust Him.

Lay your intellect at His feet. Bring your need for answers and certainty, and let them bow too. Let faith rise, not because it makes sense, but because He is God.

Jesus confounded the devil by doing what made no sense. And because of that, we now stand in victory.

So may you never confuse silence for absence. Or mystery for a mistake. He knows what He’s doing. He’s wiser than we’ll ever be. Let Him be God.

With thoughts of kindness,

ABBA’s Shofar