View the devo: https://bit.ly/4ArsWGJ
My people, hear my teaching; listen to the words of my mouth. 2 I will open my mouth with a parable; I will utter hidden things, things from of old— 3 things we have heard and known, things our ancestors have told us. 4 We will not hide them from their descendants; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, his power, and the wonders he has done. 12 He did miracles in the sight of their ancestors in the land of Egypt, in the region of Zoan. 13 He divided the sea and led them through; he made the water stand up like a wall. 14 He guided them with the cloud by day and with light from the fire all night. 15 He split the rocks in the wilderness and gave them water as abundant as the seas; 16 he brought streams out of a rocky crag and made water flow down like rivers. (Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16 NIV)
Are you good at keeping secrets? You shouldn't be when it comes to sharing how God has blessed you! People are hungry to hear how God has been at work in your life! If you don't share it, it stays a secret right when the world needs truth!
Happy Thursday to you, Friend! I pray you are well, and holding up when others may be giving up. Taking in what others may be painfully sharing when others don't care nor want to hear what they have to say!
Nellie and I took a long drive today and we drove through my birthplace of Kingsville and I remembered when I was a child at certain times of the year, my mother and grandmother would load all of us kids into the big black Chevy they owned and Mom would roat to life the engine in that land yacht and we would drive out in the country looking for fresh nopalitos. Nopalitos are the newly grown pads of the cactus that when cooked just right, usually with eggs, becomes a hearty and tasty meal. It was neat to be out in the country and to see these two dear ladies use their knives to cut the pads (nopales) and put them in the large pan they brought with them. Once home they would further the cutting and cooking. It was too bad that I never acquired a taste for them, but others in the household did. More for them! Looking back it was not so much the cactus as it was the conversations that Mom and my Momo would have. How I wish I had been older to remember and cherish what they had to say then; but I also realize they may have been sharing opinions and comments best left to God's memory, not mine!
There's a particular kind of conversation that only happens in certain families — the kind where someone sits the younger generation down and says, let me tell you where we came from. Let me tell you what happened before you were old enough to remember it. Let me tell you about the things that were done for us that made it possible for us to be here today. Psalm 78 is that conversation, written in verse form and set to music, which tells you that the people who wrote it understood that stories stick better when they're sung. They weren't wrong. We remember what we sing long after we've forgotten what we were told.
The psalmist opens with an intention that is both humble and urgent: I will open my mouth in a parable, I will utter hidden things from of old — things we have heard and known, things our ancestors have told us. We will not hide them from our children. We will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord, His power, and the wonders He has done. There's something almost fierce about the "we will not hide them" — as if the psalmist has seen what happens to a generation that doesn't receive the story and is determined not to let it happen again. The story is not just interesting history. It is the thing that shapes how you understand who you are, whose you are, and what kind of God you're dealing with. Lose the story and you lose the orientation.
And then the psalmist gets specific, which is always where good storytelling lives. Not "God did wonderful things in Egypt" — though that's true and could be said. But: He did miracles in the sight of their ancestors in the land of Egypt, in the region of Zoan. He divided the sea and led them through. He guided them with the cloud by day and with light from the fire all night. He split the rocks in the desert and gave them water as abundant as the seas. He brought streams out of a rocky crag and made water flow down like rivers. Every one of those details is a specific, dateable, locatable event that real people witnessed with their own eyes and described to their children, who described it to their children, who eventually arrived at the psalmist sitting down to write it all in a song so the chain wouldn't be broken.
The specificity matters because vague stories produce vague faith. When you know that God split the rock at a particular place and the water came down like rivers — not a trickle, like rivers — you have something to hold onto when your own rock looks solid and dry. You have a track record. You have evidence. You have the accumulated testimony of people who were there and who saw it and who made sure someone else knew about it. Faith in the biblical world is almost never a solo exercise in private spiritual experience. It is the inheritance passed down through the practice of telling, which means that every generation has a responsibility both to receive the story and to pass it on.
This is where the passage carries a challenge that is quietly uncomfortable for those of us who live in an age of religious privacy. We have developed, somewhere along the way, a cultural instinct to keep our faith quiet — to treat it as a personal matter, to avoid the social awkwardness of talking about God in mixed company, to let the story stop at us rather than risk the reaction of passing it on. And Psalm 78 looks at that instinct and says, gently but firmly: we will not hide them from our children. The wonders are not yours to keep. The praiseworthy deeds are not a private archive. They are the inheritance of the generation coming behind you, and they need you to tell them.
The rock that split in the desert and produced rivers of water is the same rock that Paul identifies as Christ — the provision that God positioned before the crisis, the source that looks dry from the outside but holds abundant life within. And the Living Water that flowed from that rock in the wilderness flows from Christ Himself, who promised that everyone who believes in Him will have rivers of living water flowing from within them. The Spirit poured out at Pentecost is the river that the psalmist was pointing toward without fully knowing it — the water that doesn't just sustain a generation but flows through them into the next one and the one after that.
Tell the story. Sing the song. Sit someone down and say: let me tell you what happened before you were old enough to remember. Let me tell you what God did. The generation coming behind you needs to know that the rock split and the water came out like rivers, and that the God who did it then is the God who is doing it now.
PRAYER: Lord, make us faithful tellers of Your story, so that the generation coming behind us inherits a living faith and not just a faded memory of one. This we pray in Christ Jesus' strong name, amen.
Have a great and blessed day in the Lord! OUR CALL TO ACTION: Tell one specific story of God's faithfulness in your life to one person this week — a child, a friend, a neighbor — and let your testimony be the link in the chain that keeps the story going.
I love you and I thank God for you! You matter to God and you matter to me!
Winning the world for Jesus means losses for you-know-who's kingdom! We want that kingdom erased!
Pastor Eradio Valverde, Jr./







